Viktor's Wrath

The snow was thin here, but the wind sharper. On the ridge above the Vale of Whitehold, the group stood in silence beneath the shivering trees. From this distance, the city looked carved into the land itself...stone walls rising like ribs from a flattened hilltop, with towers flanking its four gates and slate roofs dense within its centre.

Whitehold had always been a fortress. But now, it looked still.

Joren crouched near the ledge, brushing aside a patch of snow as he adjusted the spyglass Kaavi handed him. He scanned the western section, where the old watchtower leaned slightly. The city's outer torch posts flickered in unison.

Kaavi knelt beside him, one palm resting on the earth. His expression hadn't shifted since they arrived, but Viktor could tell he was watching…feeling something.

"Something's off," Joren said, passing the spyglass to Kaavi. "Guards aren't rotating. Same man's been on the eastern rampart since we arrived. Should've switched twice by now."

Kaavi didn't answer. He closed his eyes.

High above, circling unnoticed in the pale sky, a raven banked with the wind.

From its high vantage, the city stretched below like a painting half-frozen in time. Stone towers rose tall along the southern wall, their foundations buried in snowbanks that hadn't fully melted despite the season's turn.

The walls once symbols of protection, now carried a strange silence. Undisturbed.

From above, Kaavi studied more than just the shape of the city. He saw a blacksmith's shop still ringing with the sound of iron, a cluster of market stalls opening under the weight of morning frost, a child chasing a stray dog across an alley as a mother's voice called from behind.

Whitehold was alive.

And yet…beneath that life, something wrong pulsed.

Kaavi narrowed the raven's vision. Guards moved stiffly along the wall, their steps too even. No small gestures, no idle mutters. Just rigid movements. When they turned corners, it was with precision. When they spoke, it was with delay, and they were repeating words already spoken elsewhere.

"Controlled," Kaavi murmured to himself. "More puppets."

He pushed the raven farther…toward the inner courtyard of the keep. No extra patrols. Just routine and silence, too perfect to be real.

Kaavi's eyes opened. He blinked once to settle himself, the chill of the wind inside the bird's wings still lingering in his bones.

The others were quiet, waiting. Tension hung in the air like a blade yet to fall.

Joren turned to him. "What did you see?"

Kaavi's gaze drifted toward the treeline. "The city is intact. Alive, on the surface. Citizens are going about their lives. No signs of a struggle, no damage. And yet…Whitehold has already fallen."

Liran furrowed his brow. "But you said the people..."

"They're unaware," Kaavi said calmly. "The Maw didn't conquer with force. I think they are replacing guards, soldiers... one by one. There are no signs of leadership in sight. Whoever commands them isn't present. Or isn't obvious."

Tannic rubbed a gloved hand across his chin. "Puppets. Like the one we captured?"

Kaavi nodded. "Yes, but more refined."

Corren spoke next, voice measured. "Then infiltration is possible. No chaos inside means no alarms raised. But we'll be moving through a place full of creatures who feel no fear or fatigue."

"We have to move in silence," Joren said. "Get in, cut the veins, and vanish before they know they're bleeding."

Kaavi nodded, glancing at him. "Agreed. No direct conflict unless absolutely necessary. Any show of force could cause panic...not just among them, but the citizens. We cannot risk turning the people into puppets."

Kaavi rose and stepped back from the ledge. His raven flew higher, circling once more before fading into the clouds.

Gavril let out a low breath. "Then there won't be help coming from inside."

"Was never counting on it," Joren replied. "We still have to go. This doesn't change anything."

Kaavi nodded.

Joren unfurled a map.

"This path," Joren said, pointing toward a northern access tunnel. "An old mining route. Half-collapsed, but it cuts beneath the city's outer wall. If we can get through, we'll end up near the south warehouse district."

He leaned forward, brushing snow from the edge of the map. "If we move fast and stay hidden, we could reach there without anyone noticing."

Corren glanced at Kaavi. "What about the guards?"

Kaavi looked toward the city. "The guards are moving with no reaction to light or noise. That means they aren't watching. They're listening or responding to command. If we stay outside their pattern, we'll be invisible."

"And if we step inside it?" Gavril asked.

"Then they'll know exactly where we are, the puppets are all connected and operate on a hive-like command structure, so it is better to avoid them." Kaavi replied.

The Hallow swords gave curt nods. No objections. No wasted words.

"Then we move at nightfall," Joren finished.

As the group returned to preparing supplies, Viktor was watching, trying to absorb every word. His fingers brushed the hilt of the small knife he now carried on his belt.

"You hold it wrong," Veyl said, suddenly beside him.

Viktor blinked. "What?"

"The grip," Veyl said plainly, stepping closer. "If someone rushes you, you'll drop it or get it turned against you."

He didn't speak in mockery…just fact. Viktor tensed, then offered the knife.

Veyl took it and turned it in his hand. "Like this. Thumb here, blade low, elbow slightly bent."

He returned it to Viktor. "Try."

Viktor copied the stance. It wasn't perfect, but the difference was clear.

"Good. Now again."

They repeated it twice. Then three more times. Each time, Veyl quietly adjusted him...angle, pressure, grip.

Viktor adjusted his grip again, copying the angle Veyl had just shown him.

"Better," Veyl said. "Now, I'll show you something simple. One move. It won't win you a fight."

He stepped forward and held up a stick, pointing it like a blade. "If they come at you, don't swing wild. That's what gets people killed. You angle your knife low and slash upward-toward the ribs or arm, just enough to make space."

Viktor watched once. Then nodded.

"Try."

Viktor mirrored the motion, slow but deliberate.

"No," Veyl said quietly. "Too wide. Again."

Viktor narrowed the angle, repeating the upward cut.

"Closer."

Again.

On the third try, the movement was sharper. Controlled.

Veyl gave the faintest nod. "Good. You'll still die if you hesitate."

Viktor remained where he was for a moment, then repeated the move again, alone...quiet, steady, and just a little faster.

After a while, Veyl stepped back and watched Viktor go through the motions on his own.

Inwardly, Veyl was surprised. For a boy his age, Viktor learned fast. Not flawless. But he listened. And he corrected himself without needing to be told twice.

Veyl didn't say anything. He just nodded once and returned to his place in the circle.

Evening settled gently around them. The group remained low, surrounded by snow-laced trees and shadows. Plans were set. Movements mapped. And in the growing dark, the city of Whitehold gleamed cold and indifferent in the distance…its gates shut, its secrets buried behind stone and silence.