Forge Of Fate: A Blacksmiths Journey

The cold air of the city night carried the scent of damp stone and smoldering oil lamps. Kalem and Jhaeros moved like shadows through the narrow backstreets, their boots making little sound on the uneven cobblestone.

Ahead of them stood a nondescript building—one of many suspected safe houses for the assassins plaguing the city.

Jhaeros crouched beside Kalem, his feline eyes scanning the area. "No heavy presence. Either we're too late, or they never meant to stay here long."

Kalem's grip on his short sword tightened. "Let's make sure."

They moved swiftly. The door was locked, but Kalem made short work of it with a small metal pick. The inside was sparse—crates stacked in one corner, a makeshift table, and a cot pushed against the far wall. A faint scent of oil and steel lingered in the air.

Jhaeros knelt, running a hand over the wooden surface of the table. "Recently used. But they didn't leave much behind."

Kalem checked the crates. Some contained food rations, others spare weapons—daggers, crossbows, and bolts tipped with what looked like poisoned edges. A few documents lay scattered on the table, hastily abandoned.

"They're moving constantly," Jhaeros murmured. "Never staying in one place long enough to be tracked."

Kalem frowned. "That means they're either being fed real-time information or they've got contingencies for when one of their bases is discovered."

Jhaeros' tail flicked in irritation. "Clever bastards."

Kalem took a closer look at one of the documents, his eyes narrowing. "A list of supplies. No names, just inventory logs. This isn't a headquarters—this is a staging ground. Supplies come in, and assassins move out."

Jhaeros sighed. "So we're still a step behind."

Kalem tucked the paper into his coat. "Not for long."

Back at the forge, the embers cast long shadows as Kalem worked. Sparks flew as he hammered, adjusting the balance of his weapons, strengthening the plating on his armor. He had to be ready—whether for another ambush or something worse.

Jhaeros sat on a stool near the forge, watching him work. Isolde was there as well, arms crossed, idly observing the process.

"You're going all out," Isolde commented.

Kalem didn't stop working. "The Blood Nights aren't ending anytime soon. If I'm going to be a target, I'd rather be a well-prepared one."

She smirked. "I like that logic."

Her gaze drifted to the weapon resting nearby—the resonance blade. A sleek, curved weapon designed to cut through almost anything with its vibrating edge.

She stepped forward and reached for it.

The moment her fingers brushed the hilt, a sharp crack sounded. A blue-white spark leaped from the blade, scorching her fingertips. She hissed, pulling her hand back.

Jhaeros raised a brow. "That's new."

Isolde frowned, shaking her hand. "What the hell was that?"

Kalem wiped his hands clean with a cloth, glancing at the blade. "The resonance crystal is attuned to me. I figured others might try to steal it, so I made some adjustments."

Isolde smirked, despite the lingering sting. "A nasty trick. I approve."

Jhaeros chuckled. "Remind me not to borrow your weapons."

Kalem turned back to his work, his expression unreadable. Every moment spent improving his gear was another step toward surviving what was coming.

The city was restless. The Blood Nights had gone on for too long, and now, even the Bank—the neutral powerhouse of finance and contracts—was beginning to act.

Kalem sat at a corner table in a dimly lit inn, sipping a cup of something bitter. Across from him sat a representative of the Bank, dressed in deep blue robes with silver trim. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were sharp.

"We understand the academy's situation," the man said smoothly. "It has been most unfortunate."

Kalem remained silent. He knew better than to speak first in a negotiation.

The man continued. "Given the... unstable climate, the Bank is now offering protective services."

Kalem raised a brow. "For a price, I assume."

"Naturally," the man smiled, though it never reached his eyes. "Security is a valuable commodity in times like these. We can ensure safe passage, guard contracts, and more... tailored services."

Kalem tapped a finger against the wooden table. "You're making it sound like a privilege, not a necessity."

The man inclined his head slightly. "Survival is a privilege, in many ways."

Kalem smirked. "And what happens if someone refuses?"

The man's expression remained unchanged. "Then we sincerely hope they are... prepared for the risks."

Kalem leaned back, studying him. The Bank never acted without reason. If they were stepping in now, it meant they had determined there was enough profit to be made from this chaos.

Jhaeros, sitting beside him, exhaled slowly. "This city's turning into a battlefield."

Kalem nodded. The Blood Nights were far from over.

And now, even the Bank was placing its bets.