Viktor's Wrath

Lana stood at the edge of the street, the cold wind of Branwyke rustling her tattered shawl. Her eyes were vacant, confused, yet calm. Behind her, Kaavi lowered his hand slowly, the subtle energy of his mind withdrawing from hers like waves retreating from the shore.

"She won't remember anything," he said, his voice low.

Joren, Viktor, Gavril, and the rest of the Hallow Swords stood in the shade of Renn's courtyard, watching silently. Lana blinked once, adjusted the shawl on her shoulders, and turned, unaware of what had just transpired. She resumed her slow, uncertain walk toward the market district.

Kaavi's raven circled overhead, then tilted into a gentle dive, following her from a safe distance.

They spent the rest of that day and the entirety of the next in waiting.

Kaavi remained inside Renn's house, but his mind was far from it. Through the eyes of his raven, he moved with Lana across the city from crowded cobblestone lanes to quiet, forgotten alleys. He watched as she stopped at a bakery, handed over a few coins for a loaf of bread, and placed the rest in the pocket of an elderly beggar who never saw her face.

He watched her pause near the edge of the orphan's quarter, where crumbling walls and torn laundry painted the air with quiet desolation. A group of children skinny, barefoot, and with wild eyes rushed to her with familiarity, not fear. She knelt down slowly, her shawl slipping from her head, revealing strands of uncombed hair streaked with dust and cold.

From her satchel, she produced small pieces of flatbread wrapped in cloth, handing them out with a tenderness that made Kaavi's raven shift in silence. Her fingers trembled not just from the chill but from exhaustion and ache the kind that took root in the soul. She touched each child's cheek or hair gently, as if seeking in their faces a glimpse of her own son. Her smile wavered between warmth and heartbreak, and when the last piece was given, she sat back on her heels, eyes scanning the group with quiet desperation.

Kaavi felt it all the ache buried beneath her smile, the silent plea in her eyes, and the way she lingered even after the children had scattered, hoping one face might turn around and call her "Mama."

"She's grieving," Kaavi murmured to himself as the raven perched above, unseen. "Trying to ease her pain by lessening others'."

Veyl, seated nearby in silence, glanced at him. "You can see all that through the bird?"

Kaavi nodded faintly. "Yes," he said. "Only because the raven is part of me now. Our minds are joined."

Veyl said nothing more. But he watched.

By the second evening, the moon was absent from the sky. The city was cast in a deeper shade of darkness.

Kaavi stood by the shuttered window, eyes glazed, mind tethered to the raven now perched in the beams above Lana's home. Her candle was lit. She sat alone, spine hunched, hands wrapped around a chipped cup of broth.

She rocked slowly.

A knock came.

Lana jumped. The cup fell from her hands and shattered. She stumbled to the door with trembling fingers and unlatched it.

A figure stepped inside.

Kaavi focused.

The man wore a hooded cloak, soaked from the drizzle outside. His voice was low and sharp.

"Speak. Were you watched?"

Lana shook her head, breath catching. "No. I…I did everything… Please… I need to know. Is he safe?"

The man said nothing.

Lana's knees gave out and she dropped to the floor. "You said you'd let me see him if I did as you asked. I've done everything. I've told you everything you asked for. Please, I can't…I can't bear not knowing."

Kaavi's breath slowed, his eyes narrowing through the raven's vision. No emotion surfaced, but he felt a dull weight settle somewhere behind his ribs, a quiet recognition of pain he could never allow himself to show.

The man knelt beside Lana, not out of pity, but to loom closer, to remind her of his hold. "You'll see him when we say.

Not before."

"Just tell me he's alive."

A pause. "He is."

Lana let out a muffled sob, her forehead pressed to the cold floorboards, her shoulders trembling.

 "You were late delivering the last names. That won't be overlooked."

Lana's breath caught. She bowed her head quickly, as if by sheer submission she could erase her mistake.

"I…I had to wait until the patrol passed. I couldn't risk leading them to…"

"I do not want excuses," he cut in. "But for now, it's accepted. Because of the child."

She stared up at him, hope flickering for just a heartbeat.

"I've left a list in the stove's ashpan," he added, tone flat. "You'll memorize the names and burn it. No one else sees it. Next time we speak, you'll have updates. Understand?"

Lana nodded mutely; lips pressed tight to keep the sob from escaping.

He paused near the door, gaze cold and unreadable. "Failure will not be forgiven twice."

Then he turned and slipped into the night his presence vanishing like smoke into the wind, but his threat lingering like frost in the air.

Kaavi's voice rang inside the minds.

"He's leaving. North alley. Shadowed cloak. Scar over left cheek. Joren take Gavril and Corren. Cut him off. The rest, stay ready in case he bolts."

Viktor blinked and pressed against the wall; His pulse quickened.

Joren, already moving, led Gavril and Corren through the winding lanes. The cloaked figure moved fast, clearly trained but not as careful.

Corren rounded ahead, sprinting like a shadow through the darkened market stalls.

Joren flanked him from the right. Gavril cut across from the left, boots thudding as he burst from a side street.

"Now!" Joren shouted.

The man dashed for an opening but Gavril threw his weight, slamming into him. They both tumbled to the ground.

The man kicked and twisted, throwing a blade into the dark but Corren was faster, knocking it aside and wrenching the arm back.

"Enough!" Gavril snarled. He struck the man twice in the gut, then once across the jaw. The man went limp with a groan.

Gavril stood, wiping blood from his knuckles. "He'll be much more cooperative now."

Joren exhaled, pulling a cloth to tie the prisoner's hands. "Let's hope he can still talk."

Kaavi's voice returned. Bring him back. We don't have much time.

As they dragged the prisoner back through the shadows of Branwyke, Viktor watched in silence, heart thudding not with fear, but with understanding.

War wasn't just blood and blades. It was the quiet pain of mothers, the ripple of grief, and the poison of control.

And this… this was only the beginning.