The Citadel pierced the low-hanging clouds, standing proudly over Marbleton, its surrounding walls separating it from the lower-district. It would be a near impossible task for the average person to sneak through, without a major distraction. Worse yet, a fire had broken out near the southern gate, meaning that any chance to sneak through had been thwarted.

Talon pulled himself up the dividing wall, gritting his teeth against the rope knotted around his shoulders. Selora climbed alongside him, just two meters to his side, slamming his extra set of climbing picks into the smooth marble, a similar length of rope rubbing at her torso.

Torden, on the other hand, hung far below his companions, hanging limp within the rope-fashioned harness tied firm around his body. The dwarf displayed clear indignation at being lugged around in such a manner, but bit back the shame against the greater disgrace of missing a fight.

This course of action had been decided just after Talon had returned to their room. Using his two sets of climbing picks, they scaled the dividing wall between the upper- and lower-districts, infiltrating the Citadel directly. When they made it to the upper-district, they’d need to sneak through the residential area, up and around the hill where the Citadel sat, scaling up the tower before any patrols took notice. Once inside, Selora and Torden would search the lower levels, learning whatever they could about Marbleton’s missing people, while Talon split off and searched for the Duke’s Archmage.

A simple enough plan, Talon thought.

Now, halfway to the ramparts, Talon found himself wishing that he’d found someone other than Torden to accompany him. Even if the dwarf was useful in a brawl, he doubted it was truly worth the effort of hauling him up the twenty-meter high wall. Focusing his anger towards Torden distracted him from the cramps forming along his arms.

Swinging one of his picks into the smooth marble, his thoughts turned towards his old companions, toward Scarlett, who could have scaled the wall with the same ease that he did, her nimble body and dexterous hands propelling herself upward in the same manner that birds took flight. She was a capable thief, having picked up every lesson he had to teach her in their younger years.

His knuckles brushed against the bottom of the parapet, and he thought of Rolt, the colossus with a body tougher than stone. That colossus caused them no end of trouble with his unusual sense of morality pushing him to jump into trouble they had no business meddling in.

There were others, of course, but those were the two Talon had spent fifteen years of his life bonding with, risking life and limb for each other over petty things like money and prestige in the Guild. Fifteen years that he had discarded when he laid his career as an adventurer to the side to chase his own personal vendetta, over three years prior.

Talon hauled his pick over the top of the rampart, hauling himself over the wall, a mere second after Selora. “Hey,” he called over to the elf. “Give me a hand.” He gripped the rope keeping Torden suspended, tugging it for emphasis.

Exhausted, Selora nodded, gripping her own end of the rope.

Even without his armour, Torden’s heavily muscled body made hauling him difficult, Talon reminding himself how much worse their struggle would be had he not convinced the dwarf to abandon the steel plates against their insistence that “a dwarf’s armour is their pride embodied.” Together, they heaved the dwarf over the wall, the trio huffing as they plopped to the stone walkway, never so grateful to undo some rope knots.

Selora, gasping for air, looked over at Talon, her wary eyes wavering in the evening sky. “I never want… to do anything like that… ever again.”

All he could do was nod, his lungs and heart struggling to settle.

Allowing them all a moment to catch their breath, Talon struggled to his feet, crouching over the inner edge of the bulwark. He peered into the darkness beneath, his eyes picking out details within the blackness. Devoid of light and shadow, Talon’s eyes picked out shapes in bluish outlines, like a flat drawing. “Alright, you two. Like we planned.”

Selora groaned while Torden waddled forward, the three stretching the rope to its full length.

Talon pulled out a similar length of rope from his pack and knotted the two together. Redoing the knots around Torden, Talon nudged the dwarf towards the wall’s cliffside. Motioning for Selora to stand behind him, Talon gripped the rope.

She did so, standing behind Talon with wide-planted feet, grasping the rope and gritting her teeth. “Ready,” she muttered.

Talon nodded, then turned to Torden. “Alright, go… slowly.”

With a quick thumbs-up, the dwarf started to clamber down the wall. “Now don’cha go an’ drop me, ya hear?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and let go of the wall’s edge, dropping like a stone.

Boots ground against the marble beneath, tearing the wind from Talon’s lungs as he braced, Selora pulling the rope back far enough to balance him.

“He’s the size of a toddler; why is he so heavy?” Selora groaned as the rope’s coils rubbed her palms raw, leaving lines of red down the inside of her fingers.

Talon hissed through clenched teeth. “Just imagine if he had his armour.”

Selora chuckled, then grunted, nearly falling as she fed out too much rope. The weight pulled the elf forward, bumping against Talon, who leaned back at a forty-five degree angle, keeping them both from tumbling over the edge.

Torden’s feet touched the ground after another minute, unfastening the rope and tugging it.

Talon began pulling the rope up, coiling it around his arm.

Selora stretched, popping her back with a groan. “I’m next, I hope.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Talon said. Collecting the rest of the rope, he wrapped it around Selora’s waist, giving her a moment to waltz over to the wall’s edge.

“Ready,” she called softly, inching backwards down the wall.

Talon fed the rope quickly, supporting her weight with laughable ease.

Selora touched the ground next to Torden, undoing the rope and tugging it, just as he had done mere minutes ago. She stepped back as Talon dropped the rope, letting it coil around the ground before hiding it in a nearby bush.

Above, Talon steadied himself, the fatigue in his arms dissipating as he gazed up at the sky. Twin moons peaked from behind shimmering clouds, washing away his worries. With only a moment to soak in the peace, he leaned over, swinging down the edge of the wall, descending towards the ground with his picks.

Talon made his way down with caution, each strike of his picks another dull ringing in his muscles. His thoughts ran dry from the strain of holding himself up, the smooth marble allowing no rest from his descent.

Only once his toes brushed against the tips of grass did Talon relax, pulling his picks free of the cracked stone. Fingers cramping up, and stomach tightening, Talon grit his teeth against the pain. No time for a break, he thought. Turning towards his companions, he found them staring at him, waiting for instruction.

“So,” Selora started, shifting her weight back-and-forth between her feet. “What’s next?”

Regarding her in silence, Talon turned his attention towards the Citadel, seeing now how tall the tower truly stood, looming over the city, peaking above the massive walls like a beacon of order. Like every other building of note, its exterior was made of fine marble. Three lines of protruding stone spiraled around the structure, forming a connected spear at the tip, threatening to pierce the heavens.

Each twisting column depicted a prior age: the Age of Gods, the Age of Strife, and the Age of Heroes. Gilded in elaborate detail, the gold-plated stories displayed the birth of the gods and the creation of life, the goddess of life’s imprisonment at the hands of the death god, and the Eternal King’s rise to power as he freed the goddess and gained immortality as his reward. Windows dotted the length of the tower, sparkling between the aging depictions.

Talon pointed towards the tower. “You two are going to sneak into the lower levels. Look for a basement of some kind – it’s usually where these kinds of places keep their prisons – while I make my way up to the top floor. I’ll work my way down, and once I’ve done what I need to, I’ll make my way down to your position. We can catch our target in a pincer attack; I expect you two can manage without me until then.”

“Ignoring the implications of that last comment, I’m on board,” Selora declared.

Torden tapped the length of his battle ax, grinning. “Aye, don’cha worry ‘bout us, Lad. We’ll be fine. Just make sure not ta waste too much time on yer own tussle.”

“Alright, then follow me. And do try to be quiet.”

Torden snorted, Selora turning away, hiding her smile.

They prowled through the upper-district’s empty streets, the silence eerie amidst the dark homes and unmanned stalls. They slipped from building to building, but no one appeared along the roads towards the Citadel, guard patrols missing alongside the hustle and bustle that would normally bring such a district to life.

As they approached the Citadel’s base, the first pair of guards showed themselves, each wielding a halberd in hand and arming sword at the waist. The crimson surcoats wrapped around the tower, another pair arriving just as the prior disappeared from sight. Several lone guards stood sentry around the grounds, each listless or lost in thought.

Hiding behind a line of bushes, the trio took their time examining their surroundings. Talon scowled, scanning the top of the waist-high shrubbery, no guard checking behind the obvious cover. Sloppy, Talon thought. Good.

“I’ll go first,” Talon whispered, visualizing the best route to take. Even with his speed, moving across the twenty meters from the bushes to the tower wouldn’t be an easy task. “Go ten minutes after me, understand?”

“Yeah.” Selora nodded.

“Don’cha go takin’ too long, lad. We’ll be in-an’-out ‘fore ya know it.” Torden’s words were boisterous as usual, but at least he toned his volume down.

Leaving the two behind, Talon worked his way towards the Citadel, each step taken with purpose, never rushing, preserving his only advantage within the shadows. His goal the next line of bushes, pushed within steps of the tower’s base. With each rotation in the patrols, he stopped, letting the darkness consume him, their relaxed strides filling his own steps with confidence. Even through the brush, their crimson surcoats bled into his eyes, their torches illuminating them, searing targets amidst the void of night.

Soon, they made their final circuit around the tower of law, Talon’s body crackling with energy as he charged, a mere eight meters between the line of bushes and the guards. One saw flashes of blue in his peripheral, lazily turning his head, his scream stifled as Talon’s dagger slashed through his neck. The guard’s death alerted the other patrol, already several steps ahead of his partner, swinging his halberd in a horizontal arc. Ducking under the polearm, Talon lunged, thrusting his dagger under the guard’s chin.

Blood bubbled from the guard’s mouth as his body slackened, pooling at Talon’s feet, arms falling to his sides before collapsing.

Cerulean energy dissipated from around Talon’s body. He wasted no time hiding the bodies, dragging each one to the line of bushes, tossing them within the brush. With the field cleared, he waited next to the corpses for the other two patrols to pass before continuing.

Cracking and stretching out his fingers, Talon cleared his head before pulling out his picks, beginning his ascent to the Citadel’s top floor. A silk curtain covered the second story window, and the third’s led into a storage room, filled with crates and long sacks piled together; it smelled vaguely like meat. Disgusting.

He reached the first spiraling indent, sticking out at a forty-five-degree angle for about half-a-meter. Controlling his breathing, Talon tucked his feet flat against the tower’s side, letting his torso drag down slightly. Gathering his strength, he jumped up and away, pulling his picks free and swinging them in a wide arc with his wrists, hooking the top of the indent. Using all the strength within his upper body, he pulled himself up, leveraging the tools so they didn’t slip.

Hauling himself above the indent, Talon planted his feet atop its slanted surface, slamming his picks into the wall above and continuing his ascent. Passing two more windows, he noticed the lack of movement inside, wondering for a moment if such a place was usually so quiet. Repeating his earlier stunt, he jumped over the second looping indent, grunting with exertion as his fatigued muscles dragged his body over the twisting, gilded panel. Letting his arms rest, his footing precarious, Talon peered up towards the top of the tower. One more indent, and he was golden.

Digging his picks in, Talon braced, inching up the Citadel’s side with every swing and pull of the steel-tipped tools. Two more windows passed without incident or life, and Talon came to the third and final indent in his path. He cleared this one just like the previous two, rolling atop the winding structure, lungs heaving and arms throbbing.

Talon let his leg dangle off the edge for a minute, staring into the night sky until the aching in his muscles dissipated. Breathing deep, he stood, adjusting his grip. Digging his picks in once more, he continued his ascent.

Reaching the final window, poised at the Citadel’s peak, Talon stopped. Looking down, he spotted Selora and Torden skulking towards the tower. Nodding to himself, Talon slid his dagger between the dual-window panes, unlatching the lock and pulling them open. The red curtains fluttered out of view.

The office, like most offices, housed a large desk, lined with shelves full of books and oddities. Gold-threaded rugs and banners decorated the floor and walls, splashing the bare walls with hints of colour. The desk was devoid of any busywork, illuminated by a few errant candles.

As he took in all the little details of the room in – the antique vase filled with dying tulips, the bronze bust of a now-deformed man, a crystal ball nestled in a velvet cushion – he heard the hinges on the doors creak. Ducking below the window, Talon held his breath.

“-question your methods, I must say the results have been promising.” A woman’s cold, sultry voice bled into Talon’s ears, a subtle bite hidden beneath her relaxed tone. “But we’re walking on thin ice here, and Evrich’s not going to put up with much more.”

A familiar voice chuckled, and Talon’s hair stood on edge.

“No need to worry. It’s almost done with our appetizers, and once it’s had its fill, what the Captain thinks won’t matter.”

The door slammed, sending a gust of wind that battered the curtains aside as the wooden chair scraped against tile.

“Speaking of, how goes things with the Captain? You had another meeting with him recently, after all.”

The woman sighed. “Oh, he’s being his usual stubborn self. Can’t see the bigger picture. Honestly, I’m terrified of telling him anything, seeing as how much he’s already resisted over the smaller things.”

“Yes, that stubbornness is truly a problem, isn’t it? He’s too tough to control, too popular to accuse of treason, and too well-protected to simply dispose of with a few thugs.” The man cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing around the stone room. “But he’s been passive enough so far, and soon he’ll be under my thumb.”

“You mean your pet’s, right?”

The man harrumphed, his chair scraping against the polished tiles. “If anyone’s a pet in our relationship, it’s me. That much I understand; always have.”

Sadness bordered his words, and Talon’s knuckles whitened.

The woman chuckled, her heels clicking with each tentative step. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You know the answer,” He shot back, the soft padding of his boots disappearing towards the door.

Talon breathed slowly, drawing a trio of throwing knives from his belt, legs building up strength. He couldn’t let this chance escape; couldn’t let him escape. Not again. Kicking off from the smooth marble, Talon launched himself through the tower’s opening, leaving his picks hanging within the wall. A fluttering of black grabbed his focus, and he let his knives fly, all leaving his hand before his feet touched the floor. Drawing his dagger, Talon hurled one more knife from his belt.

His first knife flew wide, passing to the right of his target, giving him just enough time to raise his hand to block the next two projectiles. A humming wall of energy appeared in front of him, stopping the knives dead in their flight.

“Assassin!” The Archmage yelled, blazing hatred from his red eyes piercing through Talon like a needle. He turned towards the woman, “Get the guards! The informant was-”

Talon propelled himself over the desk, body shooting straight for the woman. ‘In open combat, dispose of the easiest targets first, thinning their numbers,’ one of the first lessons his master had taught him. She gasped, having no time to do anything else, Talon’s elbow smashing square into her face. He flicked another knife at the mage, bouncing off the magical barrier, before slamming the pommel of his dagger into the woman’s temple, knocking her to the ground in a heap.

As the woman fell at his feet, Talon looked over his prey. He hadn’t changed much since the last time their paths had crossed. His face was gaunt, his long, messy hair still black as charcoal, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with ebony, turned manic under its influence. His robes were ragged and gray, weathered from their original black, a thick leather belt of a similar colour cinched around his waist, an abundance of potions and pouches attached to it.

Huffing, hate and anger threading through his veins, Talon bared his teeth. “So, Archmage is it? I see you’re moving up in the world, Viktor.”

Viktor’s lips cracked as he sneered, the seething within his eyes dissipating, replaced with a realization. “Ah, Talon. Yes, I see. So, it’s you who’s been scrounging around these past two days, looking to cause me trouble.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Talon spread his arms out, the gesture a mocking one. “But of course. Who else has the ability to make you sweat the bed at night?”

Viktor began circling the room, Talon following his lead, the two like opposite ends of a spinning staff. “You certainly have a high opinion of yourself. No one can say you lack confidence, though you do seem to be lacking in common sense.”

Talon’s left eye twitched.

“What’ll this be, the fourth attempt you’ve made on my life now? Isn’t this getting a little old?” Viktor smiled.

Talon’s rage bubbled to the surface once again, a seething wave of caustic emotions threatening to overcome him.

“Though I guess you are one to hold grudges. Twenty years now, and you still can’t get over how I gutted our dear master.”

Talon snapped, rushing the length of the room before his mind could warn against it. With a quick weaving of his fingers, Viktor built up a concentrated point of magical energy, loosing a bolt of magic. His reflexes working faster than his head, Talon ducked under it, jumping to the side, a second bolt zipping past him. The spellslinger didn’t have enough time for a third missile as the rogue entered within cutting distance, flicking his dagger’s blade at Viktor’s palm, sending a spray of blood into the air. Slashing at his chest, slicing through the ragged robes, a distinct rattling of metal links echoing as Talon’s dagger struck chainmail.

Grimacing, Talon stepped forward, attempting a clean stab at the mage’s neck before dancing back, a sudden buildup of pressure under his foot pushing him back. A pillar of magma shot from the ground, melting its point of entry, splashing across the ceiling before falling like molten rain.

Talon tumbled to the edge of the room, his cloak sizzling. Rising to his full height, he wiped the bloodied dagger against his pantleg. “You’ve gotten faster at casting that one.”

Viktor smiled a genuine smile, and it disgusted Talon. “Well, I can’t let you overtake me too much. That would just be disgraceful.”

Crouching down into a more centered stance, Talon steadied his breathing. “Yeah, like you have any pride.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the last of his throwing knives towards Viktor, stealing just behind them.