Lirian Vale's laughter echoed through the dimly lit hideout, but it wasn't the laughter of someone mocking Aedric. No, it was the kind of laughter that came before a storm—the kind that promised something dangerous, something interesting.
Aedric stood still, his expression unreadable. He had dealt with street thugs, brutes who solved their problems with fists and daggers, but Lirian was different. She wasn't just a thief; she was a ruler of the unseen. The Nightfangs had survived not through brute force, but through knowledge. And knowledge was worth more than steel in the slums.
"So," Lirian finally said, tilting her head, "you want Gorran's throne?"
Aedric nodded. "I will take it."
She arched an eyebrow. "Just like that?"
Aedric took a slow step forward. "I have something Gorran doesn't."
Lirian smirked. "Arrogance?"
Aedric didn't blink. He let the power inside him stir just enough that the air around him seemed to shift. The candlelight flickered, the room's shadows stretching unnaturally. Lirian's smirk faltered for just a second. She wasn't afraid—no, she was curious.
"I have power," Aedric said, his voice calm. "And you know it."
Lirian leaned back against the cushions, her fingers absentmindedly twirling the dagger in her hands. Her eyes studied him the way a cat watches a mouse—not out of fear, but out of interest.
"Power is useful," she admitted. "But power alone doesn't win wars. It's the ones who see the board, the ones who move the pieces, who rule."
Aedric allowed a small smile. "Then let's move the pieces together."
Lirian let the silence stretch between them. The other Nightfangs in the room, who had been watching the exchange quietly, exchanged glances. They knew their leader—if she hadn't killed Aedric yet, she was thinking. And when Lirian thought, she was dangerous.
Then, finally, she grinned. "Alright, Phantom," she said. "Let's play."
Lirian led Aedric deeper into the hideout, through winding tunnels lined with stolen riches and secret passages. The Nightfangs were more than just common thieves—they had infiltrated Velmire's underground in ways even Gorran's men hadn't.
Maps of merchant routes, guard patrols, and black market deals littered the walls. Aedric could see now why the crime lord hadn't wiped them out—he needed them.
Lirian stopped in front of a large table, where a detailed map of Velmire's slums lay spread out.
"If you want to take Gorran's throne," she said, tracing her finger over the map, "you need more than just a few scared guards and a flashy trick."
Aedric didn't argue. She was right.
Lirian tapped a section of the map marked with red ink. "This is The Rusted Fang, Gorran's main base. It's a fortress—traps, guards, secret escape tunnels. You can't just walk in and expect to win."
Aedric folded his arms. "Then we don't walk in."
Lirian raised an eyebrow.
Aedric stepped closer, placing a finger on the map. "We make him come to us."
Lirian's grin widened. "Oh, I like you."
Aedric had power. Lirian had knowledge. Together, they had something far more dangerous than brute force.
They had a strategy.
And Gorran had no idea what was coming for him.