Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

The city had grown quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with peace, but the unsettling stillness before a storm. The Blood Nights had been crippled, their ranks shattered, their sponsors humiliated. And yet, the assassins who remained had not fled. They had not struck back either.

They were waiting.

But for what?

In the war room, the tension was palpable.

Valdris studied the latest reports, his sharp gaze scanning every detail. The assassins had gone dark—no new attacks, no sightings of their key members. It was unnatural. If the Blood Nights had been truly defeated, there should have been more signs of collapse. Infighting. Deserters trying to cut a deal for amnesty. But instead, there was only silence.

"This isn't victory," Baudric murmured, running a hand over his beard. "This is something else."

"An ambush," Xel'thar supplied, arms crossed.

Sylvia tapped a finger on the table. "Or worse… preparation."

Gregor let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "We need to press our advantage. Before they regain their footing."

Valdris closed his eyes for a moment, considering. "We've already struck hard. If we overextend, we risk walking into their trap."

Rourke grunted. "So what? We sit here and wait for them to make the next move?"

Vaelis, silent until now, finally spoke. "No." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "We force them to reveal what they're planning."

Sylvia arched a brow. "And how do you propose we do that?"

Vaelis gave a small, knowing smile. "By making them think we know more than we actually do."

Kalem and Isolde walked through the academy grounds, speaking little but sharing the same uneasy thoughts.

The mist from the night before had faded, but the feeling it had left behind remained. There was something in the air—like the weight of an unseen gaze.

"You ever feel like we're being watched?" Isolde finally said.

Kalem didn't hesitate. "Yes."

That alone was enough to confirm what they both feared.

Isolde exhaled, gripping her greatsword tightly. "I hate this part. The waiting."

Kalem glanced toward the city beyond the academy walls. "It won't last much longer."

He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

The Blood Nights were running out of time.

The academy had left them battered, their forces broken. If they wanted to turn this around, they needed something big. Something that would shake the academy to its core.

And that was why the Macab had been summoned.

Deep within a hidden chamber, a circle of figures stood around a ritual site. The air crackled with forbidden energy, the scent of blood thick in the air.

One of the remaining leaders watched the ritual unfold, their expression grim.

"This is madness," he muttered. "We don't even know if we can control it."

The one who had suggested the plan smiled. "We won't have to. We just need it to break them."

A single-use weapon. That was all the Macab had ever been. But once it was unleashed, there would be no going back.

The war wasn't over yet. It was about to reach its true climax.