Five thousand gold for the man in the hood.
No name. No trail. Just one crude drawing — a silhouette, hooded, with a faint red glow beneath his left hand.
Most turned it down.
Not Lira.
She walked into the Flame & Fang tavern like a storm wrapped in silk.
Leather-clad, knives lining each thigh, and a grin that always meant trouble.
The scar beneath her eye was fresh — a reminder of the last job.
She’d left that one breathing. Barely.
This one… she wasn’t sure.
The bartender handed her the parchment.
“He’s been spotted near the ruins east of Hollow. Moves like a ghost. Leaves no tracks.”
Lira scoffed.
“Ghosts bleed like the rest of us.”
By nightfall, she was tracking him alone through the ashwood.
The forest was still, the trees whispering in a language only the broken understand.
She found footprints — faint, deliberate.
She followed them to an open glade, where the moonlight hit strange stone carvings.
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And then… she saw him.
The Masked Man stood at the far edge of the clearing, silent, still.
Lira didn’t hesitate.
Two knives. One thrown — the other a blur in her hand.
He dodged the first. Caught the second mid-air.
But not before she was on him.
The fight was fluid, fast — almost beautiful.
Lira moved like water and steel. Each strike a memory of something she couldn’t forget.
She pushed him hard — harder than anyone had so far.
And for a moment, she had him — cornered, pinned against an ancient tree.
Blade at his throat.
“End of the line,” she growled.
But then — in a blink — he reversed her.
Now she was the one pinned. His gloved hand pressed to her collarbone, the red glow pulsing faintly between them.
She didn’t flinch.
“Why…” she said, breathing heavy, “Why do you look at me like that?”
He hesitated.
His hand trembled.
Then — he vanished.
Lira stood alone, heart hammering, blade still raised.
The tree behind her bore a new mark — a burning spiral, carved into its bark.
And from the ground, she picked up something he’d dropped.
A single silver ring.
Inside, engraved in a language she only half remembered:
“Forgive me, Lira.”
Her hand went cold.
She hadn’t told anyone her name.
Far away, in the hollow of a forgotten temple, the Masked Man sat alone, breathing hard.
He looked at his hand — still shaking.
And whispered:
“Not yet.”
?? Author Note – After Chapter 5: Lira the Blade
Lira nearly took down the Masked Man — and for a second, it looked like she would. But that look he gave her? That hesitation? That ring?
-
-
-
really mean?
[Nova Childers]
What’s Lira’s Connection to the Masked Man?