The tunnels were cold, damp, and endless. Rohan followed the three members of The Veil, his breath steady but his body on the verge of collapse. Every step sent sharp pain through his wounds, but he forced himself forward. Stopping wasn’t an option.

  The leader, the older man who had barely spoken, moved with quiet confidence. His cloak barely rustled as he walked, and even in the dim torchlight, his eyes were sharp, taking in everything.

  The woman with the twin daggers walked just ahead, her movements silent, almost unnatural. Every few steps, she would glance back at Rohan, studying him like a curiosity.

  The scarred man with the crossbow remained at the back, watching their trail for any sign of pursuit.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity of winding paths and hidden passageways, they stopped before a large iron door embedded into the stone. The older man placed his palm against it, and after a few seconds, the mechanisms within clicked and turned.

  The door swung open, revealing a hidden sanctuary of knowledge.

  Rows of shelves stacked with scrolls and documents lined the walls. Maps, contracts, and coded messages were pinned to large boards. A few individuals moved between them, scribbling notes, exchanging information, or decoding messages by candlelight. The older man turned to face them fully.

  “Welcome to The Veil.”

  As they stepped inside, the heavy door shutting behind them, a voice called out from across the room.

  "Veyna."

  Rohan’s benefactor, veyna, turned toward the sound. A man in dark, well-fitted robes approached, his sharp features betraying both curiosity and irritation. He stopped just short of her, arms crossed.

  “You’re bleeding, again.”

  Veyna smirked.

  “And yet, I’m still standing.”

  Before Rohan could react, a firm hand gripped his arm, guiding him away. He turned to see the woman with twin daggers leading him toward a side room.

  “You’re no good to us if you bleed out on the floor, come on.”

  Rohan didn’t resist. He let her pull him into a dimly lit chamber with a worn wooden table and a chair. The walls were lined with shelves holding medical supplies, clean cloths, and bottles of something he guessed was for the pain.

  A younger man sat waiting, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

  “Sit.”

  He ordered.

  Rohan lowered himself onto the chair, exhaustion finally catching up to him. The moment he relaxed, the pain hit him in full force. He clenched his jaw as the healer cut away the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt, exposing the deep gash along his side.

  The woman with the daggers leaned against the wall, watching with keen eyes.

  “You fought like a man with nothing to lose.”

  Rohan didn’t respond. He only winced as the doctor poured something burning over his wound.

  She took a step closer.

  “That wasn’t just survival, was it?”

  Rohan exhaled sharply.

  “You here to patch me up or interrogate me?”

  The doctor smirked but didn’t comment. The woman, however, wasn’t so easily brushed aside.

  “You were targeted tonight, not just you, not just veyna. The pits, her estate, every loose end. Someone wants the board wiped clean.”

  As Rohan tensed she leaned forward slightly.

  “So I’m asking, what do you know?”

  His grip on the chair tightened. He could still hear the voices from the alleyway, the noble speaking with the cloaked figures.

  “I know they’re not done yet.”

  Her expression darkened.

  “Explain.”

  He exhaled, feeling the burn of the stitches being pulled through his skin.

  “They weren’t just cleaning up the pits, they were tying off every loose end, the fighters, Veyna… and now me.”

  Rohan’s voice was quiet but firm.

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  “They’re trying to erase something.”

  The room fell silent.

  The doctor finished the last stitch and tied it off. The woman finally pushed off the wall, cracking her knuckles.

  “Well then, looks like you just became very valuable to The Veil.”

  Rohan stepped back into the main chamber of The Veil, his body still aching from the fight, but his mind sharp. His stitches were fresh, and every breath made his ribs scream, but he ignored it.

  At the center of the room, the older man who had led them here sat behind a heavy wooden table, maps and reports spread out before him. He glanced up as Rohan approached, motioning for him to sit.

  The older man folded his hands. His voice was calm but weighted with meaning.

  “We’ve pieced together what happened tonight.”

  Rohan leaned forward slightly.

  “This wasn’t just a cleanup operation. The attack on the pits, the assassination attempts, the way they moved, it was all planned well in advance.”

  The man tapped a document in front of him.

  “This order didn’t come from some minor noble or power-hungry merchant.”

  Rohan’s fingers tightened around the arms of his chair. He already knew what was coming.

  “This came from the Iron Talons.”

  Rohan swallowed his rage, forcing himself to focus.

  “Who gave the order?”

  The older man exhaled, tapping three different parchments.

  “That’s what we’re working on. We’ve narrowed it down to three possible backers, all with the wealth, influence, and motive to fund the Iron Talons.”

  He pointed to the first suspect.

  “Varlo Senic. A merchant. Recently, he’s been amassing wealth at an unnatural rate, new trade routes, sudden investments in mercenary companies, and land acquisitions. He’s hungry for power. The kind money alone doesn’t buy.”

  Rohan narrowed his eyes. A merchant funding an army of raiders? Possible, but it didn’t feel like the full picture. The older man tapped the second parchment.

  “Lord Edrik Vale. A noble who’s been gathering support for a ‘people’s revolution.’ He preaches about dismantling the old order, claiming the nobles are parasites. If he’s working with the Iron Talons, it could mean he’s preparing for something bigger.”

  Rohan frowned.

  “And the third?”

  The older man’s expression darkened as he tapped the last parchment.

  “Prince Lemeir, heir to the largest kingdom in these lands.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  “If it’s him, then this isn’t just about bandits or power plays. He’s not funding the Iron Talons to raid villages for sport.”

  Rohan clenched his jaw.

  “He’s burning the land so he can rebuild it for himself.”

  The older man nodded.

  “The King still rules, but the Prince has been expanding his influence in the shadows. Loyalists, mercenaries, spies. If he’s behind this, the Iron Talons aren’t just an army of raiders, they’re the first wave of his conquest.”

  The room felt colder.

  Rohan’s mind raced. If Prince Lemeir was truly backing the Iron Talons, it meant this war had already started.

  Rohan’s grip on the chair tightened. His knuckles were white, but he kept his voice even.

  “The first attack, on my village. Was it just a coincidence? Were the Iron Talons just a bunch of raiders back then, and only after did they start working for someone higher?”

  The room went silent. The older man didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back slightly, his fingers interlocking as if weighing his words. Then, after a slow breath, he spoke.

  “No.”

  The older man’s voice was steady and deliberate.

  “The Iron Talons weren’t acting randomly that night. They were hired. Specifically to destroy your village, they were after someone. An informant.”

  The older man’s gaze didn’t waver.

  “One of our own had discovered something, a secret big enough to shift the entire balance of the kingdom. He had found evidence that an heir to the same kingdom, Prince Lemeir was from was still alive. Hidden.”

  The breath left Rohan’s lungs.

  The older man continued.

  “If that heir were found, they could lay claim to the throne. They could throw Lemeir’s entire path to power into chaos.”

  Rohan’s jaw tightened.

  “So, they wiped out the village to cover it up?”

  “Yes. To make sure no one else learned the truth.”

  Rohan felt his nails digging into his palm, his mind racing. Rohan swallowed, his voice lower now.

  “Who was the informant?”

  The older man hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he spoke.

  “Joseph.”

  Rohan felt the blood drain from his face. The older man’s eyes stayed on him.

  “My-my father.”

  Rohan’s breath was shallow. His hands shook. His father had uncovered something that could have destroyed Lemeir’s rise to power. And for that, they had sent the Iron Talons to kill him.

  The truth was staring him in the face. His family hadn't been slaughtered by chance. They had been executed.

  Rohan forced himself to breathe. The rage clawing at his chest demanded he act, demanding blood. But he wasn’t going to break. Not now. Instead, he clenched his fists, his voice low and controlled.

  “If my village was destroyed to bury the heir’s existence, then wouldn’t that mean Prince Lemeir is the one backing the Iron Talons?”

  The older man sighed, rubbing his temples.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Rohan narrowed his eyes.

  “Why not?”

  The older man straightened, meeting Rohan’s gaze.

  “Because the Iron Talons have never been loyal to just one master. They are a tool, an executioner’s blade for the highest bidder. Your village wasn’t their first job, and it wasn’t their last.”

  Rohan’s stomach twisted. How many others had suffered the same fate? The older man continued, his voice measured.

  “They've been used by nobles, merchants, revolutionaries, anyone who needed something erased. A rival, a settlement, a loose end.”

  Rohan’s fingers curled tightly around the arms of his chair. He had spent months hating them, hunting them… and now he was realizing they were just a weapon. The hand holding them had changed again and again.

  Rohan stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he muttered.

  “I need a moment.”

  Rohan moved quickly, his steps steady until he closed the door behind him in a small, dimly lit washroom. The moment the latch clicked into place, his legs gave out.

  He collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his back pressing against the wall as his breath came fast and shallow.

  His chest tightened. His lungs screamed for air. He couldn’t breathe.

  The room spun around him, his vision blurring at the edges. His hands shook violently, fingers twitching as if still gripping a blade.

  The Iron Talons.

  They had killed his family. They had burned his village. His father had died for a secret that could have changed everything. And now, they were still out there. Thriving. Growing. A ghost army under the command of someone worse.

  Rohan squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hands against his skull as a violent rage surged through him. It burned, twisting inside him like a living thing, its claws digging into his ribs, demanding release. He clenched his jaw until his teeth ached, his fingernails biting into his palms.

  I will wipe them out.

  The thought was like steel, solid and unbreakable.

  Every last one of them. The Iron Talons. The people funding them. The ones protecting them.

  I will kill them all.

  His breath was still uneven, but now it carried purpose.

  No more waiting. No more surviving. He was going to start hunting. Rohan opened his eyes, his body still shaking, but his mind was clearer than ever.

  It begins now.