The night is dark with the scent of blood.

On a nearby rooftop overlooking the Black Raven, Cathra shifts uncomfortably on her perch. Clad from head to toe all in black, she feels suffocated as the hot summer wind bats at her.

It is not the first time she’s don her covert gear, but too many years have passed since for it to feel natural. The black leather suit pinches painfully at her waist and chest, and she’s getting a headache from the tight mask pulled over her head.

She tries to focus, doing her best impression of a human gargoyle, and feeling like a fool while doing it.

“Come on Kyros. Hurry up already.”

The light has long since bled out of the sky. Dark clouds muffle the stars and moon in a chokehold that seems to drain the air from Cathra’s lungs. She tugs at the scarf around her neck.

This night is fit for an ambush.

In her mind, Cathra can clearly see the swarms of thieves and scoundrels scurrying through the network of alleyways across the city, like ants crawling within the roots of an ancient tree. Normally, she will be donning her Captain’s uniform and patrolling her section of the city. But not tonight. Not anymore.

Cathra grips her sword tighter at her side, trying to gain confidence from the weapon’s presence. She fingers the intricate grooves carved into the scabbard, tracing the patterns absentmindedly with her thumb. Frostbane, she calls this sword, as both a reminder of her home and a promise to never go back there.

She’s often received compliments on Frostbane over the years; has had its craftsmanship admired and challenged many times in battle. It is one of the only things she took from Castle Ice the night of her escape, and for thirteen years its steel edge has never failed her.

But tonight, Cathra isn’t so sure the streak will continue.

The Black Raven is finally clearing.

The adventurers are the first to leave. Some are still dressed in their gear, while others are not. Either way, it is easy to tell them apart from ordinary folk. Those who choose to venture into the wilderness at night tend to have a different look about them, a look Cathra knows well.

The rest follow shortly after. Workers, merchants, and knights alike stagger out the tavern doors, tipsy from wine and a hard day’s labor. Some look to be heading towards the eastern district, no doubt back home to their families or places of refuge, while others head further down north towards the brothels.

The drunkards are the last to stumble out; some with women under their arms, others with more bottles to quench their unquenchable thirsts. Cathra does not spare these people a second look. They do not deserve her attention.

Then there is silence.

Cathra waits as patiently as she can, counting each passing minute until no one else seems to be leaving the tavern. Her legs begin to grow numb. She tries to stretch them.

At last, she hears the sound of doors opening once more. Cathra leans over to peer over the edge of her roof. She catches sight of a brunette girl shuffling out into the street. The girl pauses to check both sides of the street before hurrying away, her pretty green dress swaying behind her as her slippers make soft tapping sounds against the stone path.

Cathra can barely hold in her laughter. She follows from the rooftops, hopping from one ledge to another.

Even in the dark, the strings of emeralds sewn into the dress glisten as if they are capable of emitting their own light. Cathra finds her gaze drawn to those emeralds, shiny like frozen teardrops.

He’s too conspicuous.

Perhaps it is seeing the dress move, but terrible memories begin to surface in Cathra’s mind. She tries to push them away, but the stillness of this night seems to drag even the worst thoughts out from their graves.

She starts remembering that day. The day of her eighth birthday.

Don’t be stupid, Cathra tells herself, willing the memories away. He's not even wearing the same dress.

She scans the shadows around Kyros, almost hoping some foolish criminal might lurch out at him so she’ll have an excuse to release some of the tension in her muscles. But the dressed-up knight floats down the empty streets unhindered, all the way into the northern district of the city.

Deep down, a part of Cathra was convinced Kyros will not go through with the plan. Now, seeing him hurry down shady alleyways in nothing but a dress, she feels an unexpected sense of respect for him. And pity, too.

Kyros reaches the deserted streets unmolested, and continues down the same footpath he and Cathra walked down together yesterday.

A gust of wind forces him to pause, with one hand on top his head to stop the wig from slipping. He looks up at the tumbling, starless sky, and shudders.

The northern district of Kesrock is not a friendly place. Even the light, from what few streetlamps there are, does little to pierce through the suffocating shadows. Cathra notices how Kyros seems to stiffen, no doubt hesitating to keep going. She does not blame him. If he turns and runs, she will understand.

Kyros pushes onwards, his arms wrapped tightly around his midriff.

Taken up mostly by empty lots and storage houses, the northern district is a favorite place for thieves to gather. Cathra applied to be the North Gate's captain because of this, but the Lord Commander had redirected her application to the South Gate, leaving the role of protecting this section to an older, much less accomplished knight by the name of Sir Gregorn.

Cathra always wondered why that is so, since the old knight was nearing his seventieth birthday even before succeeding the position. But she has to push that line of inquiry away, because Kyros is now coming close to one of the locations she has set up.

Cathra crouches low against the rooftops, breath abated, as Kyros stops by a lantern pole to rest. The faint light casts his dress into a fetching shade of cyan, making his skin look even paler than it is.

He’s doing perfectly.

From her spot, even Cathra has trouble discerning the real Kyros from his disguise of a fair maiden.

Together, they wait.

The wind moans through the soulless streets and empty warehouses. Kyros shivers, the teardrops of his dress dancing under the lantern’s light.

More time passes. Nothing happens. Kyros gives his surroundings a quick look, then moves on to the next location.

As planned, the young knight keeps to the open road, holding himself like he’s dizzy from the wine and lost in the balmy summer night. The buildings he passes are all empty, their windows dark, but Cathra has long since learned that emptiness does not mean safety. As she follows Kyros down another bend in the street, a feathery uneasiness fingers down the back of her neck.

Cathra stops to scan the rooftops around her. Nothing moves except her and Kyros. She peers along the streets below, watching the Ryugon river run beside it like another footpath. Still, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

But Cathra cannot shake the feeling that something is watching them. She turns her head to one side and listens to the darkness.

The darkness is quiet as it listens back.

Down below, Kyros has made another turn, bringing him directly in the path of the grand archways of the North Gate. The two stone pythons which make up this gate is old, their entwined bodies sprouting mold in so many places that during the daytime, they look more green than grey.

He stops in the space between two lanterns and waits, just as the notes Cathra left him instructed him to. But even as everything seems to be going according to plan, something feels wrong to Cathra. She feels sweat dampening her arms and forehead, and suddenly she wants to shout to Kyros, tell him to stop and turn back. She wants to tell him that this plan is crazy and they should never have come here. But just as she steps towards the rooftop ledge, a great gust of wind howls from outside the gate, bellowing down the street like a monster's roar. A wave of icy pain slaps into Cathra, knocking her off the ledge. She flails, grabbing the ledge just in time to stop from tumbling down.

She smells blood.

Kyros! Cathra hauls herself back up, adrenalin coursing through her veins. She scans the dark and sees him.

The young knight is standing still, surrounded by what seems to be a mist made of red rose petals. They spill from the shadows, flurrying along the ground to swirl around his legs. Some crawl around the folds of his dress, reaching up to touch his cheek before floating into the air.

It’s here.

Cathra’s body freezes, even as her heart starts to beat like a war drum. Blood gushes into her ears, drowning out all other sounds except for the flight of her own fear.

Thu-thump.

Thu-thump.

Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump.

Cathra inches forward, trying to pierce darkness with her eyes. She thinks of getting closer, but a voice inside her is telling her to wait, to strike when she sees the target.

I only have one chance.

She sees Kyros’s lips moving, but Cathra cannot hear his words. It's as if a force field separates him from her.

I need to get down there.

The wind picks up again, tossing more red petals into the air. They gather in a swarm above Kyros’s head, undulating almost with the intelligence of living creatures.

Then they descend on him, too quickly for either of them to react.

Without thinking, Cathra leaps down from the roof, rolling as she hits the hard dirt ground. She throws herself forward, Frostbane swinging from its scabbard to pierce through whatever creature is hiding within those petals.

The petals scatter, revealing snow-white ruffles and pale skin. Cathra swipes, but the creature is fast. It springs upwards in a white blur, vaulting over Cathra and her sword without disturbing either.

Cathra whips around, steel whistling. The creature steps back out of reach. Cathra presses on, pivoting like a top as she forces the creature further back, and away from Kyros.

Step after step, Cathra feels Frostbane shredding through air, glowing hotter and brighter as her momentum builds. In its light, she catches glimpses of the creature, but it's moving too fast.

The creature tries to escape to the side, but Cathra’s blade cuts it off. She pushes her arm to move faster, her blade to cut deeper. Together, she and the creature dance closer towards the warehouses on the other side of the street.

The creature’s back hits the wall.

“Got you!” Cathra roars, slashing with all her strength. As her blade carves through the air, Cathra unleashes everything she has into it. With an ear-splitting screech, Frostbane explodes through brick and stone, leaving a chasm of fire behind it.

But even before the dust clears, Cathra knows she missed. She turns, panting, to see the creature landing gracefully a few steps away.

Having grown up on the very fringe of Gandolia, Cathra has never heard of Blood Devils. It was only when she became an Outrider Knight of Kesrock that she learned of their existence. Listening in on her comrades as they traded legends and tales around a campfire, Cathra learned of the ancient creatures who live only in darkness.

Those legends don’t do her justice. Cathra’s breath catches as she stares at the little girl standing just a few yards away. She looks just like a human kid.

The girl regards Cathra with a bemused smile. Her dress is a nest of frills and laces, so clean and white they glow. A red parasol rests over one thin shoulder, and the girl turns it lazily as she studies Cathra.

“Ah,” she purrs from lips so red they seem to bleed. “The fisherman reveals herself.”

Cathra’s body burns all over. Such an explosive attack exerted her more than she cares to admit, especially after so many days of poor sleep. But she cannot let her foe know this, for that will be the same as giving away her weaknesses. Cathra scans the battlefield with her eyes, keeping her head as still as possible.

Behind the Blood Devil, Kyros is lying face down against the dirt. He isn’t moving, and Cathra can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.

No. Cathra bites down on the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. He’s still alive. He has to be. She focuses her attention back on the Blood Devil. I need to kill her first. If I don’t, Kyros really will be dead.

Cathra brandishes Frostbane at the Blood Devil, aiming the steel tip at the monster’s chest.

“My name is Cathra Stelias of Kesrock,” she says evenly, amazed that her voice sounds as strong as the steel in her hands. “And I am here to vanquish you from our realm, vile creature.” She drops low, ready to pounce. “If you are anything like the Blood Devils told in the tales, then you will face me in battle. Should you run, know that you will bring disgrace upon your kind.”

The girl’s eyes flash dark as she chuckles. And the sound is nothing like Cathra has ever heard. Too wicked. Too much venom coming out of such a tiny body.

“Very well.” The girl takes a small step towards Cathra. “I’ve spent too much time cooped up in this stinking city, so a chance to stretch is most welcomed. But I should warn you, human, that I am everything your little tales paint me as.” Tendrils of smoke coil out from the darkness, rolling across the dried dirt all around the girl, framing her in shadow.

She licks her red lips and smiles.

“They were all based on me, after all.”