Threads of Fate

Adrin Naen: Year 675

The rain-soaked streets of Valreach whispered of secrets, of deals made in shadows, and of lives ended with a flick of the blade. Perched atop a crumbling stone building, Adrin Naen watched the bustling city below, his eyes tracking the movement of the guards as they passed under flickering torchlight. The damp night clung to his skin, but he didn't mind. It was familiar—comforting, even. He had learned long ago that in the dark, you could become anyone. Or no one.

His fingers traced the edge of his dagger, worn smooth from years of use. He'd never missed a mark, and tonight wouldn't be any different. At least, that's what he told himself.

Adrin wasn't like the others in his line of work. He didn't kill for pleasure, or out of some misguided notion of justice. It was survival, pure and simple. Life had never offered him anything more than a series of choices—each more dangerous than the last. And if those choices led him to become a weapon for the highest bidder, so be it. The world was unforgiving, and only the quick survived.

Tonight's target was different, though. Elias Verath, a young mage rumored to be one of the most promising talents to come out of the Arcane Sanctum in decades. But the job wasn't to kill him immediately. No, Elias was to be watched, his movements tracked, and when the time came, Adrin would finish the job. It was a slow, drawn-out kind of mission—one that required patience. His employer wanted something from Elias before his death, something they hadn't been clear about.

Adrin had learned not to ask too many questions.

From his vantage point, he could see the mage's small study, a dim light glowing from the window. Inside, Elias sat at a desk, hunched over a pile of scrolls. Research, probably. Adrin didn't care about the details. The sooner this job was done, the sooner he could leave Valreach and return to the shadows. This place held too many memories—too many ghosts.

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Hours later, Adrin moved silently through the narrow streets, keeping his distance but never losing sight of Elias. The mage was young—barely twenty, with a nervous energy that betrayed his inexperience in the world outside his studies. Adrin had been watching him for weeks now, noting his habits, his routines. It should have felt routine by now, like any other assignment. But something about Elias gnawed at him.

The boy wasn't like the others he'd been assigned to. Elias was naïve, too hopeful for someone who dabbled in magic. Adrin could see it in his eyes during those rare moments he'd caught glimpses of the mage outside the Sanctum—there was innocence there, the kind that didn't belong in Valreach, the kind that would get a person killed.

Adrin's fingers twitched around his dagger. He didn't like it—this lingering sense that there was more to this job than he was being told. His instincts, honed over years of surviving by the blade, warned him that he was walking a thin line.

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Back in the shadows, Adrin met with Veylor, his handler, in a secluded tavern tucked away from prying eyes. Veylor was a man of few words, his face always hidden behind a cowl. He had been the one to drag Adrin into this world years ago, teaching him how to survive, how to kill. Their relationship was built on mutual gain and nothing more.

"The boy is still in the city," Adrin said, leaning against the wall, his voice barely audible over the clink of tankards and murmured conversations. "But you didn't tell me why he's important."

Veylor's eyes narrowed beneath his hood. "You don't need to know why. You just need to finish the job when the time comes."

Adrin's jaw tightened. He had followed Veylor's orders for years, never questioning the why. But something about this mission felt off. "Why keep him alive this long? If it's about his magic, there are easier ways to deal with it."