Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

The Blood Nights had suffered a devastating blow. The academy's retaliation had left the assassins fractured, with most of their manpower either dead or fleeing the city. But the game wasn't over yet.

Deep within a hidden chamber beneath the city, remnants of the Blood Nights gathered—those who had refused to abandon their contracts, those bound by something greater than gold. The dim candlelight flickered over the faces of killers, informants, and schemers alike.

They had been cornered. And a cornered beast was always the most dangerous.

"So, we sent the message," one of the remaining leaders began, voice bitter. "But now what? Ninety percent of our manpower is gone because of the academy's actions."

"Yeah," another agreed, arms crossed. "We would be hopelessly outmatched if we fought the Frost Reaper and Steel-Master at the same time."

The room fell into a tense silence. They had all heard the whispers—Isolde the Frost Reaper and Kalem the Steel-Master. Two students who had proven themselves to be far more than mere targets. Their skills had turned them into symbols of resistance, and fighting them directly was suicide.

"So, how about separation tactics?" one of them suggested.

"Won't work," another countered. "The Frost Reaper has the option of AoE attacks. Separating them will make our end faster."

Frustration hung in the air. Every conventional method had been shut down before it could even be considered.

Then, someone spoke a word that sent a chill through the chamber.

"The Macab."

The reaction was immediate.

"Are you insane?" one of them hissed. "That's a one-use asset. We can't waste it on students!"

"Don't worry," the first speaker reassured, a dark smile creeping across his face. "We'll have some of the strongest pawns on our side."

A long pause followed.

Then, begrudging acceptance.

"Alright… but if this fails, you're taking the blame."

"Very well."

A decision had been made.

And the Academy had no idea what was coming.

The war council gathered again.

Valdris stood at the center, his presence commanding as ever, but the mood in the room had shifted. They had won a battle, but the war was far from over.

Sylvia spoke first, flipping through a stack of reports. "The assassinations have declined, but they haven't stopped. The elite assassins remain. The ones who haven't fled are either bound by contract or have a personal stake in this."

Baudric adjusted his spectacles, frowning. "That means we're dealing with zealots. They won't retreat, no matter the odds."

Xel'thar crossed his arms, his usual smirk absent. "Which means they have something planned. They're not going to just sit back and let us destroy them."

Vaelis leaned forward. "Then the question is—what are they planning?"

Silence fell over the council.

Gregor exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against the table. "We're missing something."

Rourke nodded. "They should be desperate at this point. But if they're still acting, it means they have a trump card."

Sylvia hesitated, then placed a new report on the table. "There have been… unusual disappearances across the city."

Everyone turned to her.

"Unusual how?" Valdris asked.

Sylvia's eyes were grim. "Not the usual assassinations or kidnappings. These people weren't targets. They were fighters—mercenaries, rogue mages, even a few wandering knights. But they didn't just die or vanish… they willingly walked into the dark and didn't come back."

Baudric's expression darkened. "That sounds like—"

"—an external force," Rourke finished.

Xel'thar's fingers twitched, arcane energy flickering between them. "So they called for reinforcements."

"No," Sylvia corrected. "Not reinforcements. Something else."

A quiet understanding settled over the room.

Something unnatural was in play.

And they had no idea what it was.

Kalem and Isolde had felt it before the reports reached them.

The city felt different.

There were no obvious threats—no ambushes in the streets, no assassins lurking on rooftops. But the weight in the air had changed. It was something deeper, something unseen.

The last time Kalem had felt something like this was during the academy's cultural festival, when the resonance crystal had vibrated in warning. But this was worse.

It felt like something was watching.

"Do you feel it too?" Isolde asked, her tone casual but her grip on her greatsword firm.

Kalem nodded. "Yeah."

They stood on the outskirts of the academy, watching the city beyond the gates. A thick mist had begun rolling in—not natural fog, but something else. It clung to the streets, making every alleyway look like a mouth waiting to swallow those who wandered too close.

"It's like the city's holding its breath," Isolde murmured.

Kalem frowned. "Or waiting for something to wake up."

The Blood Nights weren't over.

They were only just beginning.