The assassin led Nick through the mansion, their footsteps echoing through the vast hallways. Every room they passed was lavishly decorated, each with a unique design that made it clear no expense had been spared. Paintings, golden chandeliers, finely woven tapestries. Nothing in this place looked ordinary. It felt surreal, like walking through a museum where each room told its own story. Some were lined with shelves filled with ancient-looking books, others had statues carved from marble, and a few even had intricate glass windows casting colorful patterns onto the floors.
Nick couldn't help but glance around in awe. "How does someone even own a place like this?" He ran his fingers along the edge of a wooden table with golden trims, feeling the smooth, polished surface.
The assassin responded without looking at him. "It belongs to royalty."
Nick furrowed his brows. "Wait… royalty? You mean Lady Kirith is, like, a princess?"
The assassin gave him a side glance, his expression flat, his silence judgmental. "She is the daughter of Rudrek, Lord of the Crimson Citadel."
Nick looked ahead, stunned. "The king?" He let the information settle in, trying to piece everything together. "Why would the king want to meet Silas?" he muttered under his breath. The question weighed on him, but he chose to stay silent for now. It didn't make any sense. Silas wasn't some noble or warrior of great renown. He was just… Silas. A fighter, sure, but not someone a king would be interested in.
The assassin pushed open a large set of double doors, revealing an expansive medical room that resembled a hospital. Rows of beds lined the space, each surrounded by advanced-looking medical equipment, some with two or more doctors tending to patients. The sterile scent of herbs and alcohol filled the air, and the low murmur of conversation among the medical staff added to the atmosphere of efficiency. Several beds had their blinds closed, concealing whoever was resting behind them.
Nick's stomach twisted. His friends were probably in some of those beds.
Were they okay? Were they even conscious?
The assassin gestured to an open bed. "Sit."
Nick did as instructed, and within seconds, a team of doctors surrounded him, already identifying his injuries. They checked his skull carefully, ran tests, and prepared him for surgery. One of them muttered something about a fracture near his temple, another spoke of internal bruising. The words blurred together in Nick's mind, and before he could protest or ask questions, they placed a mask over his face. The sharp scent of anesthesia took over his senses, and the world faded to black.
The next morning started horribly. That awful smell filled his nostrils again, yanking him out of his deep sleep. Nick's eyes fluttered open, his head still groggy. Right in front of him, a doctor held the same kind of glass bottle from before, freshly opened and placed right under his nose. The stench was unbearable, a mix of rotten eggs and something even worse, something Nick couldn't even describe.
The doctor, seeing him awake, calmly sealed the bottle and, without a word, turned to leave the room. Three other doctors followed behind him, each holding their own opened bottle. Nick groaned, rubbing his face. "Seriously? What is that stuff?"
But the doctors were already gone.
Nick sat up, blinking. Realization hit him. He felt amazing. The pain in his skull? Gone. The dull ache in his stomach? Completely vanished. His body felt refreshed, light, like he could run a marathon. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching. "Oh man… I haven't felt this good in forever."
To his left, he spotted three familiar figures stirring awake. Silas, Renn, and Elira.
Nick grinned and rushed over to them. "You guys okay?" His arms twitched before he shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight like he had changed his mind halfway.
Silas rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "I think so."
Elira raised her fists and threw a quick left punch at Nick's shoulder, landing a light tap. With her right, she threw a slow, exaggerated punch. The moment her knuckles made contact, she hissed and pulled her arm back, clutching it. "Still not perfect," she muttered, flexing her fingers. "But damn, these doctors are the best doctors I've ever seen."
Silas turned his head, staring into the distance. He said nothing.
Renn stretched his arms and let out a deep sigh. "Yeah, I gotta admit… this is the best I've felt in a while."
As they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Nick explained what had happened with Lady Kirith. "She's letting us stay here for now. We have a room and everything."
The assassin was already waiting outside the medical wing's doors when they exited. He glanced at them before speaking. "Follow me. I'll take you to your room."
Elira's gaze narrowed the moment she recognized him. Without warning, she threw a right hook straight at his face. The assassin caught her fist mid-air and effortlessly pushed it back toward her, forcing her arm away. She shook her hand out, wincing.
Renn and Silas looked bewildered. "What the hell was that?" Renn asked.
Nick quickly stepped in. "Relax. He's… on our side now."
Renn crossed his arms, unconvinced. "And why would they do something nice for us?"
Nick shrugged. "Kirith is just… nice, I guess."
Neither Silas nor Renn looked convinced, but they let it go.
Renn and Elira moved ahead, falling into step behind the assassin, while Nick and Silas trailed behind them.
Nick's expression turned serious as he glanced at Silas. "Hey."
Silas noticed the change in tone. "That was fast. What's with the serious look?"
Nick hesitated, then spoke. "Kirith's father wants to meet you."
Silas stopped walking for half a second, then kept moving, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
"The king? Wants to meet me?" His voice was low, almost distant.
Nick nodded. "Yeah."
Silas didn't respond, but his thoughts raced.
Why? What could he possibly want with me?
He had no answers, only growing unease.
As they reached their destination, the assassin pushed open a pair of grand double doors, revealing an opulent living space. The sheer size and lavishness of it made them pause. The room wasn't just spacious. It looked like a home within a home, complete with elegant furniture, intricate golden decor, and a warmth that didn't quite match the intimidating grandeur of the Crimson Citadel.
Elira's eyes widened in awe as she stepped forward. "This is for us?" Her voice carried a rare kind of joy, the kind that only came with seeing something truly beyond expectation.
The assassin gave a curt nod. "Enjoy." With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall.
Elira wasted no time sprinting to the nearest bed, the one with deep purple sheets, and launched herself onto it. "This one's mine!" she declared, sinking into the plush covers with a satisfied sigh.
No one objected. They each picked a bed of their own, testing the softness beneath them. The mattresses were thick, the pillows impossibly comfortable. Even though rest wasn't on their immediate schedule, the moment they sat down, sleep threatened to take them.
Elira, however, was far from ready to relax. In one swift motion, she leaped from her bed, practically bouncing onto her feet. She had the eager energy of a golden retriever, her face lighting up as she turned to the others. "I'm already bored! Who wants to go explore?"
Renn, who had been lounging with his hands behind his head, pushed himself upright. "Now that sounds like fun."
Nick let out a long breath and forced himself off the bed. "Fine, fine."
Elira turned to Silas. "You coming?"
Silas lay completely still, his eyes fixed on the high ceiling, deep in thought. He didn't even acknowledge her question.
Elira scoffed, shaking her head. "Alright, I see how it is." She turned toward the exit.
As they reached the door, Renn's eyes landed on a small panel on the wall labeled Assistance. He pressed it without hesitation.
The door swung open, and a man dressed in a sharp suit with pristine white gloves stepped inside. His expression was professional but unreadable. "What have I been summoned for?"
Renn blinked, then scratched the back of his head. "Uh… could I maybe get a notebook and some pens and pencils?"
The butler gave a small nod. "Of course. Anything else, sir?"
Nick stepped forward. "A backpack, if you don't mind."
Elira tilted her head. "And maybe directions out of this maze of a mansion?"
The butler nodded once. "I will return shortly." Without another word, he exited.
Barely a minute later, he returned, carrying a sleek backpack over one shoulder and holding a large notebook in one hand. In the other, he carried two unopened cases, one filled with pens, the other with pencils, neatly arranged in rows. He handed the items to Renn and Nick before turning his attention to Elira.
"Follow me for the exit, madam," he said smoothly, gesturing toward the door.
As the others followed the butler out, Silas remained lying in bed, unmoving, lost in thought. The ceiling above him felt vast, almost endless. The smooth, ornate carvings on the beams blurred together, twisting in his mind, shifting like unspoken threats lurking just out of reach.
Why would the king want to meet me? The thought pressed into his chest like a weight, suffocating, clawing at the edges of his reason. Does he know me? Did he hear of me from Ravengarde?
His fingers twitched against the blankets. The walls of the room felt too perfect, too pristine, as if masking something sinister beneath. Is the Crimson Citadel closer to Ravengarde than I thought? No… that can't be it. If we were enemies, they wouldn't be treating us like this.
Would they?
Silas exhaled sharply, gripping his arm. There had to be a reason. A purpose behind this hospitality. No one in power ever acted without reason. Maybe the king wants something from me. Information? Leverage?
The possibility twisted in his gut. The feeling of being a pawn on someone else's board… it was all too familiar.
Perhaps… maybe he wants to challenge me.
The thought crept in unbidden. A one-on-one duel. A test of strength. A fight to the death.
His pulse quickened. No. That was ridiculous. Wasn't it? His thoughts spiraled, stretching into paranoia. Was this all orchestrated? Were they trying to lull him into security before tearing it away? What if they want to break me down first? Keep me comfortable, then pull the ground out from under me?
Silas shut his eyes and let out a slow breath, trying to ground himself. The thoughts wouldn't stop. They clawed at the walls of his mind, growing sharper, more erratic. He had been through too much to believe in generosity without strings attached.
One thing was certain. Whatever the king wanted, it wouldn't be simple.
And it wouldn't be good.