❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱʟᴀɴᴅ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ? ❞
Morana has mastered death, allowing her to become the most notoriously feared assassin on the island of Wyrith. She's able to control the remains of the dead whenever she pleases...
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Quiet mornings where morning dew hung in the air and coated every surface with a gentle sheen were Morana's favourites. They were peaceful, giving her a chance to relax amidst the constant mayhem of her life. The emptiness of Stargate Port also made it easy to spot people who didn't quite belong.
The assassin made her way over to the hooded figure who just entered the dock, pulling her mask over the bottom half of her face. She snuck around the back of the man and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to yelp and spin around. He swung out a fist, though it was much too slow to cause any harm. Morana caught it and pushed it back down by his side.
"Good morning," she began with a whisper. "Your Highness."
"Are you the messenger I'm meant to be meeting?" Nervousness made Prince Damian's irises tremble — the stagnant embers inside coming to life with their movement.
"Messenger?" Morana's jaw hung loose before she snapped it shut. "That's a serious demotion." If that was the title that Silas had used in whatever note he had given the Fireborn, she could tell he was still annoyed by yesterday's mess.
"Are you? Or are you not?" he pushed, his ivory brows narrowing.
"Yeah, yeah, fire boy. I'm here to collect you." She started walking around him, assessing him with a serpent's stealth.
Under the thick, woollen cloak, snippets of bronze royal attire could be seen. A quick squeeze of his upper arms was all that was needed for the assassin to gauge his strong build. Through the shadows of his hood, she gazed up at the prince's face. There was so much more she could see now that she wasn't hidden behind a crate. The edges of his nose were sharp and smooth — a distraction from his enchanting eyes that she could get lost in if she lingered for too long. White strands of hair fell in front of them, getting caught in his long lashes.
One feature that caught her eye was that parts of his skin had two different textures. A long thin line from the base of his neck trailed up and over his chin.
"Do you like what you see?" A question danced across Damian's expression, asking what exactly she was doing.
"You're alright." Morana patted his shoulder to signify she was finished. "I was just checking to make sure you hadn't sent a decoy in your place."
"Isn't the fact that I'm seeking Silas enough?"
The assassin stifled her laugh. "You would be surprised how many people want to work for one of the most powerful people in Wyrith. Having even a sliver of success in the Lost Abyss is plenty to entice venal people."
"And yet he's resorting to blackmailing people to do his work for him?"
"If they're not easy to control, Silas wouldn't want them." Curiosity perked up about what kind of secret the prince was hiding, but she forced it back down.
"What else did you discover with your assessment?" The unease that wrapped puppet strings around his limbs had begun to loosen. His shoulders relaxed as he started to determine that the woman in front of him wasn't going to hurt him — a decision that would only get him killed if he wasn't careful.
