The practice dagger darted toward his ribs once more. Alph twisted, attempting to mimic Nylessa's teachings, but his timing faltered. The wooden blade struck his forearm with a sharp crack, deepening the bruises already blooming across his skin.
"Too slow," Nylessa said, her voice clipped and final. She stepped back, giving him room to reset. "Again."
Alph's breathing came hard. Sweat soaked through his tunic and dripped down his temples. They'd been at this for hours, running through the mechanics of Twin Strike and Flicker in endless repetition. The fundamentals were simple enough; approach using the high movement of Flicker followed by the two strikes flowing into one another, a rhythm designed to overwhelm an opponent's defense.
He lunged. She intercepted, her wooden dagger angled to catch his wrist and redirect his momentum. As he struggled to regain balance, she struck. Pain blossomed in his shoulder.
"Your second strike was lazy. You're thinking instead of feeling," Nylessa said, slipping back into stance. "Again."
Alph didn’t reset. Frustration bubbled over.
"Show me," he rasped, weariness thick in his voice. "If it's so simple, if I'm so bad, show me how it looks."
Her eyes sparkled with a hunger that sent a warning through him. She grinned.
"Fine."
She didn’t step back to demonstrate from a safe distance. She lunged forward as if he’d issued an invitation to a real fight.
Alph's body tensed, bracing for another exchange. He studied her stance, ready to react.
Then she vanished.
Not metaphorically. One moment Nylessa stood three paces away; the next, the space where she’d been was empty. His eyes tracked the void, searching for movement, finding only the faint shimmer of disturbed air. The skill was clean, efficient, executed with the ease of someone who’d performed it ten thousand times—Flicker.
Then she materialized on his right flank.
The twin daggers sliced through the air before he could react. The first dagger plunged into his ribs just below his right arm; the second followed an instant later, striking the same spot from a different angle. Both blows bore Nylessa's full weight and the force of Twin Strike, delivering more than mere practice taps.
Air exploded from his lungs. Pain lanced through his chest, sharp and restrictive, making his next breath feel impossible. He collapsed to the polished floor, his body curling instinctively around the impact zone.
Nylessa stood over him, her expression completely satisfied.
"That," she said, "is how it's supposed to look."
Alph lay on the stone floor, grinding his teeth against the wave of hurt radiating through his ribs. Drawing a full breath sent fresh spikes of pain through his chest. He could feel each impact site already swelling, the tissue beneath his skin beginning to bruise.
"Get up and heal," Nylessa commanded, her tone sharp and probing.
Alph pushed himself upright and closed his eyes. He gathered his willpower, feeling it pool in his chest, and pushed it outward. Nature's Mend washed over his body in a surge of soothing, persistent restoration. The magic threaded through his muscles, drawing out the bruises from this entire brutal evening, sealing the micro-tears in his tissues, pulling the swelling down from his arms and shoulders and ribs.
Repairing the damage consumed more time than usual. Alph methodically treated the worst of Nylessa's recent blows, then retraced the steps of the day’s training. When he opened his eyes, his skin showed no visible injuries, his breathing steadied, and the pain dissipated.
Nylessa stood still, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. Her sharp eyes scanned beneath the surface of his skin. When she finally spoke, her voice shifted; the harsh trainer's edge softened into something thoughtful, almost uncertain.
"So," she murmured, more to herself than to him, "that wasn't an illusion back in the constabulary. That was Nature's Touch."
Alph's pulse stuttered. He kept his expression flat, waiting.
"You know how to use Druidic skills. That wasn't just reconstruction of a spell module," Nylessa said, her tone more like a scholar confirming a theory than a witness. She named the skills with the precision of someone well-versed in their intricacies. "Nature's Mend. Nature's Touch. Tier 0 Druidic skills." Her gaze sharpened, cutting through the air. "But you also know Rogue skills. I've never heard of that combination. Not in my village, not anywhere."
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He let the moment sit for a breath before he spoke.
"I haven't met anyone else with this combination either," he said, keeping his voice steady and practical. "The training focus is completely different. A pure Rogue moves one way; a pure Druid moves another. When you're both, you're neither. The requirements for advancing either path don't align with the other."
"You really have a variant profession. I knew it!" She fixed her gaze on him, determination etched in her features. "Do you know the name of it? No, it can't be. If you don't have a reference to train, you don't know what it is, right?"
Relief moved through Alph like a cold current. She’s found a framework for my impossible nature; a cage built from her own experience and lore. A Rogue & Druid Variant makes sense to her in a way that the truth never could. It’s a lie she’s constructed for me, perfect and airtight.
Nylessa nodded, absorbing the explanation she had devised. It aligned with her understanding. A Variant must evolve along a distinct path from a typical professional.
"That explains the mess," she said, a hint of her earlier cruelty returning to her voice. "At least now I know you're not just incompetent."
Before Alph could reply, the toll of the ninth bell resonated through the city. The sound pierced the heavy stone walls of the training hall, muted yet unmistakable.
The memory hit him immediately. Varrick's waiting face when he had arrived late to the smithy last time. The dwarf's eyes had been distant, worried, asking questions Alph couldn't answer. He couldn't be late again.
"We're done," Alph said, already moving toward small bench where he had kept his robe and hood.
Nylessa's face fell. "But we barely—"
"Every day," Alph said, pulling the hood over his head as he glanced back. "We train until I learn the skills. You wanted a partner; now you have one."
Her mood shifted instantly. Her grin returned, predatory and pleased.
"Every day," she echoed, nodding to herself. "Good. Faster progression. I can use the practice too. My own advancement stalled months ago. Having someone to work against really would—"
Alph didn't linger to hear more. He stepped through the training hall and into the evening air, the city streets cooling as night approached. The path to Grimforge District lay ahead, and with each step, the weight of Nylessa's belief pressed deeper into his chest; a secret wrapped in a lie, forged with bruises and blood.
Morna stepped into Jurgen’s office, the oppressive Dwarven stonework bearing down with deliberate weight. The cold, polished walls stretched upward, less an office than a tribunal. Behind the sprawling desk, Jurgen’s scowl carved deep lines into his face, his impatience thick enough to choke on. She steeled herself for the inevitable clash.
“Nothing,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade. “Weeks of investigation, and you come back with nothing.”
Morna’s fingers dug into her palms, nails biting crescents into her skin. She forced a breath through her nose, voice measured. “The evidence is lacking, Master Bailiff.”
Jurgen leaned forward, his voice a blade wrapped in silk. “Lack of evidence? Or just lack of effort?”
Her jaw tightened.
“You’re no knight errant,” he continued, lip curling. “You’re a cog. Don't try to fix the machine, Morna.”
Her pride burned. The Duskryn kill had been clean—precise, surgical. The bodyguard’s death was messy, brutal. Two different styles.
She straightened, shoulders rigid. "The vines suggest a Druid. The kills suggest a Rogue." Her voice sharpened. "But the tactics don’t fit. No Rogue skilled enough to infiltrate the basement would brawl like that. A Druid wouldn’t dirty their hands with such violence. We simply don't have enough evidence to conclude who is responsible."
Frustration simmered beneath her words. She knew she was right. Yet doubt lingered, whispering that no one would listen. Again.
Jurgen waved his hand, frustration etched on his face. “A Druid and a Rogue. Standard two men assassination job. The Druid covered the utility, the Rogue sneaked in to finish it. Rogues aren’t just paper tigers, Morna.”
Morna’s heart raced. “No, Master Bailiff. The smokescreen timing contradicts that. If they were together in the manor, the smoke would have triggered the moment the patrol saw them. Instead, it was used far away and much later. The killer was alone in the house, indicating—.”
Jurgen’s eyes narrowed, dismissing her with a scoff. “Overthinking nonsense. You’re getting lost in your own analysis.”
Morna’s stomach churned. She felt like a child in the shadow of a giant, her insights belittled. “This isn’t just a simple case, Uncle. It’s—”
“Enough!” He slammed his hand on the desk, cutting her off. “You’re reassigned. Archaeology Guild security detail for the next two months. I won’t have you dragging this department into a political mess.”
The words hit her like a slap. He was hiding her failure, masking it under the guise of a mundane assignment. She turned to leave, a mix of anger and humiliation swirling within her.
She thought of herself as the best in arcane studies, famous for tracking the magical auras of others. This ability scared many in Val Karok's underworld, but this case still eluded her. The burden of the unsolved case pressed down on her, the puzzle eating away at her mind.
There is a possibility of it being three person job, one Rogue who sneaked into the basement to assassinate the noble, while the Fighter held off the bodyguard upstairs, druid standing by outside as support. But… the wounds on the bodyguard and the pig showed they were both done in by the same weapon.
Morna walked away, sulking. This prospect of a security job feels like a prison sentence. Her mind raced back to the Duskryn murder, the tangled web of evidence that refused to yield.
Do you think Morna will catch onto Alph's trail?
