The night was thick with silence as Kalem moved through the shadowed alleyways, his sack shifting against his back. The city was restless—he could feel it. Too many whispers, too many watchful eyes.
He reached a heavy wooden door and knocked twice.
A muffled voice came from within. "Password."
"Profit," Kalem replied without hesitation.
The door cracked open, revealing a single sharp eye before widening. "Oh, it's you."
Tavrin, the Grey Trader, unlatched the door fully, stepping aside to let him in. Dressed in a loose dark tunic with silver embroidery, he looked as composed as ever, but Kalem didn't miss the faint tension in his posture.
"Hello," Kalem greeted, stepping inside. His eyes swept over the dimly lit room, filled with exotic wares, unmarked crates, and the lingering scent of burnt herbs. "No guards?"
"Don't worry," Tavrin said smoothly, pouring tea into two ceramic cups. "They're just not in the room with us."
Kalem took the offered cup, swirling the liquid before taking a small sip. It was slightly bitter but oddly warming. "Not bad."
Tavrin chuckled. "It grows on you." He took a sip of his own before placing his cup down. "Now, what have you brought me?"
Kalem set the sack down and pulled out his wares—a well-crafted enchanted chest piece, followed by two short swords with reinforced grips and faintly glowing resonance crystals embedded in the blades.
"First, as a seller," Kalem said, placing them on the table. "I'd like some money in exchange."
Tavrin studied the items with a practiced eye, picking up one of the swords and testing its weight. "Good balance. The enchantments are subtle, not overdone. Your work keeps improving."
Kalem waited.
"Six hundred for the armor, two-fifty each for the swords," Tavrin finally said. "That puts us at eleven hundred."
"Fourteen hundred," Kalem countered without hesitation.
Tavrin exhaled through his nose. "Thirteen hundred."
Kalem nodded. "Deal."
Tavrin snapped his fingers, and from a concealed compartment in the corner, a small chest slid forward. He retrieved a pouch of coins and slid it across the table.
"Now," Tavrin said, folding his hands, "what do you want to buy?"
Kalem reached into his sack one last time and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment, setting it down between them.
"Tell me," he said. "What's happening in the outside world?"
The room shifted. The casual air Tavrin wore like armor cracked just slightly.
"You're asking for more than just rumors," he murmured, tapping a finger on the table.
Kalem said nothing. He didn't need to.
Tavrin let out a slow breath. "Recruitments for assassins have surged in the last month," he finally said. "Guilds, independent contractors, even noble-sponsored killers. Someone is stockpiling talent, and fast."
Kalem frowned. "For what?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Tavrin took another sip of tea. "High demand for poisons, too. Not just common ones—high-end, undetectable brews. The kind meant for silent wars."
Kalem absorbed that. Poison and hired blades. Subtle, efficient. Not a battlefield, but a purge.
"The Blood Nights?" he asked.
Tavrin smirked. "Likely tied to it, but I think it's bigger. The Academy's sponsorships are shifting, and it's not just internal politics anymore. Someone's preparing for something long-term."
Kalem leaned back, considering. "And who's buying?"
Tavrin raised a brow. "Now that," he said, "would cost extra."
Kalem let the silence stretch. Then, finally, he pulled a small, intricately crafted metal ring from his pocket. He set it on the table and slid it forward.
Tavrin's eyes flicked to it, interest sparking. "Resonance-forged?"
"A prototype," Kalem admitted. "Amplifies mana conduction without needing a fixed crystal. Lightweight, discreet."
Tavrin picked it up, rolling it between his fingers. "A trade, then?"
Kalem nodded.
Tavrin chuckled. "Dangerous habit you have, always looking for answers." He exhaled, then leaned in slightly. "Fine. But you didn't hear it from me."
Kalem met his gaze. "I never do."
Tavrin rolled the resonance-forged ring between his fingers, his smirk fading as he mulled over the value of what he was about to say. Then, with a quiet breath, he leaned forward.
"The major buyers of assassins and poisons?" he began, voice low. "The obvious ones are the usual power players—nobles, merchants, and warlords looking to settle disputes with minimal bloodshed in the open. But the real concern? The Bank has started moving its own assets."
Kalem's eyes sharpened. "The Bank?"
Tavrin nodded. "Not officially, of course. The Bank prides itself on being neutral, but even they have their limits. Word is, they're quietly financing countermeasures against whatever's brewing. That means hiring their own specialists. Enforcers, spies... and killers."
Kalem clenched his jaw. "And the ones making the first moves?"
Tavrin chuckled darkly. "Oh, plenty of fingers in this pie. The Eastern Houses are increasing security and intelligence efforts, the Western Alchemical Council is hiring alchemists skilled in assassination brews, and even some Free Cities are getting involved. But the biggest spender so far?" He met Kalem's gaze. "A faction within the Academy itself."
Kalem stilled. "The Academy?"
"Not as a whole," Tavrin clarified. "Just certain groups within it. Faculty members, sponsors—people with interests beyond just education. They're playing their own game in the upcoming Blood Nights. And if they're investing in preemptive strikes, it means they think someone within is a real threat."
Kalem exhaled slowly. "And the poisons?"
Tavrin's lips curled into a half-smile. "The kind that don't just kill—they silence, erase, and leave no trace. Some even disrupt magic. The most sought-after batch is something called Widow's Veil. A slow-acting toxin that mimics natural illness. Expensive, rare, and nearly impossible to detect unless you know exactly what you're looking for."
Kalem absorbed the information, his mind already working through the implications. If The Bank was moving pieces, if the Academy factions were hiring assassins, if poisons were in high demand... this wasn't just a hidden war. It was an arms race.
And the Blood Nights hadn't even begun.
Tavrin studied him, then refilled his tea. "Now that you know, what do you plan to do with this information?"
Kalem took another sip of his own, the bitterness grounding him. "Prepare."
Tavrin chuckled. "Spoken like a man who knows what's coming."
Kalem didn't answer. Instead, he slid the coin pouch into his coat, stood, and slung the empty sack over his shoulder.
"I'll be back," he said.
Tavrin waved a hand. "I expect nothing less."
As Kalem stepped into the night, the city's murmurs felt different now—like whispers of unseen daggers, waiting to be drawn.