The Assassin in the Shadows; Book One: The Betrayed Heroes

Prologue

New York

The wind rustled the grass, brushing against his skin like a whisper from another life. The murmur of the river drifted faintly to his ears.
It was September in Brooklyn. A bit chilly, typical for the season. But something was off. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones—an unease crawling up his spine, chilling him in a way few battles ever had.

The wind carried more than just cold. It carried omen.

Just beneath his collarbone, the scar—one of many—itched with phantom pain. A faded memory of war and near-death. And yet, the one beside him had seen worse.

They were heading to a park in Manhattan—two figures that looked like teenagers, but whose eyes told ancient stories. Stories soaked in ichor and blood, in betrayal and survival. They had faced monsters that would snap a mortal's sanity like brittle glass. They'd endured heartbreak, guilt, and agony. Still, they carried on—not because they wanted to, but because someone had to.

Someone had to bear the weight of the world.

Their scars, both visible and hidden, whispered of promises made in fire and fulfilled in silence. They would not stop. Not for fear. Not for pain. Not even for death. They would face what came with unshakable resolve.

The noise of the East River faded, drowned beneath the roar of Manhattan traffic.

"How long will it take?" asked his companion.

"Thirty minutes, give or take. It's about three miles from here," he replied.

They were on the Manhattan Bridge now, the wind howling louder. He felt it again. Wrong. The air was wrong. Something big was coming—and they had to get the kid out before it hit.

They broke into a run. Time was bleeding away fast. Parkour was inevitable.

"We'll jump off at Division Street instead of Bowery," he said quickly, mapping the path. "From there: Chatham Square, Worth Street, Columbus Park, Centre Street, Park Row, Broadway, Fulton, then Liberty Street."

His partner nodded, eyes sharp, mind syncing to the pace. They moved like trained ghosts in a city that didn't have time to notice.

By the time they reached Pumphouse Park, thirty minutes had passed. New York didn't blink. Runners, office workers, tourists—everyone in motion. Two more bodies in motion meant nothing.

"There," his friend said, pointing.

A woman and a young boy. Sitting calmly. Laughing.

Sally Jackson. And Percy.

"There they are! Let's go!" his friend bolted forward.

But he blocked him with an arm.

"What?" his friend protested.

"They don't know us. We rush them, we panic them. Stay back. Watch for anything suspicious."

He walked forward alone, calmly, each step measured like a ritual. He tapped the woman gently on the shoulder.

"Hello. Are you, by any chance... Sally Jackson?"

She turned, startled. "Yes. May I ask who's asking?"

"We mean no harm. Not to you. Not to Percy."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? And who's we?"

"I come of my own will—not by the orders of the Olympians. They are fools, breaking lives like glass. I am... primordial. And that," he gestured slightly behind him, "is a demigod. His name must remain hidden."

She stiffened. "Milord, I didn't mean disrespect. What... are you doing here?"

"Today is a flux point—a moment in time so volatile, a single misstep could erase this entire reality. Time, space, all of it."

"What does that have to do with Percy?" she asked defensively, glancing at her son who was playing nearby.

"You can see through the Mist, can't you?"
She nodded.

"Then look there. Tell me what you see."
He pointed up.

"...A plane?" she said, uncertain.

"Look again."

Her eyes widened. "That's... a creature. Winged. Dragon-like."

"An Assilias," he confirmed. "A rare breed of draconic predator. It's targeting where the gods feel safest—their own soil."

"And why should that matter to me?" she snapped. Fury in her voice.

"Because hundreds will die. And you and Percy will be among them if we don't act. My friend will escort you to safety. I'll deal with the beast."

"I want to fight!" his friend interjected.

"You will. Just not today. Today, protect them."

A piercing screech shattered the sky.

The creature dove, colliding with the World Trade Center's North Tower.

"There's my cue. Get them out—now."

He leapt into the air. Black wings exploded from his back, midnight feathers slicing the wind. Twin swords—Light and Dark—materialized in his hands. He spun midair, forming a deadly spiral of silver and shadow.

He clashed with the Assilias mid-fall. They tumbled together into the Hudson. Water churned, buildings shook, fire and ash spread through the sky.

He rose from the river, mud and pollution clinging to him. The stench of decay made his stomach twist. Humans had poisoned this earth too long. He almost wanted to let the beast win.

But he didn't.

He climbed out victorious—until another screech tore through the chaos.

This one was deeper. Stronger. Terrifying.

A fully grown Assilias.

That shouldn't have been possible. The Seraphim would have noticed something like this... unless...

There was something wrong. Someone had infiltrated the ranks of the divine.

Someone was pulling the strings.

And now, he had to cut them all.