Alph’s entire body coiled, a spring-loaded response to the beggar’s stare. His right hand instinctively dropped to the hunting dagger secured at his hip. His knees bent, a subtle shift in his stance, ready to spring forward or dodge at a moment’s notice. Every muscle tensed, primed for combat.

  The beggar’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise, then the corner of his lips curled into a faint smile. The oppressive, predatory presence that had filled the cavern vanished, dissipating like smoke.

  Alph's grip tightened on his dagger. His senses sharpened, muscles ready to strike. The stranger's smile revealed nothing but danger. The answer remained unclear, friend or foe?

  The man chuckled, gravel echoing in the cavern. "Nylessa, you bring an interesting one. His instincts are sharp." He stood from the dais, his lean frame unfolding with deliberate precision. His movements carried the silent grace of a stalking predator.

  Nylessa blinked, her head turning between Alph and the man. Confusion furrowed her brow. She had overlooked the tension, the unspoken warning. “What do you mean, Rook?” she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty. “What happened?”

  Nylessa stepped forward, her hand gesturing toward Alph. "Rook, this is Raven. The new member I'm using my recommendation on."

  Rook's gaze settled on Alph, measuring, dissecting. He nodded once, a slow acknowledgment that carried weight. "Raven? I am afraid that name is taken, you can be… Little Raven instead."

  Alph forced his muscles to uncoil, his hand releasing the dagger's grip. His breathing steadied, though his awareness remained razor-sharp. The beggar's disguise was masterful, layers of grime and tattered cloth concealing the lethal precision beneath.

  Nylessa grinned, her eyes lighting up with childlike delight. "Good idea! Little Raven sounds much better." She pivoted toward Alph, savoring each syllable as she pronounced his new moniker. "Little Raven!" The name rolled off her tongue with satisfaction, as if she'd just discovered a perfect fit.

  She gestured toward Rook with an exaggerated flourish, pride seeping into her voice. "This is Rook, our Chief Recruiter."

  Rook tilted his head, his eyes focusing on Alph, his smile widening. "So you must be the person who killed Pavel Duskryn."

  The words struck like a hammer.

  She ratted me out. Alph's head snapped toward Nylessa. His eyes narrowed, accusation burning in his stare.

  She looked away, her gaze fixing on the stone wall to her left. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

  Rook raised a hand, his voice cutting through the tension. "Don't look at her. She didn't say anything." He gestured toward Nylessa with a dismissive wave. "Knowing her, if she'd really done the job, she would have boasted about how she did it ten times already."

  Nylessa's face flushed, her mouth opening as if to protest, then closing again.

  Rook turned back to Alph, his face giving nothing away. "Law enforcement’s hunting a pair," his eyes cut to Nylessa, "a hired blade who says she finished the job and a fresh face looking to join us."

  He smirked. "Wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion."

  Alph's fingers twitched at his sides, the tension coiling back into his frame despite his effort to appear relaxed. This was a test. Still a test.

  "Knowing that…" He forced his voice steady, though his pulse hammered in his throat. Does it change the trial somehow? or will there be a punishment for lying? He let the silence stretch a half-breath too long before finishing, "...changes anything?"

  Rook's grin didn’t waver, but his eyes hardened, black as the grime under his fingernails. "No. It doesn’t." He took a step forward, the reek of sour ale and old sweat thickening between them.

  "Now," he said, the word a blade drawn slow from its sheath, "let’s discuss what happens next."

  Alph drew breath, steeling himself for what came next.

  Rook’s voice sliced through the silence. "Two paths." His arms folded. "One for those who kill without care. The other for those who hunt the deserving." The grin split wider. "Which do you pick?"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The choice caught Alph off guard. He had prepared for a kill, accepted it—but this? A target’s guilt or innocence as part of the test? His muscles locked tighter.

  His eyes flicked to Nylessa. The half-elf leaned back, finger probing her ear with single-minded focus. She hadn’t bothered mentioning this detail.

  Alph refocused on Rook, whose smirk deepened, yellowed teeth glinting.

  "The latter," Alph said, his voice even despite the rush beneath his skin.

  "Choice is made," Rook said. "Restricts what assignments you get from the guild." He scratched at his beard, flakes of something dark drifting to the floor. "Guardrail. Makes sure killers commit to their contracts."

  "What is your professional Tier, Little Raven?" Rook asked.

  "Tier 1," Alph replied, keeping the rest to himself.

  Rook’s gnarled fingers delved into the frayed depths of his tunic, emerging with a wooden token. The grain was rough under the dim light, the symbol of a severed hand carved deep into its surface.

  "One week," Rook said, his voice scraping like rusted metal. The token dangled between them, a silent promise of what was to come.

  Rook jerked a folded parchment from his belt and shoved it at Alph. The worn edges and sharp creases betrayed its frequent use. "Target's a thief," he spat, the word sour on his tongue. "Everything's in there." The parchment hung between them, a silent dare.

  "This man shows up at Gloomwater Docks every weekend," Rook said. "Replenishes his supplies."

  Public execution. Foggy quays. Witnesses but multiple escape routes. Alph's mind mapped the terrain while his face remained stone.

  "You kill him in public. Make it brutal. Send a message to every thief in the city what happens when they cross the wrong people." Rook tapped the token. "Leave this at the site. Let them know who's watching."

  Does this "thief" truly deserve a death meant as spectacle? His stomach tightened.

  Rook's gaze snapped to Nylessa, his pupils contracting in the dim light like a predator focusing on prey. "You don't help him. Not a finger. Not a word. Not even a whispered hint." The sharp edge in his voice seemed to slice through the musty air between them.

  Nylessa's lip jutted out, the soft flesh pushing forward in defiance. A faint scent of leather and cinnamon wafted from her as she shifted her weight. "I know that. The guild rules were beaten into me long before you started growling them at me." Her fingers twitched at her sides, leather gloves creaking softly.

  "I mean it," Rook hissed, his breath carrying the sour tang of cheap ale. The floorboards beneath them groaned as he leaned forward, emphasizing his point with the subtle menace of proximity.

  "I said I know!" Her foot stamped against the stone, the impact sending a crack through the cramped space. Dust motes swirled around her ankles. She spun, the fabric of her cloak whispering against the rough walls, and stalked away. Each footstep landed with percussive force, marking her retreat.

  Rook sighed, the sound rattling in his chest. His calloused hand rose, waving Alph off dismissively. Old scars crosshatched the skin of his palm, catching the light.

  "Go. You will get lost in the tunnels without her." The words hung heavy in the stale air, tinged with resignation and metallic warnings.

  Alph sprinted after Nylessa, her furious strides echoing off the damp stone walls as he struggled to match her pace. The stale air of the tunnel prickled his skin, the darkness thick with tension. They finally emerged into the open, and Nylessa halted, seething, her breath sharp and quick, laced with the irritation boiling over inside her.

  “What does he know?” she spat, her voice tinged with bitterness that resonated through the cool evening. “I have memorized all the rules; I wouldn’t break them so thoughtlessly. I am not a child anymore!” She whirled to face him, dark skin gleaming under the fading light, the flush of anger evident on her cheeks.

  “He always corrects me,” she said, crossing her arms. “Like some overbearing teacher.”

  Alph gasped for air, struggling to keep up. “I don’t believe you,” he shot back. Nylessa spun, her eyes narrowing. “What do you know? You’re just a newbie. I’m the senior here!” She squared her shoulders, chin jutted, daring him to argue.

  Alph shot back, “If you really memorized all the rules, why didn’t you remind me about needing proof of the kill? Rook only figured it out because of that. If you’d told me, I could’ve cut off Pavel’s hand as proof, and Rook wouldn’t have been so sure.”

  Nylessa grumbled, "It was just one mistake. I just didn't…"

  "One mistake?" Alph cut in. "Then why didn't you tell me the trials had a distinction? You let me think they all required innocent kills."

  Nylessa fell silent. The alley's wet rot clung to her clothes as she crossed her arms, fingers pressing white crescents into her skin. Sunset bled across her lowered face, painting defiance in orange and shadow.

  Finally, she accepts it. Disappointment pierced through Alph.

  "What's next for you?" Nylessa asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes. The earlier tension vanished like it had never been there.

  "I need to study the target first," Alph replied, wondering what went through her head to be this carefree. "Then I'll act when the time's right."

  “Got it. I’ll wait for you at the Stinky Mole after the trial,” she said, a nod sealing their plans.

  With that settled, they turned and headed in opposite directions, melting into the crowded street.