The Fang In The Circle
677 Words
The morning sun broke over the district barracks in a pale wash of gold, but Kenneth barely noticed it. He had woken early—long before the training horns blew—and sat at the edge of his quarters with the black feather sealed in the containment tube beside him. It hadn’t changed. It pulsed with no aura, leaked no scent. But something about it gnawed at his instincts like a low growl just beneath hearing.
By the time the investigation briefing began, Kenneth was already in the chamber.
Commander Thorne stood at the center of the war room, his cloak folded neatly across his chest as more officers filed in. The air was heavy with restrained energy—knights still whispering about Kenneth’s fight with the commander days earlier, and now murmuring about the forbidden ritual.
Kenneth stood at the edge, silent.
A low whistle blew. Silence fell.
Thorne spoke. "We've confirmed the ritual attempted in our district was part of a larger pattern—three similar runic residues have been found in neighboring districts. All faint. All abandoned. All prepped for sacrifice. This one was simply the first to be caught in time."
A rustle moved through the room.
Someone muttered, "So it wasn’t isolated..."
Another added, "A network?"
Elias Sorne, standing by the blackboard, drew out a map. "I believe they were preparing a pentagram. A large one—stretching over at least five districts. This would’ve taken years to plan. Maybe decades."
"And how many were involved?" a female knight asked.
Elias shook his head. "Hard to say. But the Ashvein signature was buried beneath layers of magical obfuscation. That’s no small feat. We’re dealing with old blood magic. And someone who understands how to hide it from us."
Kenneth finally spoke.
"The boy said he saw a ring. Black circle. Silver fang. Did anyone find a match?"
"No official records," Elias replied. "But I cross-referenced unofficial reports, outlawed mercenary groups, fringe cultist insignias. One report—fifteen years old—mentions a wandering sorcerer sighted in the Veilmar Marshes wearing a silver fang ring."
"And?"
"He vanished after murdering a noble house that tried to hire him. Left no trace. The body count matched forbidden spell usage."
Kenneth folded his arms. "Where did that report come from?"
"An old field knight. Vaelrick’s brother. Killed three days later in what they called a beast attack."
Kenneth’s eyes narrowed.
Thorne turned to the group. "No one moves without my order. For now, this investigation remains closed to outsiders. No whispers. No letters. No records that leave this room."
"And what of the black feather?" Kenneth asked. "It was in my quarters."
Thorne raised an eyebrow. "You’re sure?"
Kenneth nodded. "It wasn’t from any bird. It was planted."
Elias added quietly, "There’s a witchcraft symbol known as the Raven’s Eye. It’s used as a calling card. A way of saying: I see you."
A pause settled over the room.
Kenneth said nothing more.
When the meeting adjourned, Kenneth remained behind with Elias, who approached him slowly.
"You’re not just a soldier anymore, are you?" Elias asked, voice low. "You’re something... more."
Kenneth didn’t answer.
Elias handed him a small sigil stone. "If you ever find that feather again, or anything like it, burn this. It’ll send a flare that I can track from any warded district."
Kenneth took it silently.
As the day wore on, Kenneth visited Tamric again. The boy was recovering, slowly, though the healers claimed his dreams were plagued by shadowy figures and disembodied whispers. He always awoke screaming.
Kenneth sat beside his bed, watching him sleep. Then whispered, "You were brave."
Tamric stirred, but did not wake.
That night, Kenneth returned to his room and stared at the glass tube that held the feather.
He opened his notebook, added a sketch of the silver fang ring beside the Ashvein runes, and drew five intersecting circles.
He didn’t know why—but something inside told him this wasn’t about blood alone.
It was about him.
And someone was making their move.
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- Writer
