The glowing schematics flickered across Kairo's wrist display, a shifting holographic map of Marek's estate. He traced a finger along the projected pathways, committing the security blind spots to memory. If Solomon's intel was right, the hidden entrance near the east wall was his best way in.
"You're sure about this?" Solomon's voice crackled softly through Kairo's earpiece, his tone controlled but edged with tension.
Kairo smirked, adjusting the strap on his gloves. "Since when am I ever not sure?"
"Since five minutes ago, when you nearly tripped over your own chain blades," Vera chimed in from the other line.
Kairo rolled his eyes. "That was a training accident."
"Sure it was," Vera muttered. "Just don't get caught, dumbass. You're the only one stupid enough to take on a recon mission alone."
"This is why I'm the best," Kairo said, scanning the rooftops ahead. "Besides, we need evidence on Marek. If I can prove he's working with someone bigger, we'll have leverage to cut him off before he makes his next move."
"Still think it's reckless," Solomon admitted. "But fine. We'll be monitoring from here, but once you're inside, we won't risk open communication. You're on your own."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Kairo muttered.
The wrist display flickered, the holographic map shifting into a dim pulse before vanishing entirely. His earpiece went silent. No more communication. No backup. Just him.
Kairo exhaled slowly, then moved.
He darted across the rooftops, his boots making barely a sound against the reinforced stone. The buildings in this sector looked old—carved from dark, aged stone—but Kairo knew better. Underneath the historical facade, these were reinforced structures, laced with Fantasia's advanced energy-based materials.
Marek's estate was no exception.
As Kairo neared the outer wall, his goggles flickered, adjusting to scan for hidden security measures. Sure enough, faint blue lines ran across the stone—an energy-based perimeter shield, nearly invisible to the naked eye.
Smart bastard.
Kairo reached into his belt and pulled out a small metallic disc, pressing it against the wall. The device hummed softly before emitting a pulse, disrupting the shield for exactly seven seconds.
Kairo didn't waste a single one.
He vaulted over the wall, landing in a crouch on the other side just as the barrier reactivated behind him.
He took a breath. No alarms. No movement.
So far, so good.
He crept forward, keeping low as he reached the edge of the inner courtyard. That's when he saw it.
A lone hooded figure slipping out from the side entrance of Marek's estate. Moving quickly, but careful.
Kairo's eyes narrowed. Not a guard. Not a soldier.
Someone delivering information.
Bingo.
He moved.
Kairo barely felt the burn in his legs as he sprinted across the rooftops, his focus locked on the assassin darting through the alleys below. The chase had taken them deep into the eastern sector—a labyrinth of old stone buildings and narrow corridors, where the city's past met its present in a tangled mess of forgotten roads and technological advancements hidden beneath centuries-old architecture.
From up here, Kairo could see the subtle traces of modernity woven into the cityscape. Along the rooftops, barely visible energy conduits pulsed with faint blue light, feeding into the infrastructure beneath Fantasia. Arcane-powered street lamps hummed softly, casting an artificial glow over cobbled paths. Small hovering surveillance drones flickered in and out of sight, their glass-like surfaces camouflaging against the skyline.
Fantasia might have looked medieval to outsiders, but beneath its surface? It was something else entirely.
The assassin was fast—dangerously so. They weaved through the streets with the precision of someone who knew the city well, cutting down side paths and slipping through old drainage tunnels that most people had long forgotten.
But Kairo wasn't just anyone.
He pushed harder, closing the distance, his chain blades pulsing with faint energy as he prepared to strike. He didn't know who this person was, but he wasn't about to let them disappear into the city's underbelly without answers.
Then, without warning, the assassin skidded to a stop.
Kairo dug his heels into the rooftop, slowing just enough to avoid overshooting his target. He crouched low, watching as his quarry turned sharply into a shadowed alcove between two abandoned buildings.
A dead end.
Got you.
Kairo launched forward, descending silently. He landed in the alley with barely a sound, his blades shifting into a defensive grip. "You run fast," he called out, keeping his voice casual. "But not fast enough."
The assassin didn't respond immediately. Instead, they exhaled slowly, turning just enough for Kairo to catch another glimpse of those violet eyes. They were sharp, calculating, as if already considering ten different escape routes.
"I wasn't running from you," the assassin said finally, their voice smooth but edged with something unreadable.
Kairo narrowed his eyes. "That's funny, because from where I'm standing, it sure looked like running."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of their lips. "You misunderstand." Their fingers twitched slightly, and Kairo felt the shift of energy ripple through the alley.
He tensed.
Magic.
The air around them wavered, distorting like heat rising from stone.
An illusion.
Kairo cursed under his breath. Too late.
The space behind him erupted in movement.
A second figure appeared from the darkness—silent, fast, and wielding a curved dagger aimed straight for Kairo's back.
Instinct kicked in.
Kairo twisted, swinging one of his chain blades in a tight arc. The metal clashed against the dagger with a sharp clang, the impact sending vibrations up his arm. He barely had time to react before the first assassin lunged at him, forcing him into a two-on-one fight.
Great. So it was a trap.
Kairo ducked, narrowly avoiding a slash aimed at his throat. He countered with a sharp kick, forcing one of them back just enough to give himself room to breathe.
This was bad.
They weren't just fighting with brute strength—they were coordinated. Each movement was calculated, forcing Kairo into positions that limited his mobility. They knew how to work together, cutting off his escape routes with perfect synergy.
Elite assassins. Definitely not hired thugs.
Kairo's mind raced as he parried another strike. He needed to change the momentum before they completely boxed him in.
His eyes flicked toward the old energy conduit embedded in the stone wall just behind them.
A risky move.
But he didn't have much of a choice.
With a sharp inhale, Kairo feigned a retreat, letting his enemies push him toward the conduit. Just as one of them lunged for the finishing blow, he twisted mid-step, kicking off the wall and flipping over their head.
At the same time, he flicked his chain blade toward the conduit.
The metal whip struck true, sending a spark of energy rippling through the alleyway.
The conduit burst to life with a sudden pulse, surging with overcharged magic.
For a fraction of a second, the alley was bathed in flickering blue light.
Then—BOOM.
The pulse sent a shockwave through the narrow space, disrupting the assassin's footing. They stumbled, momentarily thrown off balance.
That was all Kairo needed.
He surged forward, slamming his elbow into one's ribs while using his chain to wrap around the second attacker's wrist, yanking them off balance.
The first assassin recovered too quickly, flipping backward and creating distance.
The second, however, wasn't as lucky.
Kairo twisted the chain, tightening his grip, and yanked hard.
The assassin crashed into the wall with a sharp grunt, their hood falling away in the process.
Kairo froze.
A woman.
Young—maybe a few years older than him. Her silver hair gleamed under the flickering energy conduit, her violet eyes burning with defiance even as she struggled against the chain binding her wrist.
Kairo didn't loosen his grip.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
The assassin—no, the woman—exhaled sharply, lips pressing into a thin line. "You don't want to know."
Kairo scowled. "Try me."
Before she could answer, the second assassin whistled sharply—a sharp, piercing note that echoed through the alley.
A signal.
Kairo's eyes widened. Shit. More incoming.
He yanked his chain free, stepping back just in time to see figures emerging from the rooftops above.
Five. No, six of them.
Too many.
Kairo gritted his teeth, his mind already calculating escape routes. He wasn't stupid enough to fight a whole squad of assassins alone.
"Next time," he muttered, locking eyes with the woman before flipping backward onto a lower rooftop.
Then, with a final glance, he ran.
Kairo sprinted across the rooftops, moving fast and light, his breath steady despite the adrenaline surging through his veins. He could still hear the faint sounds of pursuit behind him—silent footfalls, the occasional scrape of metal against stone—but they were fading. The assassins weren't following him directly anymore.
Which meant one of two things.
Either they were regrouping.
Or they had already achieved their objective.
Kairo scowled as he vaulted over a gap between buildings, landing in a roll before pressing his back against a chimney stack. He forced his breathing to slow, reaching up to tap the small, nearly invisible communication device embedded just behind his ear.
The tech was discreet, a small arcane-powered node that allowed long-range, encrypted communication between placeholders. It had been Solomon's idea—something they'd implemented after realizing they were getting too spread out across their respective domains.
Kairo pressed the node twice, opening a private channel.
"Solomon, you there?" Kairo whispered.
Static for half a second—then a click.
"I'm here. You were supposed to check in ten minutes ago." Solomon's voice was calm, but Kairo could hear the underlying tension. "Tell me you didn't do something reckless."
Kairo exhaled, peeking over the edge of the rooftop. No movement. For now. "Define reckless."
A long pause.
"You're bleeding, aren't you?"
Kairo glanced down at the cut on his ribs, the thin line of crimson soaking into his jacket. "Nothing serious."
Solomon muttered something under his breath, probably pinching the bridge of his nose like he always did when dealing with nonsense. "Did you at least get anything useful?"
"Not exactly," Kairo admitted. "But I did run into some… complications."
A second voice cut in through the line—Vera. She must have been monitoring the channel. "Complications?" she repeated. "That's Kairo-code for 'I almost died again,' isn't it?"
"It's a developing situation," Kairo said, rubbing his temple. "But you'll love this—turns out Marek isn't the only one pulling strings. I just fought a squad of assassins who knew I was coming."
Silence.
Then Solomon's voice, carefully measured. "You're sure they weren't Marek's?"
"Positive," Kairo said. "Too skilled, too coordinated. They weren't just hired blades—these people have training. And one of them… she had violet eyes, Solomon."
That got a reaction.
A sharp inhale. A beat of quiet calculation.
Vera, however, was less subtle. "Wait—violet eyes? Like, unnatural violet?"
"Yeah," Kairo confirmed. "She was the one leading the bait. Smart. Dangerous. And she had magic—sound-based, I think."
More silence.
Then Solomon murmured, "That's a problem."
Kairo's stomach tightened. "You know who they are, don't you?"
Another pause. "Not for certain," Solomon said. "But violet eyes… that's a rare trait, Kairo. It's not random."
Vera exhaled sharply. "Shit. That means they're either royals or…"
"Or something worse," Solomon finished. "I need to look into this."
Kairo rubbed his jaw, scanning the skyline again. The assassins were gone. Too gone. It didn't sit right with him.
"Whatever they wanted tonight," he said, "they either got it already… or I was the real target."
Vera scoffed. "You? Marek has way bigger problems than you."
"That's what worries me," Solomon said. "This wasn't just a hit. They were making a statement."
Kairo flexed his fingers, still feeling the lingering tension in his muscles. "What do we do next?"
"We regroup," Solomon said. "Kairo, get back to the inner district. Vera—stay the course with the military. We can't afford to show weakness right now."
Vera snorted. "Please. You think I was planning on backing down?"
"Just don't burn the place down," Solomon sighed.
"No promises."
The line clicked off.
Kairo took one last look at the rooftops before exhaling and making his way down. Whatever had just happened, it had only confirmed one thing.
Marek was no longer the biggest threat.
Something much larger was moving in the shadows.
And if they didn't figure it out soon, Fantasia was about to face something far worse than political games.
Vera – The Military Strategy Begins
The training facility was filled with the sound of steel clashing, the rhythmic stomp of soldiers moving in formation, and the distant roar of orders being shouted.
Vera stood on the elevated platform overlooking the field, arms crossed as she watched her soldiers—the ones she had personally hand-picked and restructured—run through live combat drills.
She had spent weeks dismantling the old system, breaking down the outdated structures that the previous officers had clung to so stubbornly. No more slow responses. No more predictable formations. If they wanted to survive what was coming, they needed to be adaptable.
They needed to be lethal.
And yet, as she scanned the field, she knew some of them still didn't trust her.
Their eyes always flicked to her, quick glances filled with uncertainty.
She wasn't just a young commander.
She was the young woman who had taken charge of the army.
Vera's jaw tightened.
Let them doubt. Let them question. She didn't need their approval—just their results.
Her second-in-command, Captain Rhyker, approached, holding a data-slate with today's reports.
"The restructuring is working," Rhyker said, handing her the slate. "Response times have improved by nearly 40%, and the new combat divisions are adapting well."
Vera nodded, scanning the report. "But?"
Rhyker exhaled. "But some of the old guard are still resisting. Commander Berrick is stirring the pot again."
Vera smirked. "Of course he is."
Berrick had been a problem since the beginning—one of the senior officers who still clung to the past, unwilling to accept that the military needed to evolve.
"He's not stupid," Rhyker added. "He's waiting for you to slip up. If he can prove your methods aren't sustainable, he'll push to have your command revoked."
Vera tossed the data-slate onto the nearby table. "Then I won't give him the chance."
Rhyker raised an eyebrow. "You've got a plan?"
Vera's smirk widened. "I'm going to let him dig his own grave."
She turned back to the field, watching as the newest recruits sparred.
Berrick wanted to prove that her way was reckless? Fine.
She would show him exactly why the old ways wouldn't cut it anymore.
And when the time came?
She would make sure everyone saw just how obsolete he really was.
Kairo – Uncovering the Truth
Kairo moved through the darkened streets, keeping to the alleys as he made his way back toward the inner district. His mind was still racing from everything that had just happened. The assassins, the violet-eyed woman, the way they had let him go.
Something about the entire thing felt off.
This wasn't just Marek covering his tracks.
This was a message.
Kairo tapped the communication node behind his ear, debating whether to check in with Solomon again. He needed answers, but right now, what he needed even more was to figure out where those assassins had disappeared to.
He wasn't going to just let this go.
Instead of heading back to the safe zone, Kairo turned sharply, heading toward one of the restricted military monitoring zones. He knew Vera had set up certain points across the city—silent surveillance hubs meant to track any suspicious movement in the noble districts.
And Kairo had access to them.
Reaching the unassuming metal structure, he pressed his palm against the panel near the door. A faint pulse of energy ran beneath his skin, scanning his biometric signature before the door slid open soundlessly.
He stepped inside, sealing it behind him.
The interior of the observation hub was small but efficient—holo-displays flickering to life as Kairo moved toward the control panel. He tapped a few buttons, accessing the security archives from the past hour.
The feeds pulled up across multiple transparent screens—street-level surveillance, heat signatures, movement trackers.
He rewound the footage to the moment he had first spotted the assassin.
There.
He fast-forwarded, tracing their movement before the fight.
And what he saw made his stomach drop.
The assassin hadn't come from Marek's estate.
She had been waiting nearby—already stationed in the alley before he ever arrived.
She knew he was coming.
Kairo exhaled slowly, drumming his fingers against the console.
This hadn't been about Marek at all.
This had been about him.
Someone had set this up. Someone had wanted to see how he would react, how he would fight.
He had been tested.
And that meant whoever was behind this wasn't done with him yet.
Solomon – A Dangerous Proposal
Solomon sat at the head of the council chamber, eyes scanning the room as the political titans of Fantasia took their seats. The energy in the room was tense. He had already predicted that Marek would make another move today.
But what he hadn't predicted was the presence of an unfamiliar face.
A woman sat near the far end of the table—tall, poised, with dark violet eyes.
Solomon kept his expression neutral, but internally, alarms were going off in his mind.
Kairo mentioned an assassin with violet eyes. And now, here was another.
Coincidence? Not a chance.
Marek, of course, was the one to speak first.
"Honored council members, I have brought forth a new guest today—one whose influence extends beyond our current understanding of trade and military strategy."
Solomon leaned forward slightly, studying the woman.
Who the hell are you?
Marek gestured toward her. "This is Lady Evelyn Vastra, an emissary from—"
He hesitated.
That alone told Solomon everything he needed to know. Even Marek didn't fully understand who he was dealing with.
The woman—Evelyn—smiled slightly. "From interests that align with Fantasia's future," she finished smoothly.
Solomon's jaw tightened. Vague. Too vague. Deliberately vague.
She was powerful. That much was clear.
And Marek, for all his scheming, was not the one in control here.
Evelyn turned her gaze directly onto Solomon, her violet eyes locking with his. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Solomon."
Finally?
She had been watching him.
Solomon steepled his fingers, voice calm. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Vastra. Though, I must say—your arrival is quite unexpected."
Her smirk widened, but she didn't break eye contact. "I find that unexpected arrivals are often the most… enlightening."
Solomon exhaled slowly.
This was no simple political maneuver.
Something far larger was happening.
And he was right in the middle of it.
Vera – The Plan Backfires
Vera stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed as she watched the demonstration unfold.
This was it.
Her strategic counterattack against Berrick.
She had carefully arranged for one of her newly trained rapid-response units to go head-to-head with one of Berrick's "traditional" squads.
The goal was simple: show the council and the gathered officers that her methods were superior.
If her soldiers won, it would publicly prove that Berrick's methods were outdated. That his resistance to change was holding Fantasia back.
And for the first five minutes?
It was working.
Her squad moved like a coordinated storm, flowing through the battlefield with precision, speed, and adaptability. Berrick's unit fought stiffly, predictably—reacting instead of controlling the fight.
She saw the shift in the watching officers—the realization that what they had believed to be the best form of battle was now obsolete.
Berrick, however, was too calm.
Vera's eyes narrowed.
And then—
A signal.
One of Berrick's men suddenly changed tactics—not fighting to win, but fighting to disrupt.
In seconds, the battlefield turned chaotic.
Vera's unit—trained for rapid response—was suddenly being dragged into a fight they weren't prepared for.
Not a battle of strategy.
A battle of attrition.
Vera clenched her fists.
Berrick knew this would happen.
He had baited her into proving herself in a public battle—but he had stacked the odds.
Not through skill. Not through better fighters.
But by using politics itself as a weapon.
The audience didn't care about the details. They weren't analyzing strategy the way she was.
They were seeing one thing only:
That Vera's squad was struggling.
Even though she knew it was a setup—even though she knew Berrick's people had trained for exactly this kind of scenario—the optics were against her.
And in politics?
Optics mattered more than truth.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain still.
She wouldn't react.
She wouldn't give Berrick the satisfaction.
But as she met his smug gaze across the field, she knew one thing for certain.
She had underestimated him.
And that mistake?
Would cost her.