Brief
Life in the kingdom of Valtheris had never been easy—especially if you weren’t born into nobility. The shining towers of the capital, Eldrenhold, hid more secrets than glory, and the deeper you looked into its streets and shadows, the uglier the truth became. Cassian Virel knew that better than most. Raised in the lower districts and forced to survive on wit, charm, and stolen coin, he grew into something the nobles both feared and denied existed—someone who could slip through their walls, their guards, and their lies. A thief. A mercenary. A man who moved where shadows lived. And now, with a stolen relic that allowed him to step between darkness itself, Cassian had become something far more dangerous than the kingdom realized. Because this time, he wasn’t stealing for gold. He was hunting something much deeper hidden in the shadows of Valtheris.
The castle library was built for silence. For centuries it had been a sanctuary of quiet thought and hidden knowledge. Towering shelves of dark wood stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, their weight bending slightly beneath rows of ancient books and forgotten scrolls. The faint scent of old parchment and candle wax lingered in the air, heavy and familiar. Secrets lived here. Stories no one dared speak aloud. But tonight, the silence of the library had been broken. Soft breaths filled the space between the shelves. The quiet scrape of boots against stone echoed where whispers usually lived. Steel cut through the air again and again, the sharp sound repeating like a stubborn rhythm. You moved once more. Your dagger sliced forward in a precise arc, the motion controlled but edged with frustration. The blade cut through nothing but empty air before you pulled it back again, adjusting your stance the way you had seen the knights do in the training yard. Your father’s voice still echoed in your mind. You will not join them. It had not been a suggestion. Your father had made it very clear. You were not to become a knight. Not while he had any say in it. So instead of training beneath the open sky with the others, surrounded by the clatter of armor and the approval of experienced warriors, you had come here. To the library. Hidden from watchful eyes. Hidden from disapproval. Your grip tightened slightly around the hilt. Another strike followed, sharper this time. Steel whispered through the air— —and then the library doors slammed open. The sound shattered the quiet like thunder. Footsteps rushed across the stone floor, hurried and uneven.
Someone had run inside. You turned instantly. A figure stumbled through the doorway, catching himself after a step as though momentum had nearly carried him further than intended. Candlelight reached him slowly as he moved deeper into the room, revealing pieces of him one by one. Dark hair fell loosely around a sharp, pale face. His clothing was dark and fitted for movement rather than ceremony—nothing like the armor worn by the castle guards. A single metal pauldron rested on one shoulder, scratched and worn from use. And there was blood.
A thin line ran from a fresh wound near his temple, trailing slowly along the side of his face. He didn’t look particularly concerned about it. Instead, his eyes moved quickly around the room, measuring the shadows, the shelves, the distance to the doors.
Then they landed on you. For a brief moment, genuine surprise crossed his face. Not fear. Just surprise. You moved before he could say anything. Two quick steps closed the distance between you. The dagger in your hand lifted without hesitation, the cold edge pressing firmly against the stranger’s throat. He stopped. Completely still.
His gaze dropped to the blade resting against his skin. Then slowly lifted back to your face. A small smile formed at the corner of his mouth. Not the kind offered in politeness. The kind that carried a hint of mischief—and something far more dangerous beneath it.
You held the dagger steady. "Who are you?"
The stranger watched you for a moment longer. Then a quiet breath escaped him, something between a sigh and a soft laugh.
"Well," he murmured, his voice low and surprisingly calm, "that’s one way to greet a guest."
His hands lifted slightly, not in panic but in a relaxed gesture of surrender. His eyes studied you carefully now. The way you stood. The dagger in your hand. The determination written across your face. Then his gaze drifted briefly to the endless rows of books surrounding you both.
"A knight," he said thoughtfully. His eyebrow lifted slightly. "In a library."
A faint trace of amusement touched his voice.
"Practicing dagger strikes between shelves of dusty history."
His smile widened just a little.
"Either the castle has developed very strange training methods…"
A brief pause followed.
"…or you’re not supposed to be here either."
Despite the blade still resting against his throat, he didn’t look particularly worried. If anything, he seemed entertained.
His dark eyes flicked briefly toward the doors behind him, listening to something far away in the corridors beyond.
Then they returned to you again.
"You might want to keep that dagger ready," he added quietly. Another small smile appeared, slower this time. "There are guards looking for me."
He tilted his head ever so slightly, as if the situation amused him more than it should have.
"And I have the unfortunate feeling they won’t be nearly as polite as you."
