From my dagger, a once proud and piercing blue gaze stares back at me, now dull and jaded. The usual youthful curiosity and vibrance expected of a teenager long lost; only hollow eyes and dark bags can be found. Even my lustrous golden locks have been cut short and are now matted and grimy, but it's no time to reminisce.

Tearing my eyes away from my sorry state, I creep forward, careful not to make the old mahogany floorboards creak. After grabbing the gold-laced pillow to the left of the old man, I cover his face with it and simultaneously plunge my dagger into his exposed jugular. He tries to scream, but only gurgling can be heard as he chokes on his own blood, thrashing his body in vain. Before he goes limp, his steely grey eyes stare back at me in defiance, as if trying to curse me with his gaze alone.

You can tell a lot about a person from their eyes, especially just before they die. Most people stare back at you with fear, eyes watering, and body frozen. Some, like the man before me, stare back at you with resentment and anger, determined to live or at least take your life along with them. Fewer still look back in calm acceptance, knowing they can do nothing to change their fate. Knowing they should cherish the last moments of their life before it's over. Even less have eyes like mine. If, or should I say when I die, they will show nothing but indifference. I would probably think, "hmm, I guess this is it." I might even be thankful to be free of my burdens, but I must live for my sister for now.

Shaking my head to clear these morbid thoughts, I close the man's eyes and whisper a silent prayer, even though my faith has long left me. Why do I do this? Even I don't know. Is it a way of coping, atonement for my sins, or am I trying to cling to my last bit of humanity?

I hate this work. I know more about this man than some of his closest friends, but for what… Just so I could kill him. Michael Miller, sixty-eight years old, a father of four healthy sons, born in Stratsfordshire and killed in Lekton. Likes bitter lemon tea, dotes on his grandaughter Ema… I could go on for ages, but now he is dead, murdered by my own hands. Lying there, his white beard and hair juxtapose the now crimson sheets, making him look strangely ethereal.

With a muffled sigh, I return to my usual professionalism; erasing all of my traces, I stow my knife and climb out the window from which I entered.

For better or worse, this is my life, a life of an assassin. Each night like the grim reaper, I claim an innocent life. A mother, a child, or an elderly man, I have no say in who I kill, for I am but a disposable tool. I try to tell myself that someone else would have done it if it wasn't me, but I know these are only excuses.

"Humph, at least the moon is beautiful tonight," I mutter to myself in solace.

Dipping between the dark and dank alleyways, I make my way to a Shadow Sect branch office. Spotting an unassuming noodle shop, I know I have arrived.

Making my way on the now desolate street, I walk to the back of the shack and knock the code on the door.

"Thump … Thump Thump … Thump … Thump Thump Thump"

The aged but sturdy door's sliding panel opens for a second before it closes, and a late-middle-aged, short, and portly man opens the door with a smile.

Gesturing with his hand, he says, "Ah, welcome back Wolf, come in, come in."

"I’ve already told you to just call me Merdoc, Sam. It’s only us here."

"Caution has kept my head attached to my shoulders so far boy. You’d be best to remember that. So, how did the mission go?"

"No complications"

"Good good, go rest now, and I'll give you the boss's next orders tomorrow. Hey, and if you keep up the good work you will surely be rewarded."

"Hah, that’s about as likely as you running a legitimate business."

"Tsk, you're going to lose your tongue one of these days, running your mouth like that. If not for yourself, be careful for your sister's sake."

"Yeah yeah, gramps."

"Kid, you were far cuter and more likable when you first arrived."

"You have my sincerest apologies Sam, but my job tends to warp one's personality."

"Get going, you snarky little shit. I've got other matters to attend to tonight. May the gods bless you."

"You too sir, and thank you."

"Sigh." Sam's one of the few people I trust in this hellhole. He's always kept an eye out for us. I would probably already be dead in a gutter without his help and guidance, Merdoc thought to himself as he lazily traipsed to his small dilapidated hut that's roped together from a medley of wood, bamboo, and mossy stone.

Before rounding the corner, I make sure my outfit is tidy and hide my tools deep within my backpack.

Like always, my sister gets up to greet me at the door with a wide smile. The smell of roasted veg and damp permeates the air. Although Leea always seems bubbly and lively, it’s just a facade to stop me from worrying about her. Nevertheless, she is almost as broken as me. Her smile never reaches her eyes, and the loss of our family still haunts her. I am all she has left, and she is all I have to live for.

Although I haven't told Leea the specifics of my 'work', she has always been perceptive and knows something is up. Fortunately, she trusts me and knows I will tell her about it if necessary; however, I at least want to protect her from this.

"Good to have you back brother, I've made you some potato and leek soup, so eat up. You look like a walking corpse."

I ruffle her hair and in mock hurt, reply, "You wound me. I look as handsome as ever, but thank you for the meal, sis. I don't know what I would do without you… probably forget to eat knowing myself, haha."

Pouting, she exclaims, "Hey, don't mess up my hair Merdoc… Ahh, whatever, I'm just going to go back to bed after eating anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter. How was work?"

"You know, the same old boring stuff, helping Sam out with the shop. The only thing of note was that someone got too drunk and started a fight with another customer. Fortunately, both being mortals not much damage was done."

Spinning the yarn has become a habit of mine now. Lying to my sister, the grocer, and just about everyone under the sun. It's for our safety as well as my sanity. The day I truly break would be when Leea wakes up and sees me for the monster I truly am.

Leea shoots you a quizzical look, but says nothing more. "So when is your next day off, brother?"

"If it were up to the boss, when I am in the grave, but Sam managed to butter him up enough to get me a day off next week, so we can go around the city together, and I'll even treat you to lunch."

Our conversation goes back and forth for another thirty minutes as Leea tells me about her day working at Mrs. Smith's restaurant and all of the local gossip.

"Hmm, it's getting late now brother, you should get to bed before the sun rises, so you aren't too tired tomorrow."

"Ahh, as always, you are right missy. Goodnight sis, and sweet dreams."

Although you know they won't be, as only the horrors of the night we lost everything haunt her sleep.

After watching Leea saunter off to her room and close the flimsy thatch door behind her, I finally rise from my seat and go outside to train. The light wind causes my cheeks to flush, as I practice the sword movements my father showed me when I was little.

Like how life is a play and war is a game, sword-fighting is a dance, but in this dance someone always dies. At least that is what my father used to tell me. Always keep your movements swift and strong and your determination steadfast. Hesitation only leads to an early grave. He had many lessons for me, but it seems like most of them will never be needed… When would an impoverished assassin ever fight with knights or manage a dukedom? It’s funny how far our once proud family has fallen.

Compared to the more fortunate, no matter how hard I train my swings seem sloppy and my footwork clumsy. Warriors are supposed to awaken their mana channels and aperture at the age of twelve, but at seventeen I have yet to get this opportunity. Although this is common for mortals, all nobles are supposed to cultivate, I was just never taught how.

“Huuum” I should go to bed as the sun is almost up, there is nothing I can do about this for now.