Chapter 4: Shadows in the Rain
The Luther Highlands were drowning in twilight rain when Jean descended from the cliffs, Whitney at her side.
She was no longer a student. The path ahead was no longer paved in lessons or lectures—it was war.
The two-year Assessment had begun.
Her first destination lay far to the east: Fort Duskmoor, a border stronghold constantly under threat from rogue mercenaries, monsters, and worse. It was there that she would complete her first mission as an Emissary candidate—and where she would learn what it meant to hold the weight of the world.
But the road was not empty.
They came at midnight.
The first was an arrow. Whitney caught it between his teeth and growled low.
Jean rolled behind a moss-covered boulder, aura flaring to life. The golden light burst around her like a rising sun. Shadows moved fast through the trees—three, no, five figures. All cloaked. No emblems.
Shadow Guild.
Assassins.
She drew her blade. "They knew I'd leave today," she muttered.
Whitney's fur bristled.
The attackers didn't speak. One leapt from the canopy, daggers flashing, aura black and violent—Advanced class, fast. She ducked, parried, then drove her elbow into his chest. The moment he staggered, Whitney lunged and crushed him against a tree.
Two more appeared, blades aimed for her back.
Jean's aura pulsed. Her blade moved in a silver arc—Flash Reversal, a Luther technique that turned momentum against the enemy. Steel sang. One blade shattered, the other arm snapped back with a scream.
But they kept coming.
"Who sent you!?" she shouted, parrying another attack.
The leader stepped forward from the mist—taller, calm, voice cold. "Raven Luther sends her regards."
Jean froze for half a breath.
Her cousin.
Raven. The black-haired outcast. The one born of pure blood yet denied by tradition. And now, her rival.
Jean's eyes narrowed. "You're not strong enough to face me yourself, Raven?"
The assassin smirked. "She's saving that pleasure for the succession."
Jean's aura ignited fully. Rain turned to steam around her. The mark of Celeste burned on her back as golden tendrils of light wove into her blade.
"No one sends blades in the dark," she said, stepping forward, "unless they fear what walks in the light."
She struck.
The flash lit the entire forest.
When silence returned, only Whitney remained beside her. The assassins were gone—scattered, dead, or fleeing.
Jean wiped her blade clean on her cloak. She looked toward the east.
The Succession War had already begun. And it would not wait for her to come home.
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At the Shadow Guild's Hollow Citadel…
Vaelros the Hollow stood at the center of his dark hall, watching shadows slither and whisper across the stone walls.
"Raven wastes her pieces too early," he murmured, one eye glowing faintly with cursed flame. "But let her. The girl will forge herself in fire."
He reached into the black pool beside his throne.
"I'll send something… older."
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