The Ashen Blades weren’t a sect. Not really. They were the remnants of one, a dying group clinging to the bones of old glory.
Their gates leaned inward, the once-proud banners now gray and frayed. The courtyard smelled faintly of rust and smoke.
Aelira glanced around, unimpressed. “You’re joking.”
Kael stepped past her, hood drawn low. “No. This will do.”
“This?” She gestured at the cracked statues and half-trained disciples sparring with dull blades. “You’re hiding in a graveyard.”
“That’s the point.”
A young man spotted them and hurried forward. “New recruits?” He looked Kael over, taking in the plain clothes and the faint scar near his wrist where the sigil still faintly pulsed. “You don’t look like much.”
Kael met his gaze. “Good. Keep thinking that.”
The boy blinked, unsure if
