Rohan prepared for his mission under the noble’s guidance. He was given a new set of clothes, simple and rugged, the kind a wandering mercenary might wear. Along with it, a small pouch of coins, just enough to buy information or supplies without drawing attention.

  As he fastened his father’s dagger to his belt, the noble watched him carefully.

  “You’re stepping into a world where trust is a weakness.”

  He warned.

  “You’ll have no allies. No second chances.”

  Rohan nodded, his grip tightening on the blade’s hilt. He wasn’t a spy. He wasn’t a liar. But none of that mattered. The only thing that did was getting close to the ones responsible for everything, the Iron Talons.

  With nothing but his wits and a growing fire in his chest, Rohan set off for Duskwatch, a haven for killers, thieves, and those who thrived in the shadows.

  Rohan sat in silence as he finished securing his pack. Talia stood a few steps away, arms crossed, her expression tense. She had seen it coming, he could tell by the way she bit her lip, holding back words she knew wouldn’t change his mind.

  “I’m not taking you with me.”

  His voice was firm, but not unkind.

  “It’ll be too dangerous. I can’t protect you out there.”

  Talia’s fists clenched at her sides.

  “I never asked you to protect me!”

  Rohan sighed.

  “I need to do this alone.”

  She looked away, her face unreadable.

  “So that’s it, then?”

  He hesitated, but only for a moment.

  “Yeah.”

  There was no point in making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Without another word, he turned and walked away, forcing himself not to look back.

  The journey to Duskwatch would take days, but Rohan had one stop to make first.

  The village was silent when he arrived. What remained of the wooden gates stood like broken ribs, charred from fire.

  Rohan got to work, he buried the chief first, setting a heavy stone at the head of the grave. Then Elara who had died with a sword in hand, then the guards who had fought to their last breath. He dug until his fingers bled.

  When he reached the final body, the baby the chief had died protecting, his hands trembled. He wrapped the tiny form carefully in cloth before placing them in the earth.

  By the time he was done, night had fallen. Rohan stood among the graves, dirt under his nails, sweat and blood mixed on his skin. Then he turned towards the road.

  The journey to Duskwatch takes four grueling days. Rohan moves cautiously, avoiding the main roads and keeping to the wilderness. He hunts when he can, sleeps in short bursts, and keeps his dagger close at all times. Every rustling leaf and distant howl sets his nerves on edge, he’s alone, and there’s no one to watch his back.

  On the second day, he stumbles upon an abandoned roadside camp. The fire is cold, but footprints in the dirt tell him it was occupied recently. Bandits? Travelers? He doesn’t linger to find out. He moves on, pushing through hunger and exhaustion.

  By the third day, the land changes. The thick forests give way to rocky terrain, and the road becomes more traveled. He spots merchants, mercenaries, and wandering vagrants, all heading toward the same destination, Duskwatch.

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  As night falls on the fourth day, he reaches the outskirts of the city. Towering stone walls stretch before him, worn but imposing. Fires flicker beyond them, casting a dim glow over the landscape. The main gate is bustling with merchants and travelers, their goods being inspected by rough-looking men in mismatched armor. Not city guards, hired swords. Duskwatch doesn’t follow the rules of a kingdom, it makes it own.

  Rohan pulls his hood lower and veers toward a smaller entrance, a side gate used by those who prefer not to be noticed. A man leans lazily against the wooden door, a scar running down the side of his cheek. The man’s eyes flick over him, sizing him up.

  "What brings you to Duskwatch?"

  Rohan keeps his voice steady.

  "Work. I hear the city always has room for a good blade."

  The man chuckles, tapping a finger against the hilt of his own dagger.

  "That depends. You got coin?”

  Rohan pulls a few coins from his pouch, enough to satisfy the man’s greed without making himself a target. The man bites one, then pockets it.

  "Welcome to Duskwatch."

  He says, pushing the gate open.

  "Try not to get yourself killed too quickly."

  Duskwatch is alive with the hum of the lawless. The streets are narrow and winding, packed with merchants selling stolen goods, beggars eyeing pockets, and mercenaries boasting their latest kills over drinks. Shadows linger in every alley, watching, waiting.

  Rohan keeps his hood low and his stride confident. Hesitation marks a man as prey, and Duskwatch devours the weak.

  He needs a plan. The Iron Talons are here somewhere, but he can’t just walk into their ranks. He needs an in, someone who knows them, someone who can get him close.

  His first stop is a tavern. The "Broken Dagger" sits on the edge of the market square, its sign barely hanging from rusted chains. Inside, the air is thick with smoke and the sour stench of unwashed bodies.

  Rohan moves to the bar, ordering a cheap drink. He doesn’t touch it. Instead, he listens. Conversations flow around him, complaints about mercenary pay, rumors of nobles funding bandit groups, whispers of men disappearing in the night. Then, he hears what he’s looking for.

  A grizzled man in tattered leather leans in close to his drinking partner.

  "Iron Talons have been quiet lately."

  He mutters.

  "Too quiet. They’re up to something."

  His companion, a younger man with nervous eyes, scoffs.

  "They don’t answer to anyone. Not the nobles, not the city. If they’re planning something, no one’s stopping them!"

  Rohan watches them carefully. These men aren’t Iron Talons, but they know enough to be useful. He waits for an opening, then makes his move.

  "You sound like you know them well."

  He says, setting a few coins on the table.

  "I need work, and I hear they pay well."

  The older man eyes the money, then Rohan. There’s a long pause before he speaks.

  "You don’t find the Iron Talons, they find you."

  Rohan leans in slightly.

  "Then how do I make myself worth finding?"

  The man smirks, taking the coins.

  "There’s a fight pit down by the docks. No rules, no mercy. Survive a few rounds, and the right people might take notice."

  Rohan nods, pushing back from the table. If this is what it takes to get close to them, then so be it. The Iron Talons won’t find a recruit. They’ll find a hunter.

  Rohan steps out of the tavern and into the cold night air. Duskwatch is even uglier in the dark. The streets reek of piss and rot, and distant shouts echo through the alleys. He doesn’t have enough coin for a proper room.

  He moves through the winding streets, slipping into a narrow alleyway where the shadows swallow him whole. It’s not comfortable, but it’s quiet. He finds a dry spot near a stack of crates and leans against the wall, adjusting his cloak. His body aches from days of travel, but exhaustion is a luxury he can’t afford.

  As he closes his eyes, a voice cuts through the stillness.

  "Not the best place to sleep, love."

  Rohan’s hand snaps to his dagger as he turns toward the voice. A woman stands at the entrance of the alley, her arms crossed. She’s older than him, maybe twenty, with tired eyes and a smirk that doesn’t quite reach them. Her dress is worn but still clings to her figure, the fabric telling its own story.

  "I’ve got a place."

  she continues, nodding toward the street.

  "A proper bed. Cheap for the night.”

  Rohan hesitates. He doesn’t trust kindness in a place like this, but he’s cold, hungry, and sore. A bed would be better than freezing on the streets.

  "Why?"

  He asks, narrowing his eyes.

  "You don’t even know me."

  She shrugs.

  "You look like you need it. Besides, you’re not the type to slit my throat in my sleep."

  He frowns but follows. She leads him through winding backstreets to a small, candle-lit room above a tavern. It’s barely more than a cot and a chair, but it’s warm.

  As he sits on the edge of the bed, the woman leans against the door, watching him.

  "So… when do you want to get started?"

  Rohan blinks.

  "Started with what?"

  She tilts her head, amused.

  "With me, love. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?"

  Realization hits him like a punch to the gut. His face flushes, and he shakes his head quickly.

  "I-I just thought-"

  She laughs, the sound dry but not unkind.

  "You thought I was being nice?"

  Rohan doesn’t answer.

  She watches him for a moment, then sighs.

  "You can keep the bed. Just don’t expect charity again."

  She moves to the chair, stretching her legs out with a tired groan.

  "You running from something, kid?"

  Rohan stays silent, staring at the ceiling. Sleep drags at him, but the weight in his chest is heavier. Duskwatch was going to change him. He just didn’t know how much yet.