Rohan walked through the quiet streets of Duskwatch, the satchel of supplies slung over his shoulder, his mind sharp with purpose. The encounter at The Veil had only solidified what he already knew, he was alone in this.

  He had expected them to hesitate, to be afraid. But not to abandon the fight altogether. It didn’t matter.

  He had a horse waiting for him. A week’s ride to the stronghold. And when he got there, he would carve his way through every single one of them.

  But as he reached the outskirts of the city, something felt wrong, he was being followed. Rohan kept walking, keeping his pace steady. He didn’t turn his head, didn’t react. But his muscles tensed, every sense on high alert.

  The streets were nearly empty this far out, just a few stray beggars and merchants packing up for the night. The perfect place for an ambush. Then, the faintest sound of a footstep.

  Five, maybe six of them. Keeping their distance, waiting for the right moment. Rohan exhaled through his nose. They didn’t know what kind of mistake they were making. He turned a corner, leading them into a narrow alleyway, his battleground.

  Then, he stopped, waited, letting them come to him. The footsteps hesitated. Then, slowly, they surrounded him.

  Six figures stepped into the dim light, their weapons already drawn. They weren’t mercenaries, they were Talon scouts. Their armor bore the faint insignia of the Iron Talons, the iron claw gripping the crown. One of them, a tall man with a scar running across his nose, smirked.

  “Didn’t think we’d catch you leaving so soon.”

  Rohan rolled his shoulders, loosening his grip on his dagger. He wasn’t going to run. The scarred man tilted his head.

  “The higher-ups want you dead. But us?”

  He grinned, his grip tightening around his blade.

  “We’re gonna have some fun first.”

  Rohan’s lips curled into something that wasn’t a smile.

  “Then you really don’t know who I am.”

  The scarred man barely had time to react before Rohan’s dagger sliced through his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. In the same motion, Rohan twisted, grabbing the second scout by the collar and driving his knee into his ribs. The impact shattered bone, and before the man could crumple, Rohan slit his throat. The third came from behind, but Rohan was faster.

  He ducked, spun, and buried his blade into the man’s side. The Talon scout gasped, eyes wide as Rohan yanked the dagger free, letting him collapse into the dirt.

  Rohan turned toward the last three, they hesitated. Not charging in like the others. Rohan exhaled slowly, flicking blood from his dagger. In a single fluid motion, Rohan whipped his dagger across the alley.

  The blade found its mark, sinking into one of their throats. The man gagged, clutching at his wound as blood spilled between his fingers, his body collapsing onto the stone.

  Rohan’s eyes locked onto the leader, his expression was no longer cocky. Rohan took a slow step forward, his voice calm, unwavering.

  “You’re not leaving alive.”

  The man’s grip on his sword tightened, his last remaining ally shifting uneasily beside him.

  The leader’s eyes flicked between Rohan and his last remaining ally. He knew he was outmatched.

  Rohan saw the shift in his stance, the way his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. The moment his foot moved forward, Rohan acted. He lunged, closing the distance in an instant.

  His left hand grabbed the leader’s wrist, twisting it with brutal force, dislocating it in one fluid motion. The man barely had time to gasp in pain before Rohan used his own sword to slice across his throat.

  The leader collapsed to his knees, gurgling, choking, before his body hit the ground.

  The last Talon scout took a step back, his face pale, his breath ragged. His sword was still drawn, but his grip shook.

  Rohan exhaled through his nose.

  “Run.”

  The man hesitated, eyes darting between Rohan and the corpses of his comrades. Rohan didn’t let him take three steps.

  He moved like a shadow, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He slammed the sword into the back of the scout’s knee, dropping him instantly.

  The man screamed, reaching for his leg, but Rohan wasn’t done. He grabbed the man’s hair, wrenched his head back, and drove his blade into the side of his neck.

  Rohan stood and wiped the blood off of his hands before retrieving his dagger. Then he continued forward to the stables.

  Rohan reached the eastern stables just as the first hints of dawn touched the horizon. The air was cold, the scent of hay and damp earth mixing with the distant smoke of the city behind him. The stable master was nowhere in sight, but the horse had been left where The Veil said it would be, saddled, stocked with supplies, ready to ride.

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  He placed a hand on the saddle, but his mind wandered. Should he go back? The noble who had first sent him after the Iron Talons, he deserved to know the truth. That this wasn’t just a bandit problem, but something far bigger. That war was coming, and the Talons were no longer simple raiders but an army, and Talia…

  She was still there, still safe. But if he returned, even for a moment, it might change that. The Talons had already targeted everyone who had come close to him, Sera, the pit fighters. Even The Veil had barely avoided being wiped out.

  If he went back, if he warned them… Would they become the next targets? His fingers tightened against the saddle. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk her.

  Talia had already been through enough. She had already lost everything. He wouldn’t drag her into his war. Rohan exhaled slowly, letting go of the idea. This was something he had to do alone.

  He swung himself onto the horse, adjusting the reins. The wind was picking up, carrying the distant sounds of a waking city. Duskwatch was behind him now.

  And ahead, a stronghold full of the people he needed to kill. With one final breath, he rode forward.

  The rhythmic pounding of hooves against the dirt road echoed in Rohan’s ears as he rode through the countryside. Duskwatch was long behind him now, its distant torches swallowed by the darkness. He kept his hood low, his mind sharp despite the exhaustion creeping into his limbs.

  The journey to the Iron Talons’ stronghold would take a week, and though he wanted to ride through the night, he knew better. His body was still recovering. He needed rest, whether he liked it or not.

  After a few hours of riding, he spotted a small village nestled between rolling hills. Unremarkable and quite the kind of place that wouldn’t ask questions.

  He led his horse toward the local inn, a modest building with flickering lanterns illuminating the wooden sign above the entrance. The scent of roasted meat and ale drifted through the air, but Rohan wasn’t interested in food.

  He tossed a few coins to the innkeeper, got a key, and made his way upstairs without a word. The room was simple. A bed, a small table, a washbasin. Good enough.

  Rohan locked the door behind him, setting his weapons within reach. His body ached, and despite the ever-present fire of vengeance burning inside him, his exhaustion won. He laid down and let sleep take him.

  Rohan’s eyes snapped open, something was wrong. Before he could move-

  The door exploded inward. The wooden frame shattered as it was kicked open with brutal force.

  Rohan rolled, reaching for his dagger, but he was too slow. A heavy boot slammed into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. His vision blurred as he struggled to react, but a hand gripped his throat, crushing him against the floor.

  Through the haze of pain, he saw him… An old man. Tall, broad-shouldered, his frame built from war. His white hair was cropped short, and his weathered face bore the marks of countless battles. He stared down at Rohan with something between amusement and disappointment.

  Rohan lashed out, dagger swiping upward, but the man caught his wrist with terrifying ease, and then he slammed Rohan’s face into the ground. Once, twice, the pain was immediate, his vision flashing white as his skull cracked against the wooden floor. Blood pooled in his mouth, his ears ringing.

  His body wouldn’t move, the old man leaned down, his grip still crushing Rohan’s wrist.

  “Pathetic.”

  Then, he slammed Rohan’s head into the ground one last time. Darkness swallowed him whole.

  The cold seeped into Rohan’s bones before he even opened his eyes. His wrists burned from the rough rope that bound them together behind his back. The air smelled of damp stone and dust, the kind of place no one would look for him.

  Then a voice cut through the silence.

  "So, you wanna start a war?"

  Rohan’s eyes snapped open. His vision was still hazy, his head pounding from the earlier beating. He forced himself to focus.

  The old man sat across from him in a wooden chair, arms resting lazily on his thighs. Rohan licked the blood from his lips, his voice rough.

  "Did the Talons send you?"

  The old man smirked.

  "No. An old friend told me a young beast was trying to overthrow a kingdom. Said we might have the same interests."

  Rohan tugged at his restraints, testing the knots. His gaze hardened.

  “If we have the same interests, then why the hell did you tie me up?”

  The old man leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening.

  "Because it's easier to tame a beast once it’s captured."

  Rohan’s fingers twitched, his breathing slow, controlled. His mind was clearing now, the fog of unconsciousness lifting.

  Tame a beast? He wasn’t some wild animal to be broken. His eyes locked onto the old man’s.

  "Then you should’ve used a stronger leash.”

  The old man laughed. Low and amused, as if he had been waiting for that response.

  The old man leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studied Rohan for a long moment before he finally spoke.

  "From this point on, I'm going to be training you."

  Rohan’s body tensed. He narrowed his eyes.

  "Training me?"

  The old man nodded.

  “I see potential in you, boy. But you’re reckless. Wild. A beast that barely knows how to use its claws.”

  His voice was even, but there was an edge to it, something final.

  “You’ll get yourself killed long before you ever reach the Iron Talons’ stronghold if you keep going like this.”

  Rohan pulled against his restraints again, glaring.

  "And what if I don’t want your training?"

  The old man smirked.

  "Doesn’t matter. You’re getting it. Whether you like it or not."

  Rohan’s jaw tightened. The arrogance. The certainty. This man had captured him, beaten him, and now he expected him to listen?

  "Why the hell do you care?"

  Rohan growled.

  "If you have the same goal as me, why tie me up instead of letting me go kill them?"

  The old man’s eyes darkened slightly, his smirk fading.

  "Because I don’t want you getting in my way.”

  The old man continued, his voice low and deadly serious.

  “I, too, am looking to destroy the Iron Talons. But unlike you, I actually know how to do it.”

  Rohan clenched his fists behind his back, his pulse steady but strong. Who the hell was this man? And more importantly, what did he really want?

  Rohan didn’t hesitate, the moment the old man finished speaking, he acted. He gritted his teeth, inhaled sharply, and with one brutal twist, dislocated his thumb. The pain was instant, burning up his wrist, but he had felt worse.

  He yanked his hands free of the rope, lunging forward. His body was still sluggish from the earlier beating, but his intent was deadly. His dagger wasn’t in reach, but that didn’t matter. His hands would do just fine. Rohan’s fist swung toward the old man’s throat-

  He didn’t even move, the old man’s boot slammed into Rohan’s face, sending him crashing to the ground.

  The impact rattled his skull, his vision flashing white for a split second. Before he could recover, a heavy weight pressed against his chest. The old man stood over him, his boot firmly planted on Rohan’s chest, pinning him down.

  Rohan’s breathing was ragged, blood trickling from his nose. But he still glared up at him. The old man chuckled, shaking his head.

  "Haven’t seen someone with so little care for their own body in a long time.”

  He removed his foot, crouching down beside Rohan, his voice lowering into something almost amused.

  "I’m going to have fun turning you into a true monster."

  Rohan’s chest rose and fell, his rage still burning, but now, it was something else. A realization, this man wasn’t just strong, he was something else entirely. And if Rohan wanted to stand a chance against the Iron Talons, against the world waiting for him beyond this room.

  He would have to survive whatever this man had planned.