A man stepped out from the shadows, blade flashing in the dim light as he pressed it against Viktor’s throat. Viktor’s breath caught, his instincts flaring, but recognition cut through the alarm.

  “Voralis?”

  The blade vanished in an instant, replaced by the firm grip of Voralis’s arms pulling him into an embrace. His voice was tight with relief. “I feared the worst. How did you manage to escape?”

  Viktor shook his head, still processing. “We just got back.”

  Voralis pulled back, eyes scanning Viktor as if checking for wounds. “So much for not dallying,” he muttered, shaking his head with a wry smile. “I suppose it’s good you didn’t listen to me.”

  Viktor wasn’t in the mood for banter. His grip tightened on Voralis’ shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  Voralis’s expression darkened. “The Hollow Hand hit the Cipher. Not just here—across the entire city.”

  Viktor’s stomach turned to ice. “The whole city?”

  “I was at the archives when they struck,” Voralis continued. “I barely made it out. I came straight here, hoping to find you boys.”

  Viktor’s mind raced. “Mikos. Gavric. Cadugan. The recruits. Do you know if—”

  Voralis hesitated. That pause said more than any answer could. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, voice weighed down with dread. “But I suspect most of them… probably didn’t make it.”

  A heavy silence settled. Then Soren, who had been standing slightly apart, took a step forward, shaking his head in disbelief. “No. No way. The Hollow Hand doesn’t have that kind of strength. They’d be crushed if they tried to take on the Cipher head-on. This doesn’t make sense.”

  Arelos, arms crossed, interjected. “They’ve been preparing for a long time. Recruiting like mad for nearly two years. Stockpiling body serums, weapons, supplies. We knew they were planning something, but this?” He exhaled sharply. “This is bolder than we anticipated.”

  Voralis gave a grim nod. “There’s a reason for that. They’ve got backup.”

  Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “Backup?”

  Arelos’s jaw tightened. “The northern threat?”

  Voralis confirmed it with a single grave nod.

  Soren looked between them, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Okay, I keep hearing that name thrown around, but no one’s given me a straight answer. What the hell is the northern threat?”

  Voralis’s expression was grim. “About two years ago, an unknown mage appeared in the northern border cities. He made a name for himself by essentially waging war against the underworld. He systematically either took control or outright crushed one guild after another. By the time the dust settled, every criminal faction in those cities answered to him, whether they liked it or not. We got reports yesterday that he was making his way toward Lycona. We assumed we had more time."

  Arelos turned sharply to Voralis, eyes narrowing. "Are you saying that the mage is in Lycona right now?"

  Voralis met his gaze with a grim nod. "I'm saying that the mage is here in the orphanage right now."

  The room tensed at his words. Viktor, who had been frowning in deep thought, exhaled sharply. "Maybe that's the presence I felt earlier?" he muttered, half to himself.

  Jax shot him a look. "Presence? What presence?"

  Viktor hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know... just something felt off. Like a pressure I couldn't quite place."

  Voralis didn't let the comment slide. "Then why the hell was I able to ambush you when you entered the training hall? Aren't you using your abilities?"

  Viktor tensed under the scrutiny. "I did. I swear I did. The place was empty, I don't know…"

  Voralis' expression hardened. "I only entered the hall only a few minutes ago. Either way, that's no excuse. We use the tools we have, and you’ve got a damn powerful one you're wasting. Stop being an idiot, Vik."

  Viktor clenched his jaw, reluctant but unable to argue. "You're right," he admitted, albeit grudgingly. "It's just... I don’t always think about it. It takes effort, and I figured the coast was still clear."

  Voralis waved a dismissive hand. "What's done is done. We need to focus on what comes next."

  "Which is?" Soren asked, watching him carefully.

  Voralis scanned the group before answering. "We're leaving Lycona."

  That got a reaction.

  Viktor's brow furrowed. "To go where?"

  "The capital," Voralis replied bluntly.

  Viktor scoffed. "Why the capital?"

  Voralis exhaled, as if bracing himself. "Because that's where Faros and the guild’s stronghold is."

  Viktor's hands curled into fists. "What about our people here? In Lycona? We can't just abandon them!"

  Voralis let out a short, bitter laugh. "What people, Vik? They either got away and are thinking the same thing as us, or they’re already dead."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Viktor's jaw tightened. "You don’t know that."

  Soren spoke up, his voice cautious. "How bad was it at the archive, truly?"

  Voralis hesitated, then sighed. "We didn’t stand a chance. Most of the analysts aren’t fighters."

  Arelos' expression darkened. "Endric?"

  The room fell silent. Voralis looked down for a moment before meeting Arelos’ gaze. "I’m sorry, Arelos. He didn’t make it."

  Arelos gave a single nod, swallowing hard.

  Viktor’s shoulders tightened. "We can't just run. We have to do something. They need to pay for this."

  Voralis locked eyes with him. "Viktor, I've counted at least a dozen men. Probably more inside. And look at us—we're seven people with varying combat abilities and barely any decent gear. You really think we stand a chance?"

  Viktor gestured to Voralis’ belt. "You’ve got serums."

  Voralis pulled his coat aside, revealing three red vials secured in leather loops. "I've got three doses. And I'm the only one here who knows how to fight effectively under the serum’s effects. Meanwhile, whatever they've cooked up is leagues beyond what we’re working with."

  Viktor's expression hardened. "You've got me."

  Jax let out a short bark of laughter. "Come on, Vik. No offense, but what difference is that gonna make? You’re decent at hand-to-hand, sure, but you’re not even the best fighter here."

  Voralis nodded in agreement. "And they’ve got a mage. A powerful one, if our reports are accurate."

  Voralis turned to Arelos, giving him a slight nod. Arelos understood immediately. He stepped forward and rested a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. "Vik, I get it. I do. But based on what I know about this foe, this is not a fight we want to pick. We need to fall back while we still can."

  Mira, silent until now, took Viktor’s hand. "Come on, Vik. I want to get out of here."

  Viktor’s fingers flexed under her grip. He ground his teeth but eventually exhaled, slumping slightly. "I just don’t feel right leaving them behind."

  Voralis' voice softened, just a little. "I know, Viktor. But even if some are still alive, we don’t have the strength to help them. And if we die here, that helps no one."

  The room went quiet again. This time, the silence felt heavier, suffocating.

  Jax let out a long breath, shaking his head. "So what are we waiting for? Sitting around isn't gonna do us any favors. They've still got people patrolling."

  Voralis snapped back to the present. "Right. We grab what we can, then we move. Through the burrows, out the southern gate. It'll take us a week to reach the capital."

  "The headquarters in the eastern district?" Arelos asked, arms crossed.

  Voralis nodded. "Faros should be there. He can vouch for us."

  Arelos didn't look convinced. "That’s assuming they let us in."

  "The tattoos will get us at least a chance."

  Arelos exhaled through his nose. "Let’s hope so."

  Voralis clapped his hands together. "Alright. You all know what to grab. Move."

  The group dispersed toward the weapons rack. Most of the blades were dull, meant for training, but a few were sharp enough to be useful. Soren slung a crossbow over his shoulder and secured a quiver of bolts. Voralis gave him a nod of approval.

  Jax grumbled about leaving his stash of coins behind.

  Fenric muttered about wanting to retrieve his favorite mug.

  Once everyone was ready, Voralis did a final check. "We move quietly and quickly. Main entrance first, then we follow the winding path to the burrows. Keep the pace to a jog until we reach the gate. Once we're a few miles out, we slow to a brisk walk. After that, we take a break and reassess."

  He looked each of them in the eye. "Understood?"

  A series of nods.

  "Good. I'll take the lead. Take your positions. Keep your eyes and weapons ready. Now—move."

  Viktor stood behind Voralis, tense as ever in situations like these. His breath came slow and measured, his ears straining for any sound beyond the creaking door Voralis carefully pushed open. Then—

  A glint of steel. A sickening, wet sound.

  Voralis stiffened, a sharp gasp escaping his lips. A blade protruded from his chest, dark crimson dripping from its edge. His body sagged, folding silently to the ground. The light in his eyes flickered once—then was gone.

  For a moment, no one moved. No one even breathed.

  Then, a voice, dripping with amusement. "Well, that was easy."

  Greg.

  Viktor's head snapped up, his gaze locking onto the figure in the doorway. Greg stood there, grinning. Something was different about him—dark red veins pulsed down his neck like twisted roots, stark against his skin. An unnatural energy clung to him, wrong in ways Viktor couldn’t yet place.

  Greg barely spared them a glance before shouting over his shoulder, "I FOUND THEM!"

  The sound echoed through the orphanage like a death knell.

  Turning back to the group, Greg exhaled, stretching his arms as if warming up for a fight. "Maybe I can handle you lot myself now that I don’t have a blade pressed against my throat. Those serums..." He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. "They’re quite bitter, don’t you think?"

  No one responded.

  The tension in the room thickened like fog. Jax's grip tightened around his knife, but he didn’t move. Mira's breath hitched, barely audible. Arelos’ expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched near the hilt of his dagger.

  Greg’s gaze slid to Fenric. "You can talk now. And by the way, there’s nothing wrong with the name Greg."

  Viktor barely heard him.

  His mind was a storm, chaos swirling inside him. The sight of Voralis’ crumpled form, the blood pooling beneath him, turned something cold and sharp inside Viktor’s chest. His lips parted, and his voice, barely above a whisper, escaped.

  "You killed him."

  Greg’s smirk deepened. "Yeah… way to go stating the obvious, kid."

  Viktor’s breath shuddered. "But… I let you go."

  Greg gave a mockingly appreciative nod. "Uh, yeah. And I appreciate that. That was real nice of you."

  Silence stretched, suffocating.

  Viktor struggled to anchor himself to something—anything—but nothing solidified. Nothing made sense. His fingers curled, his nails digging into his palms.

  Then, quietly, a whisper in the void. "Waste… existence."

  Greg cocked his head. "What was that?"

  Viktor lifted his gaze. "You waste of an existence."

  Greg scoffed. "That’s no way to address your betters."

  Rage erupted inside Viktor, molten and uncontrollable. His body trembled with it. His breath came sharp and ragged.

  "YOU FUCKING WASTE OF AN EXISTENCE!"

  Greg chuckled, stepping forward. "Okay, time for me to shut you up."

  Then he stopped.

  His foot hovered an inch off the ground, suspended unnaturally mid-step. Confusion flickered across his face. He tried to move again. Nothing.

  His smirk wavered. "What? What is this?"

  Viktor’s right hand was raised, fingers twitching slightly. Greg’s body lurched upward, his boots scraping against the floor as they lifted, weightless.

  Greg’s composure shattered. "What… the fuck? Let me go."

  He clawed at the air, his limbs flailing, but the unseen force holding him was unrelenting. Viktor’s breathing had slowed—deep, measured, focused.

  "I spared you," he said softly.

  Greg struggled harder, his body twisting violently in midair. "What is this?!"

  He rose higher, now five feet above the ground. His breath hitched as he realized—he had no control. None.

  A new fear flashed in Greg’s eyes, raw and naked. "Plea—ple-please, let me go," he rasped, his throat constricting.

  Viktor’s gaze was stone. Unmoving. Unforgiving.

  His fingers tightened.

  Greg’s body jerked violently. His head snapped to the side, a sickening crack slicing through the air.

  The light left Greg’s eyes instantly.

  Viktor exhaled slowly, dropping his hand.

  Greg's lifeless body crumpled to the ground in a heap, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

  The room stood frozen.

  No one spoke.

  Jax’s knife trembled in his grip. Mira covered her mouth, eyes wide with something between awe and fear. Arelos took a slow step back, his gaze locked onto Viktor like he was seeing him for the first time.

  Fenric was the first to break the silence. "...Holy shit."

  Viktor turned away from Greg’s corpse, his shoulders rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths. He didn’t look at the others. Didn’t need to.

  Because something inside him had just changed.

  And there was no going back.