VENGEFUL SPIRIT

The night air was thick with the scent of rain and blood. Asha moved like a shadow through the streets, her black cloak fluttering behind her. The city of Varenth was still awake, unaware that its most powerful man now lay dead in his own hall, his blood seeping into the stone.

But Asha was not done.

Lord Malvek had been the hand that struck down her family, but he had not wielded the blade alone. There had been another—a man who had whispered in his ear, advised him, guided his ruthless conquests. Malvek had been a brute, but his right hand, Master Dain, had been the architect of her family's ruin.

And tonight, he would pay.

Asha's boots barely made a sound as she leapt onto a rooftop, scanning the city below. Dain had always been careful, more cunning than Malvek. He had no lavish halls, no feasts with foolish guards to protect him. He was a spymaster, a man who thrived in the dark, much like she did.

But Asha had spent years studying his movements, waiting for the perfect moment. And now that Malvek was dead, Dain would be at his most vulnerable.

She dropped down into an alley, pressing her back against the damp stone. Ahead, two of Dain's personal guards stood outside a nondescript door. She had expected this.

Asha exhaled slowly, then moved.

Before the first guard could react, she had already closed the distance, her dagger sliding through his throat with the ease of a whisper. His body crumpled, lifeless, while the second guard barely had time to draw his sword before she plunged a second blade into his heart.

Two kills. Silent. Precise.

Asha wiped her blade against her sleeve and pressed her ear against the door. No sounds of alarm. Good.

She pulled a thin wire from her belt and worked the lock. It clicked open within seconds.

Dain's safehouse was dark, but Asha knew better than to assume it was empty. She moved cautiously, her steps light, her senses sharp. The interior was lined with bookshelves, maps pinned to the walls, notes scattered across a desk. It was a web of secrets, a place where wars were started and lives were ruined with the stroke of a pen.

A soft creak.

Asha whirled, throwing a dagger into the darkness. A startled gasp—a body hitting the floor.

She stepped closer, her heart steady, and found a young man clutching his throat, eyes wide with terror. He wasn't a soldier, just a scribe—one of Dain's many informants.

Asha knelt beside him. "Where is he?" she asked softly.

The man tried to speak, but the blood in his throat made it impossible. His hand twitched, reaching toward the bookshelf.

Asha understood. She pressed a gloved hand over his mouth, silencing his final gasps, then stood.

The bookshelf.

She ran her hands along the wood, feeling for anything unusual. There—a faint indentation near the side. She pressed it.

A section of the shelf slid back, revealing a narrow passage.

Asha slipped inside.

The tunnel was cramped, winding downward beneath the city streets. The walls dripped with moisture, the air thick with damp earth. She moved quickly, following the path until she reached a heavy wooden door at the end.

She didn't hesitate.

With a sharp kick, the door burst open.

Inside, by the glow of a single lantern, Master Dain sat at a desk, writing.

He did not startle. Did not flinch.

He simply sighed and set his quill down.

"I knew you'd come," he said, turning to face her. His sharp, intelligent eyes studied her, as if reading the years of pain in her expression. "It was only a matter of time."

Asha stepped forward, daggers drawn. "You don't seem surprised."

Dain smirked. "I make it my business to know things." He gestured at the papers before him. "I even wrote down the many ways you might kill me. Seems I was right about this one."

Asha didn't waste words. She lunged.

Dain dodged, faster than she expected. He wasn't just a schemer—he was trained.

He grabbed a short blade from his desk and slashed at her, forcing her to leap back. He was older, but experience made up for it. He fought with precision, never wasting a movement.

But Asha had fought men like him before.

She let him press forward, feigning weakness, letting him believe he had control. Then, when he overextended, she struck.

Her dagger cut deep into his side.

Dain staggered, gripping the wound, but he still smiled. "Good. You learned."

Asha drove the blade into his chest.

Dain gasped, blood staining his lips. "Tell me, girl. Was it worth it?"

Asha met his gaze. "Yes."

And then she twisted the knife.

Dain exhaled sharply, his body sagging. The life faded from his eyes.

Asha let go of the blade, stepping back as he slumped over his desk, blood pooling over the maps and secrets he had spent a lifetime gathering.

It was done.

The last name on her list.

She turned away, wiping her blades clean, and walked back into the night.

For the first time in years, she was free.