Chapter 5 – Blades in the Dark
1397 Words
The night returned like a scar — deep, familiar, and throbbing with secrets.
By the time darkness fell over the valley, Kael and Lyria had taken refuge in the old hunter’s cabin that stood near the edge of the broken forest. The air was sharp with pine and damp wood. A storm gathered on the horizon, clouds bruised and heavy with rain.
Kael sat near the dying fire, flexing his hands — still raw where the claws had torn through moments of battle. He could almost feel the wolf’s breath still lingering beneath his skin, restless and caged.
Lyria lay on the cot, pale but breathing easier. Her wound had sealed faster than any normal human’s, the silver veins around it glowing faintly before dimming again.
“You haven’t said much,” Kael murmured, watching the flames.
She stirred, eyes flicking toward him. “And you’ve asked too little.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe I’ve learned not to trust answers.”
A soft silence followed. Outside, the wind hissed through the trees, whispering in tongues older than their world.
Lyria’s voice was quiet, almost fragile. “They’ll come for you tonight.”
Kael looked up. “The pack?”
“No.” Her silver eyes met his. “Assassins from the Moon Temple. They move under silence and prayer. Their blades are forged from lunar metal — it drinks blood and memory alike. Once it cuts, it erases who you are.”
He frowned. “They erase memory?”
“Yes. That’s how the priestesses cleanse heretics. You’ll die without even knowing your own name.”
Kael exhaled, steadying his heart. “Then I’ll make sure they don’t get close enough.”
The storm broke an hour later.
Rain slashed through the forest, wind howling against the cabin walls. The world beyond was all shadow and flicker — each lightning strike painting the trees in ghostly white.
Kael stood by the doorway, the dull dagger in hand, his senses open. The wolf within him stirred like a whisper behind glass.
“They’re here.”
The voice came not as sound, but as a pulse in his blood. Kael’s vision sharpened instantly — every raindrop, every heartbeat in the forest beyond became clear.
And then, he saw them.
Three figures, cloaked and masked, moving between the trees. No sound, no scent — even the rain seemed to avoid them. Only the faint gleam of their curved blades betrayed them.
Kael whispered over his shoulder, “Lyria. Stay down.”
She rose, weak but alert. “You can’t face them alone.”
“I’m not alone,” he said, eyes hardening. “Not anymore.”
The door burst open.
Two blades sliced through the air, aimed at his throat and heart. Kael moved without thought — body twisting, hands catching both wrists mid-strike. The impact burned through his arms, but his reflexes were faster than any human’s.
With a guttural growl, he shoved one assassin backward, twisting the other’s arm until bone cracked. The masked figure didn’t scream — just moved like a machine, striking again with their off-hand.
Kael ducked, elbowed the assassin’s ribs, and drove him into the wall. The wooden boards splintered.
Another shape appeared behind him — silent as fog. A blade swept low. Kael spun, but too late — the edge sliced across his shoulder.
Pain flared, bright and cold. His blood hit the floor, smoking faintly where it landed.
The assassin stepped back, watching the silver threads pulse through the wound. “The mark lives,” a distorted voice whispered. “He is the vessel.”
Kael’s eyes darkened. “Then your goddess sent you to the wrong grave.”
The wolf surged.
The mark on his wrist flared again, spilling shadows across his skin. His veins glowed faintly beneath the surface, and his irises bled from gray into a gleam of silver fire.
Time slowed.
The rain outside became drops suspended midair. Kael could see each assassin’s next movement before it came — the shift of muscle, the tightening grip, the pull of breath before the strike.
He moved like wind. Bare-handed, he caught a descending blade, twisted it free, and slammed the hilt into its wielder’s jaw. Another swung low; Kael kicked him backward, snapping ribs with the force.
Every strike felt guided — instinct sharper than thought. It wasn’t the wolf taking over this time; it was something older, something precise.
“You were a warrior once,” the voice murmured within him. “Before they sealed you away.”
Kael gritted his teeth, slamming his elbow into the last assassin’s throat. The figure crumpled to the ground, gasping through the broken mask.
“Who sent you?” Kael demanded.
The assassin looked up — eyes black and unfocused. “We… serve… the light…”
Lyria stepped forward then, voice cutting through the storm. “The Moon Temple’s order. They’re trying to purge what you’ve awakened.”
Kael turned, breathing hard. “And you knew they’d come.”
“I warned you,” she said softly. “The moment you opened the Gate, you became the bridge between realms. They fear you more than they fear the darkness beyond it.”
Another lightning flash illuminated her face — calm, sorrowful, and determined.
Kael stared at the bodies on the floor. “They’ll send more.”
“Yes,” she said. “And stronger ones next time.”
He cleaned the blood from his arm with what cloth remained, wincing as the wound hissed against the air. “You said the blades erase memory. Why am I still me?”
“Because your blood isn’t mortal,” Lyria replied. “The curse you carry — it shields you from divine touch. Their goddess can’t reach what she exiled.”
Kael sank onto the bench, exhaustion finally catching up to him. “So I’m trapped between both worlds. Not man, not beast, not divine.”
Lyria’s gaze softened. “No. You’re something neither side expected to survive.”
The rain outside began to ease, turning to a soft drizzle.
For a long moment, they said nothing. Only the faint crackle of the fire remained.
Finally, Kael looked at her. “Why did you come for me, Lyria? You could have let me die in the mist.”
She hesitated — then spoke quietly. “Because you saved me once, long ago. You just don’t remember.”
Kael frowned. “I would have remembered you.”
Her lips trembled in a bittersweet smile. “Not if the gods erased that life from you.”
Thunder rumbled far away. The forest outside breathed again, the mist shifting. Kael stood, staring out into the night. He could still feel eyes watching from beyond the trees — not mortal eyes, but something ancient.
The air tasted different now — charged with magic, but also with promise.
“The Gate opens wider with every life spilled in your name,” the inner voice warned. “The Realms hunger.”
Kael closed his eyes. “Then I’ll make them choke on their hunger.”
When he turned back, Lyria was watching him closely, her silver eyes reflecting the firelight like twin moons.
“You can’t fight what’s coming with rage alone,” she said softly. “You’ll need control.”
He raised a brow. “You offering to teach me?”
“Yes,” she said. “If you’ll trust me long enough to survive it.”
Kael gave a low, humorless laugh. “Trust died in me years ago.”
“Then let’s see if it can be reborn,” Lyria replied, standing slowly.
Outside, the last of the assassins’ bodies dissolved into mist — their forms fading like memory undone. Only the smell of rain and steel remained.
Kael stared into the distance, the faint light of dawn barely touching the horizon. Somewhere beyond, he could hear wolves howling — not his pack, but something older answering the Blood Moon’s call.
He flexed his hands, still raw, still trembling. The wolf within him was quiet again, but its hunger lingered.
For the first time, he realized he wasn’t afraid of it.
He whispered into the morning air, “If they want a monster… I’ll show them one.”
Lyria’s voice came from behind him, steady and certain. “Then we begin at first light.”
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