Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

The air in Eyrendyl had grown heavy, suffocating under the weight of paranoia. Assassins lurked in unseen corners, whispers of death traveled through the streets, and the city was no longer a place of learning—it had become a battlefield in the shadows.

And tonight, the assassins struck closer to the academy than ever before.

In the faculty chamber

Vaelis Thornbloom had always been cautious. As the head of Beast Studies, she knew how predators worked—how they stalked, waited, and struck when least expected.

But even she had not expected this.

Her fingers trembled as she tried to grip the table for support. The world blurred, her limbs felt heavier, and each breath came shallower than the last.

She had been poisoned.

Sylvia Moreau, the head of Alchemy, noticed immediately. Her sharp green eyes locked onto the dark blue tinge creeping along Vaelis's veins.

"Poison."

Gregor, Baudric, and Lysara froze.

Vaelis tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

Sylvia wasted no time. She grabbed a small vial from her coat, uncorked it with her teeth, and pressed it against Vaelis's lips. "Drink."

Vaelis swallowed, barely.

Seconds crawled by.

Then, she took a slow, shaky breath.

Sylvia exhaled, tension easing slightly. "You'll live." But her tone was ice.

Baudric rubbed his beard. "This wasn't random."

Lysara nodded. "The poison was tailor-made. Whoever did this studied her."

Gregor's expression darkened. "This isn't some common assassin job. This was a message."

A heavy silence settled.

The Blood Nights had escalated.

The assassins were no longer testing the waters. They were making a statement—no one was safe.

As the news spread, another wave of fear washed over the city.

In the past week alone:

A second-year student, the son of a minor noble, was found dead in his rented room—no wounds, no signs of struggle. A scholar working in the archives vanished without a trace. A hired guard protecting a wealthy student was found slumped against a wall, throat slit so cleanly that no one heard a thing.

It was methodical. Quiet. And worst of all?

The city's guards did nothing.

Whether out of fear, bribery, or incompetence, it didn't matter. The assassins moved freely, striking wherever they pleased.

And that's why Isolde needed a place to stay.

Kalem's Forge – Late Night

Kalem barely looked up when the forge door creaked open. He had been expecting someone—just not her.

Isolde stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Her usual composed demeanor was still there, but something was different.

She wasn't just here to chat.

Kalem continued working, polishing a newly forged plate. "You need something?"

"I need a place to stay."

He paused. "…Why?"

Isolde stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her expression remained neutral, but her voice was sharp. "My residence was compromised."

Kalem didn't react outwardly, but he understood.

"Assassins?"

She nodded. "They broke in while I was out. No sign of a struggle, nothing missing. Just… searched."

That was worse than an outright attack.

If an assassin wanted someone dead, they would kill them. If they searched instead, it meant they were looking for something. Gathering information.

Kalem sighed, setting down his tools. "Fine. You can stay here."

Isolde raised a brow. "Just like that?"

"You don't take up much space."

"…That's your reasoning?"

Kalem glanced at her. "You're competent. If someone attacks, I won't have to worry about saving you."

Isolde scoffed but didn't argue. She walked over to the workbench, scanning the cluttered forge. "You live like this?"

"It's efficient."

"It's a mess."

Kalem shrugged.

For a while, silence filled the forge. Then, Isolde muttered:

"This city's about to bleed, isn't it?"

Kalem didn't look up. "It already is."