Clang.
Metal against metal.
Clang.
Faster this time.
The blade came in diagonal, short, with no intent to kill — base test
Zeph turned the staff in the last centimeter, deflecting the edge off-axis, and felt the vibration climb his forearm.
It wasn't light.
It wasn't brute.
It was control.
The second strike came almost together.
Clang—clang.
Two attackers.
Alternating rhythm.
One pressured high, the other worked low, aiming knees and hip. Clean coordination. Group training.
Zeph stepped back half a pace.
The pooled water in the courtyard tugged his sole sideways. He adjusted his base on the next impact, absorbing it with the shoulder, rotating the torso to keep his axis.
The staff swept low.
Missed.
The assassin hopped short, no excess, just enough to let the strike pass.
He landed already advancing, short knife seeking ribs.
Zeph locked with the staff's end, metal grinding under metallic pressure, and answered with a dry knee to the abdomen.
The man grunted — little air, not pain — and retreated one step.
Another filled the space.
There was no interval.
Clang.
Now a longsword.
The blade struck the staff with enough force to shove Zeph's arm off-line.
He rotated with it, used the deflection to enter, elbow searching for the jaw.
Blocked.
Forearm against forearm.
They stuck together for an instant — hot breath mixed with cold rain — and the assassin tried to break the clinch with a low kick.
Zeph felt the impact on his thigh.
Didn't fall.
Answered by turning the hip and striking the staff into the side of the enemy's knee.
The crack wasn't a break.
It was a warning.
The man limped back.
Another came from the flank.
And another.
Clang. Clang.
The sound spread through the courtyard like an irregular bell, metallic, smothered by rain. There were no screams.
Only impact, breathing, water striking stone.
Zeph split the staff in the turn.
Two short weapons.
The change was minimal — but the field felt it.
He advanced now.
A short strike to the wrist holding the sword.
Bone gave.
The blade fell.
The second staff rose from low to high, catching the next assassin's chin.
Head snapped back. Step lost.
Zeph didn't finish.
There was no time.
A longsword came down in a heavy arc, aiming shoulder and clavicle.
Zeph crossed the staves to hold — brute impact, wood vibrating up to the elbow — and felt the weight push him half a meter back.
The ground slipped.
He fell sideways, rolled, felt icy water pour down his collar, and was already on his feet when the next blade passed where his head had been.
A cut opened his forearm.
Shallow.
Edge control.
They didn't want him bleeding fast.
They wanted accumulated error.
Zeph drew a deep breath, feeling the heavy air in his chest, and advanced again.
Left staff deflected.
Right entered the clavicle.
Another assassin tried to grab from behind.
Zeph dropped his center of mass, projected weight forward, and pulled the man over the hip. Both fell.
Zeph rolled over him, struck the base of the skull with the staff, and exited before another filled the space.
Always another.
The rhythm never broke.
Blackthrone rotated like a wet gear — minimal failures, constant adaptation.
Sword against staff.
Clang.
Now heavier.
Something was wrong.
Zeph felt it before he understood.
It wasn't fatigue.
It wasn't pain.
It was as if the field itself had become… denser.
A short step by an assassin, too simple, made Zeph adjust his base a second earlier than necessary.
The staff deflected late.
The blade scraped his ribs.
Warm blood under cold rain.
He retreated.
The assassins didn't advance immediately.
Rain fell for a few seconds without human interference.
Then the group reorganized.
It wasn't hesitation. It was protocol.
Bodies shifted in sync, opening a narrow corridor. Blades lowered a degree. The space began to belong to someone else.
The figure emerged at the center.
The armor broke the pattern.
Silvered at the edges, fitted over absolute black, adjusted as if molded to the body itself.
No looseness.
No visible opening.
Even so, it kept a clean, functional silhouette — the same school, the same legacy.
He stopped in front of Zeph.
"We've met before," he said, without raising his voice. "You ran well that time."
Silence.
"Today, that won't repeat."
Zeph kept the staff low.
His eyes tracked every detail of the stance ahead.
Foot angles. Weight distribution.
No unnecessary tension.
"Do you understand the weight of that choice?" he asked, without lifting his tone.
The figure inclined his head minimally.
"Choice doesn't enter the equation. Orders do."
A short step forward.
"We are Blackthrone. Questions delay. Execution resolves."
Zeph breathed deep.
"I understand loyalty." A short pause. "I understand purpose."
Light green eyes focused. The iris contracted under the dead light of rain, reflecting a contained turquoise hue, almost clinical.
The body adjusted before thought.
"But you still carry the weight of your leader's decision."
The assassin didn't react.
"We will carry the results."
The wind passed low, pushed by Zeph's subtle displacement.
It wasn't invoked — it was consequence.
He joined the staff into a single axis.
"It wasn't the ideal outcome."
No warning.
Zeph didn't raise posture.
Didn't accelerate pulse.
The vibration in the field began to oscillate again — not as before, but misaligned, as if something were trying to breathe off-beat.
He closed his fingers around the unified staff.
"Vayru na'shakar. Ael thryn."
"Awaken."
It wasn't a loose word.
It was a full phrase, low, continuous, spoken as command — not to the wind, but through it.
The air answered.
Not in a gust.
In recognition.
The howl was born close to the ground, crossed the corridor opened by the assassins, and climbed the walls like a lament too deep to be ignored.
The rain changed sound as it fell — muffled, as if striking something thicker than normal space.
The first Blackthrone behind the figure grabbed his chest.
Inhaled.
Nothing came.
The body tried to compensate — short, rapid breaths — and failed.
Another dropped to his knees, fingers opening and closing in empty air, eyes wide not with fear, but physiological confusion.
Training screamed to advance.
The body didn't obey.
A third tried to shout an order.
There wasn't enough air to form sound.
The silvered figure reacted in the same instant.
He didn't fight the effect.
He exited it.
The space in front of Zeph went empty for an immeasurable fraction — and then the presence reappeared atop the wall, distant, motionless, as if it had always belonged to that point.
Distance wasn't defense.
It was reading.
Zeph followed with his eyes.
Breathed once.
And said, clear enough to cross the altered field:
"Limit: Silent."
The air still existed — but it didn't move.
There was no explosion.
No visible pressure.
Circulation simply stopped.
Everyone within range — seasoned assassins, bodies trained to endure pain, deprivation, extreme effort — lost their axis almost at once.
They fell.
Not dead.
Suffocated by their own environment.
The courtyard fell into absolute silence, broken only by rain...and by the irregular sound of bodies trying, uselessly, to pull air.
From atop the wall, the silvered assassin remained still.
Didn't avert his gaze.
Below, one by one, the Blackthrone collapsed — knees first, then shoulders, then the entire body — as if the ground itself refused to sustain them.
He observed without visible reaction.
Then he spoke, his voice crossing the wall with unsettling ease:
"You shouldn't be here."
It wasn't a question.
The answer came low. Close. Far too calm.
"And yet, here I am."
A short pause.
"Nalya… and the boy Telvaris touched something they shouldn't have."
"Something outside what I anticipated."
The assassin kept his eyes on Zeph.
"People like you always choose what to tell."
There was a comfortable silence on the other side.
When the voice returned, there was something almost gentle in it.
"Some truths don't change anyone's fate."
For an instant, something shifted.
Not in the air.
In the tone.
A smile — invisible, but unmistakable — seemed to occupy the space between words.
"But I can guarantee one thing: Even if she returns… nothing changes for me."
Pause.
Soft.
"For your leader," the voice finished, "it may be different."
The assassin closed his hand slightly.
"I only follow orders."
Simple. Final.
The reply came like agreement… while guiding.
"Of course."
"He believed that too."
An invisible smile crossed the phrase.
"He learned well under Theseus' tutelage."
Silence.
"I only hope," the voice continued, still serene, "that the end isn't the same."
The assassin finally looked away.
Not from fear.
From calculation.
Below, among suffocating bodies and persistent rain, Zeph remained standing — staff unified, breathing controlled, eyes alert.
The assassin returned his gaze to the empty space ahead.
"I have a message from the White Viper."
Below, Zeph didn't move.
"Just as you disrupted my plans by revealing something to the count…" a minimal pause "…I returned the favor."
The air around him changed.
Not violently.
Denser. More attentive.
"The girl will inherit the name."
The silence that followed wasn't immediate.
It was heavy.
When the voice replied, there was no smile in it.
"I understand."
A fraction of a second passed.
"Then I'll have to reposition the pieces."
The assassin felt it.
Not pain.
Pressure.
As if space were closing around the body, not to crush — to assess.
He turned his face toward the presence.
"I expected this."
The reply came far too gentle for what it carried.
"Since I can't stop you…" the voice said "…I can at least facilitate."
Something landed on the assassin's shoulder.
Light.
Almost delicate.
A black butterfly.
The wings closed slowly.
The world lost sharpness.
Strength left the legs first.
Then the arms.
He dropped to his knees, without impact.
The last thing he saw before darkness was the impossible reflection ahead.
Two black eyes.
Not curious.
Not irritated.
Only attentive.
Like someone watching a piece leave the board.
The rain kept falling.
And the game moved on.
Author's Note: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening — or good early morning, depending on when you're reading this.
Here in Brazil, today is Friday (01/09), and it's 5:43 in the afternoon. I'm off today, so I decided to take advantage of it and post two chapters.
I hope you enjoy the read!If you can, leave a comment letting me know what you're thinking — it helps more than it seems — and favorite it so you don't miss the next chapters.
Thank you to everyone who's following along, no matter where you're reading from.See you very soon.