Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

The Blood Nights had not ended.

But they had changed.

The message had been clear. House Davros, House Valren, and House Belvade—three noble families that once stood untouchable—were now disgraced, dragged through the streets in shackles. Their halls had been torn apart, their wealth seized, and their allies silenced by fear.

The world of noble politics had always been a battlefield, but the Academy had just shifted the balance.

And the assassins felt it.

In the days following the three nobles' downfall, the Blood Nights lost momentum.

It wasn't an immediate collapse—contracts had already been paid, and some killers would rather die than leave a job unfinished. But those who worked for gold, rather than principle, began to weigh the risk against the reward.

The smaller players—the independent mercenaries, the lesser guilds, the opportunists looking to make a name—vanished first.

They packed their bags, left the city, and took their blades elsewhere.

Brokers who once whispered names in darkened corners now found themselves hesitant to even speak of the Blood Nights. The air of confidence, of invulnerability, had been broken.

It wasn't just that three nobles had been exposed.

It was how.

Dragged from their estates. Brought to the Academy in chains.

It wasn't a quiet affair—it was a message.

And that message was received.

Within noble circles, the events sent shockwaves.

Meetings were held behind closed doors. Letters were burned.

The three fallen houses had not worked alone. There were others—powerful families who had, until now, hidden their hands well. They had played the game from the shadows, financing assassins without fear of consequences.

But now?

Now, they saw the line drawn in blood.

None of them wanted to be the next lesson.

For the first time in years, the Academy was treated with caution. It had always been respected, but now it was feared.

Some nobles tried to distance themselves from the Blood Nights entirely. Others scrambled to cut ties with the assassins they had funded. A few even sent quiet offers of cooperation to the Academy, hoping to buy favor before their secrets were uncovered.

The game had changed.

And Valdris knew it.

At the Academy, the war council met once again.

Valdris stood at the head of the room, his gaze sharp as he studied the reports. Across from him, Baudric, Xel'thar, and Vaelis were seated—each bearing the marks of their recent battles.

"The assassins are withdrawing," Sylvia reported, her voice calm but firm. "Not all of them, but enough that the casualty rate among students has dropped significantly."

Gregor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Temporary. The ones that remain will be the worst of them—loyalists, fanatics, and those too deep in debt to back out."

Rourke, ever the tactician, tapped a finger against the table. "And the nobles?"

"Quiet," Valdris answered. "Which is more dangerous than open defiance."

Silence settled over the room.

They had struck a blow, but it was only the first.

The Blood Nights had not been erased.

Only forced into the shadows.

Kalem sat on the steps of the forge, sharpening his blade.

The night air was cold, but he hardly noticed. The resonance crystal embedded in the sword's hilt vibrated softly, a reminder of the power contained within.

Isolde sat nearby, her greatsword resting against her shoulder.

"Strange, isn't it?" she mused.

Kalem glanced at her. "What is?"

She turned the blade slightly, watching the light reflect off the ice-forged steel. "The silence. After everything that's happened, it feels like the city itself is holding its breath."

Kalem nodded. He had felt it too.

The streets weren't empty, but they felt quieter. Eyes still watched from the shadows, but there was hesitation now. The assassins weren't gone, but they weren't as bold either.

And yet, something about it unsettled him.

"A storm doesn't just disappear," he muttered. "It pulls back, gathers strength… then returns twice as strong."

Isolde considered his words, then smirked. "Then we better be ready for it."

She stood, stretching. "I'm going to get some sleep before training. You should too."

Kalem didn't respond immediately.

His eyes were on the street, watching the darkness beyond the academy gates.

Waiting.

Listening.

Because the Blood Nights weren't over.

Not yet.