Mor-Ael gazed through the window in front of him, watching as the people on the street below moved slowly, oblivious to the tragedy that had befallen the Guild… And the whole city, perhaps.

The assassin shook his head silently. The simple folk… They wouldn’t care if their ruler changed or if one of Tarha-Nan’s key organizations was destroyed. Hell, if he was one of them… He would be fucking ignorant, too.

Anger bubbled within Mor-Ael, his facial features twisting. Hatred burned within him, combined with the feeling of overwhelming, crushing failure. He feared the possibility of the Guild being destroyed, but he hoped for the outcome to not be so severe. Only recently he saw the Great Master, missing both his legs and almost mindless in his obedience to the… Thirdborn.

The assassin cursed silently. He couldn’t fathom the real identity of the sorcerer yet, but he still managed to believe it. His teammates’ reactions weren’t much better than his own when the other guild members informed them. Rage, sadness, dull longing for vengeance… Emotions that were meaningless without actions.

Mor-Ael turned around and began to dress up in his familiar assassin's attire. The coat, the pants, the gloves – everything was engulfed in that greyish color, far too familiar for him. The guild’s color. Even the Great Master rarely wore something more vibrant than this dark, comforting palette. Now these clothes… They were devoid of meaning, too.

As the assassin equipped and hid his many daggers, needles and other weapons, he inspected his surrounding with hateful, dull eyes. The remaining members of the guild gave him this small room in an inn in a desperate attempt to hide him from Farnaraen. Other members of the guild that waited outside of Tarha-Nan were also scattered amongst secret chambers, taverns, basements and attics around the city, hiding from the Changeling. There were few meetings of the remaining assassins, but they yielded no results. Everyone wanted to wait out until everything was calm within the state.

But Mor-Ael couldn’t just lay low and torture his mind. He had to wander the streets, at least, but his goal wasn’t this simple and mindless. He wanted to collect information, whatever it would be. He longed to hear any little detail about the political situation, even if it came from the mouths of the commoners. There was an unpleasant kind of omen hanging over the city, and even the lowest of citizens sensed that something was wrong.

Mor-Ael could feel this undefined nervousness as he exited the inn and traversed the streets. His 'uniform' was concealed by a brown, ordinary linen cloak. A hood obscured his face, casting deep shadows over it. He wasn't any different than the many suspicious silhouettes lurking around during the day… and killing mercilessly during the night.

Actually… That wasn’t too far from the truth. Since he arrived in Tarha-Nan, he murdered well over a dozen people in the darkness' comfortable embrace. The night in the city wasn’t the same as in the forest. He was the predator here, hunting down his enemies with precision and coldness.

Those falling under his blade were traitors, spies, underlings of the Thirdborn… And members of his own guild. Other assassins told him that a small number of their comrades became Farnaraen’s servants returning to the city. Fortunately, they provided him with names.

Nobody knew about these quiet, calculated murders he carried out over the course of the last few days. His targets were spineless, meek, traitorous… They didn't deserve to live. And they easily died from Mor-Ael’s sudden blows, poisonous blades and magical artifacts. The assassin thought that seeking them out and dealing with them was just a little favor for the guild. And he felt obliged to do it.

Today the assassin planned to slay another of those miserable betrayers. He had more than enough time to seek one of them out. Dusk was still far away, and the city… Sometimes it proved to be too small for someone to hide from Mor-Ael.

***

Farnaraen stood atop a roof, cloaked in an optical illusion – a simple thing made with delicately used Manipulation. One could stand right next to the Changeling and yet he wouldn’t be able to see him.

The Thirdborn watched the maze of streets below, waiting in silence for something to happen.

There were killings going on. His servants - and especially those from the Assassins' Guild - were being slain one by one by some unknown figure, and he had to take measures against that.

“If I knew how troubling the path of changing fate is…” thought Farnaraen bitterly and shook his head. He had to achieve it, no matter what. Small troubles such as this one were mere annoyances in his way.

One of the Changeling’s agents – previously an elite assassin of the organization that he had singlehandedly destroyed – waited in one of the rooms below his feet. All of his other underlings hid inside the king’s palace. The Thirdborn was sure that the unknown attacker would strike again tonight, and he left only one choice for the troubling murderer. Ambushing and killing him was a necessity… Farnaraen had enough annoyances on his head already to let that one slip by.

The city around the Thirdborn was slowly being covered by the veil of darkness that steadily descended upon it. The Changeling felt comfortable this way, just observing from the side, hidden by his magic. He could enjoy such calm, quiet moments less and less after he arrived in Tarha-Nan and began the mad game to take control over the Union of City States. It was a hard, risky gamble with power and time, but he had to do it. The Lake of Broken Chains… It showed him the opposite. It showed him a future where he ignored the Outer Fantasy completely. And he had to act against most things foretold by the Lake, even if he didn’t like it. That was the only way to prevent the event, whatever it could be… A war, perhaps? Or something like the Ascension Crisis?

Farnaraen stayed lost in his thoughts and somewhat distanced from the surroundings. And yet his senses were sharper than a brand new blade.

The Changeling kept his position as the gentle reddish rays of the moon filled the skies and shone upon him.

***

“It’s fucking ridiculous”, thought Mor-Ael as he traversed the fastly emptying streets in a semi-quick pace. He had many ways to acquire information, and although a lot of his providers were afraid after the Guild's slaughter, they still gathered precious knowledge… For higher than the usual price, of course. All of them could locate only one traitor today, and that was somewhat weird. Usually there were half a dozen of them lurking around every night, although he never dared to kill more than a couple at a time.

Maybe someone was trying to ambush him?

Mor-Ael shook his head. He wouldn’t be seen if he was careful enough, even if there was a pack of steel-clad knights waiting for him. And he didn’t want to return to the cold, plain room of the inn, filled with loneliness and the unpleasant thoughts that it effortlessly managed to invoke within him. Perhaps, if his dagger tasted some blood tonight, he could sleep in peace.

His sources told him that the former guild member owned a room at a building in one of Tarha-Nan’s poorer districts. He was supposed to be there right now, having a meeting with some thugs. The purpose of that meeting? Nobody knew, but it didn’t matter to Mor-Ael. He was more than happy to slit the throat of any bastard that got in his way.

Finding the particular building wasn’t hard. The assassin was familiar with the layout of the whole city, and the directions given to him were fairly detailed. As he walked faster and faster, the air around him became colder. The details of the environment started to get lost in the creeping darkness, while less and less people could be seen on the streets. Most of them looked as shady and suspicious as Mor-Ael, if not even more so. Covered in cloak and nicely merging with the newborn night, some of them were guild members, undoubtedly.

When he reached the location, the district around Mor-Ael was already empty and silent. Who knew what could be going on in the buildings around him… Killings, prostitution, the trade of drugs and weapons – all those things were common sight in the poor parts of the city. Still, most of these crimes were kept behind closed doors.

The building in which the traitor resided was lying before the assassin’s gaze, most of its windows tightly shut. From one of them – located on the third floor – shone a faint light, probably emitted by candles. That had to be the traitor’s lair. The third floor from the left side of the place, the information dealers told Mor-Ael.

The assassin turned around, went into one of the side alleys and was soon climbing the wall of a nearby house.

***

Just when Farnaraen thought that the little troublemaker wouldn’t show up, something moved on a nearby roof.

The Changeling turned his head and was greeted with the sight of a cloaked man squatting on the stone slabs of a house just two dozen steps away from his position. The Thirdborn immediately Manipulated the sound waves around him and thickened the illusion engulfing his body. A faint smile bloomed on his face. For all intents and purposes, he was now completely invisible and inaudible.

Farnaraen watched as the man lurked around and gazed continuously at the room right below him. He looked absorbed in this activity, but kept being cautious, throwing numerous glances at his surroundings. His way of doing things was sleek and professional. The Thirdborn frowned. Another fine man had to die because of opposing him. A bitter sensation emerged within his gut. This... Assassin, by the looks of it, could've been one of his own comrades. A deep sigh escaped the Changeling's lips.

He continued to stand and stare as the man disappeared from the roof and soon emerged on the street down below. Before the Changeling could even blink, he had already entered the building by burning its door to ashes with a Destruction spell.

Was he a magician? No... Farnaraen felt a hidden artifact activating upon the stranger's body.

"Well, this can prove to be interesting."

***

Mor-Ael entered through the front door of the traitor's room after inspecting it through the lock for several minutes. It looked like the man was alone, despite the rumors about a meeting.

The assassin went in with a bang, opening the door with a kick that swung it right open. He threw a couple of quick glances at the sides of the place and then jumped forwards, aiming at the betrayer's throat. One of his daggers emerged from his sleeve. Its polished blade bathed in the light of the few candles illuminating the room.

But the weapon didn't manage to reach its target.

Something... Paralyzed him. His muscles stopped working, and he crumbled down to the floor. Meanwhile the damned traitor just stood there. His eyes were wide and fearful. But not shocked. Paralyzing magic... Concentrated shockwaves rippling through his body and turning his flesh into a soft, useless substance. It was painful, but not unbearable.

Nobody in the guild possesed artifacts of such nature and level of power, as far as Mor-Ael was aware. Was something of greater power at play here? A magician?

The assassin cursed himself as a familiar voice sounded behind his back. He would shiver if he could.

"Go now. I won't need you anymore."

"As you wish, master."

A hand firmly grabbed Mor-Ael's hair and turned his face upwards. A beautiful man with violet eyes, silvery blonde beard and hair came into view.

"Well, aren't you a serious bugger?" Farnaraen asked while frowning.

***

The Thirdborn stopped the barrage of shock waves that he was bombarding the assassin with, but only after he confined the man with Manipulation. Now he was laying on the floor, bound by a set of interconnected shackles on his arms and ankles.

Farnaraen sat upon a nearby chair. The room around him was plain and cold, and the few candles barely managed to fend off the darkness. The Changeling quickly created a sphere of light that bathed the room in golden glow and warmth.

"Now...", he began speaking in a rather polite manner. "Do you mind telling me why exactly are you killing my men?"

There was no answer. Just as expected.

"You know I'll have to hurt you if you don't speak up, don't you?"

"Hurt me all you want, you bastard, but I won't say a word", the man hissed while gritting his teeth.

Farnaraen smiled in a surprisingly sad manner.

"I don't want to kill or cripple you, do you know that?"

"You don't?" The man laughed. It sounded more like a dog's barking. "You erased hundreds of lifes for one night... And you don't want to kill me?"

So, this man was an assassin. Farnaraen sighed.

"I'm sorry for your guild. But you attacked me first. I just defended myself."

"You were a threat." The stranger spat on the ground. "It's the Assassins' Guild we're talking about, damn it... What else could you expect?"

"I didn't do any harm to you or your organization. You were the ones attacking... It was a shame that so many people had to die, but I can't afford to be killed."

"You can't afford it? How hypocritical."

"I'm not lying... What is your name?"

***

Mor-Ael barked out his name in a low, angry manner, but he still did it. Hell, the Changeling - the fucking Thirdborn - was going to kill him anyway. He didn't have much to lose.

"Well, Mor-Ael..." The bastard smiled. "I would've died already, if I could."

The assassin didn't answer. Why was he having this conversation in the first place? The very feeling to lie down and talk with Farnaraen was unreal.

"See, Mor-Ael - I don't want any of this." The Thirdborn's voice was calm and confident, and even somewhat charming. "I came to this place because I want one thing. Don't misunderstand me - I long for death. I wish it. But I cannot embrace it before I accomplish my goal."

"And what would that be?" Mor-Ael didn't trust the Changeling's words, but he wanted to prolong this conversation as much as possible. In the end, it probably was going to be his last one.

"I aim to change the flow of destiny." Farnaraen's words were gravely serious. The smile disappeared from his face. "It's a colossal, inhuman task, Mor-Ael. I was naive and cowardly. I failed because of being too soft. But I was given a second chance. And I strive to succeed this time around, whatever I have to do. Your guild... It wasn't involved in my plans or my visions of the future, but its members tried to end my life. And that can't be allowed."

"What's he blabbering about?" Mor-Ael asked himself. The flow of destiny? A colossal, inhuman task? It all sounded like bullshit to the assassin.

"Fuck you and your damned destiny", he roared. The anger inside of him finally came to the surface. "You're a FUCKING killer! Nothing more, nothing less! And I'll die gladly, but I won't tell you nothing more than my own damned name."

"I didn't want to know much. Just if there are other members of the guild like you, who are trying to oppose..."

Farnaraen stopped in the middle of his words, as Mor-Ael activated some of his artifacts at that very moment. A swarm of flames flew towards the Thirdborn, and a cloud of poisonous gas filled the room. It suddenly became much colder, too.

The Changeling easily contaminated and destroyed every one of these spells with ease. A frail, sad smile bloomed on his masculine face, making it even prettier.

"Well, I guess I'll have to try with force", he uttered slowly. "Sorry for everything I'm going to do to you. But you're in the way of altering fate."

No screams sounded from the room during that night, but the morning sunlight shone upon a floor covered in blood.