The Capital always smelled of too much perfume and too little truth. Ironwill was walking beneath a gray dawn, hood drawn low, cloak heavy with dust. The great spires and marble facades glittered in early light, pristine as ever, but he could sense the rot beneath the polish. It clung to the air like smoke—whispers of shifting loyalties, hidden knives, and scheming nobles who had forgotten fear.
He wasted no time. The list the merchant had given him the night before sat folded in his inner sleeve, names written in a trembling hand. Familiar names. Allies of the Citadel once sworn by oath. Ironwill had read them only once before burning the paper to ash and scattering it in the wind.
His first target lived in a manor pressed between two great streets—always hosting gatherings, always entertaining, always smiling. Tonight was no different. A masquerade celebration spilled music and laughter into the night. Carriages lined the entrance, well-dressed nobles stepping through golden doors while masked attendants bowed.
Ironwill slipped in as a shadow slips through grass.
Inside, chandeliers poured molten gold onto spinning dancers. Musicians played on a balcony overhead, and courtiers whispered behind feathered masks. Ironwill wove through them unnoticed. He moved with a flow so subtle it made him invisible—never brushing against a cloak, never catching a stray glance. His presence folded into the revelry like a drowned breath in a storm.
The traitor stood near the far wall, masked in ivory and gold, speaking with two suspicious men dressed as merchants. Their posture betrayed them—too rigid, too watchful. Their fingers never strayed far from hidden blades.
Ironwill watched patiently as the noble excused himself and drifted toward a secluded corridor leading to a private washroom. The moment the man disappeared inside, Ironwill moved.
The noble shut the door behind him, letting out a relieved sigh as he began to undo his coat—then froze.
Ironwill was already there, leaning casually against the wall, hood shadowing his eyes as if he'd been waiting for hours.
The noble went pale immediately.
"You—how—"
Ironwill's voice was low, steady, carved from the weight of years. "Your allegiance."
"M–my allegiance? To the Citadel, of course!" The noble stammered while backing away. "I—I have always served—"
Ironwill took a single step forward, and lightning curled faintly around his boots, coiling like serpents. The noble froze.
"What do you know of the current political shifts? The emperor, the nobles, the Church. And the priest who was operating in the eastern marshes."
The man swallowed, voice cracking. "Th-the emperor's sickness worsens. Power shifts daily. Most nobles have already chosen Prince Harlen's faction—they say he is working with the Church behind the scenes. They say—"
Ironwill stared, unblinking.
"They say the High Priest commands movements directly. I—I don't know where he is. No one does. But one of our former allies switched sides last winter. He might know something. I—here—"
The noble collapsed with a shriek as a bolt of lightning shattered his knee, sending him crashing to the floor. Ironwill didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to.
"Speak," he said, stepping over the trembling man. "Or die. I saw who you were entertaining outside. Don't insult me by pretending ignorance. I already have names. Give me something new… or this ends now."
The noble sobbed, shaking violently, terror overruling the pain.
"H–he—he's the one!" he stammered. "Deep in Church dealings—for months! I swear it! Please—please, I had no choice. I only cooperated because they said they'd have me killed. Please—don't—"
Lightning coiled around Ironwill's arm, bright enough to bleach the room white.
That flash was the last thing the noble ever saw.
The bolt snapped forward in a perfect, merciless line—stripping flesh to ash in an instant, leaving the man's skull half-exposed, muscles sizzling and empty eye sockets smoking where his face had been.
"Scum," Ironwill murmured, voice cold enough to freeze breath.
He stepped past the corpse, leaving it slumped in a spreading pool.
Outside, beneath the sharp bite of the night air, he paused only long enough to pull his hood deeper over his face. His cloak shifted once in the wind—
—and then he vanished into the Capital's underbelly.
Ironwill's next destination was hidden beneath a trade district warehouse, a place few knew existed. The traitor he hunted now was not one to hide among silk and song. This one operated in shadows, in backroom deals, in whispered meetings with the Church. Ironwill followed the trail like a wolf, slipping through side alleys until he reached a discolored door with no markings.
Voices drifted from within—soft, hurried. Ironwill pressed his ear and listened.
"…Church wants them moved by tomorrow…"
"…the priest is already below… the other experiments ready…"
Ironwill entered without sound. The conversation died instantly.
The traitor stood with three others—armed, tense, and too slow to react. In a blink, Ironwill was behind one, crushing his throat. Lightning flared, blinding the others as Ironwill's hand flashed once, twice. Bodies hit the floor before their fear reached their lips.
Only the traitor remained, cornered against the wall.
"I want the truth," Ironwill said, approaching slowly. "You met with the Church. You traded information. Tell me their location."
The traitor trembled uncontrollably. "The main hideout… beneath the western canal district. The entrance is disguised as a granary cellar—but it goes deeper, far deeper. There's a dome chamber at the lowest level where the priest meets with other high ranked church members."
Ironwill's silence stretched until the traitor broke completely.
"I told you everything! Please, I—"
The killing was silent. Efficient. Without hesitation.
He burned the room and left no evidence behind.
Hours later, Ironwill descended into the hidden entrance beneath the granary. Stone corridors stretched infinitely, lit by dim torches. The scent of stale air drifted through the hallways, mingled with something metallic—blood, or the residue of magic experiments. He passed holding cells, abandoned crates of Church insignia, and signs of movement: footprints, dragged lines, stains.
A hideout of enormous scale.
He moved deeper.
The echo of footsteps—not his own—passed somewhere ahead. He followed swiftly and silently until he reached a balcony overlooking a vast underground hall. Below, he saw it:
A wide dome chamber supported by pillars carved with Sun Church scripture. Figures moved within—cloaked, armored, armed. And at the far end the priest was seated and others around a table.
* That aura… it has to be the one who vanished. The same presence that twisted the marsh events—unless there's another. I'll drag the truth out myself,* Ironwill thought, and then he dropped from above in a blur of force, slamming into the stone floor with a thunderous crack that instantly drowned the hall in silence.
Seated around a broad stone table, the priest and the four figures were deep in discussion.
All five jerked toward him as soldiers throughout the chamber jolted to alert when Ironwill slammed into the floor. The priest's mouth curled into a thin, blade-edged smile that cut across his face.
"Well," he said. "Brave of you to wander into the lion's den alone."
Ironwill's eyes locked on him.
"Where are the two young Vaelorians you abducted?"
The priest raised a brow, amused.
"I don't know."
"Where is the researcher, The one who was at the Marsh ?".
"Ohhhhh, them?" The priest waved dismissively. "He is probably having fun with them in one of his many labs. Maybe dissecting. Maybe experimenting. I couldn't care less about trivial insects."
Ironwill's aura sharpened to a blade.
The priest lifted a brow as the four high-ranking members rose to their feet—two armored warriors plated head-to-toe in sun-emblazoned steel, a dagger-silent assassin draped in shadow-black who moved like drifting smoke, and a cleric in white-and-gold vestments whose staff pulsed with radiant energy.
The priest retreated behind them with a mocking wave. "Answers won't matter to a dead man."
What followed was violence worthy of legend.
The four moved first.
The two armored warriors surged toward him like twin iron walls, shields raised and runes igniting across their surfaces. Their combined pressure cracked the stone tiles beneath their steps. The assassin vanished from sight, slipping into the dome's shadows as though dissolving into them, while the cleric stepped back with eerie calm, raising his staff as radiant rings of light spiraled upward.
Ironwill welcomed them with a snarl.
The first warrior slammed his shield toward Ironwill's head in a blow meant to crush bone. Ironwill dropped low, mud and dust scattering beneath his boots, and his palm snapped upward—crashing lightning directly into the underside of the warrior's helmet. The entire suit shuddered as electricity ripped through it. The man roared but didn't fall; he shoved forward with monstrous strength, shield-bash after shield-bash hammering toward Ironwill's ribs.
The second warrior came around Ironwill's flank in complete silence—shockingly fast for his size—and swung a heavy greatsword at Ironwill's back.
Ironwill twisted between them, raising a wall of crackling force the instant the blade descended. Sparks exploded where steel scraped against the barrier. The blow was so powerful it sent vibrations down the length of Ironwill's arms.
They were strong. Too strong for ordinary church elites.
Behind him, the cleric whispered something low—unnatural. Radiant glyphs flared beneath Ironwill's feet. He lunged aside a heartbeat before a pillar of holy fire erupted upward, the blast searing across his shoulder and burning through skin.
Ironwill gritted his teeth and didn't scream. Pain only sharpened him.
He spun—and the assassin appeared.
Not running. Not leaping.
Falling.
From above.
The dagger aimed straight for the base of his skull.
Ironwill caught her wrist mid-air with a burst of raw lightning, the impact sending a shockwave strong enough to crack the mural-painted dome overhead. She didn't hesitate—rotating in the air, her other hand flicking a second hidden blade toward his face.
Ironwill redirected the first bolt still sizzling in his palm—snap—and the second dagger evaporated mid-flight, molten metal dripping onto the floor in glowing beads. He hurled her off with enough force to send a human crashing through bone—but she twisted like a serpent and landed low, sliding backward across the stone and leaving a streak of blood where the electricity burned her arm.
Her eyes glowed with bloodlust. She rushed him again.
Ironwill didn't flinch.
The two warriors came at him from both sides, perfectly synchronized—one crashing down with a shield blow meant to break his spine, the other thrusting his massive sword toward Ironwill's throat.
Ironwill planted his foot.
The dome shook.
Lightning detonated outward from him in a violent ring. The shockwave staggered the warriors but didn't drop them—only sent armor cracking, runes flickering, and their teeth grinding as they fought to stay upright.
The assassin, however, wasn't so lucky.
She was lifted off her feet and thrown across several pillars, slamming into the far wall hard enough to leave a crater.
The cleric shouted a chant, voice shaking the hall. A beam of searing gold shot toward Ironwill's chest, bright enough to blind.
Ironwill raised one hand.
The beam hit his palm.
And stopped.
Every muscle in his arm trembled as radiant energy pushed against him with divine fury. The heat peeled skin from his hand, exposing red flesh beneath.
Ironwill growled, lightning crawling across his shoulders and chest. He tightened his stance—
—and crushed the beam.
It shattered into sparks.
The cleric's eyes went wide.
Ironwill's finger pointed outward.
The cleric barely had time to lift his staff before a bolt tore across the room, ripping the staff apart, blowing half the cleric's chest open, and sending his body skidding across the polished stone in a smear of blood and intestines.
*One down.*
The warriors roared in blind fury, rushing him again. Their combined strikes sounded like thunder hitting steel, each impact strong enough to break a lesser man in half.
Ironwill blocked one shield with his forearm, the force driving him backward, boots carving trenches into the ground. The second warrior swung his sword again. Ironwill ducked, feeling the wind of the blade cutting inches above his scalp.
He slammed his palm against the first warrior's chestplate.
Lightning burst.
The armor exploded outward in a white-hot spray, shrapnel embedding into pillars. The warrior's scream gurgled before his head exploded and smoke risen from the hollow where his chest had been.
* Two down.*
The second warrior howled and swung his sword in a rage-fueled arc. Ironwill caught the blade between his two hands—lightning reinforcing his grip—and twisted.
The blade snapped.
Before the man could react, Ironwill grabbed his helmet with both hands and smashed him downward. Once. Twice. A third time. Skull ringing. Armor denting. Blood spraying.
On the fourth slam, the helmet caved entirely, and the warrior stopped moving.
*Three down.*
Only the assassin remained.
She'd been hiding again—waiting for the moment he tired.
Wrong decision.
She lunged from the shadows, her dagger shimmering with some kind of venomous magic, her movements blindingly fast—
Ironwill didn't dodge.
He stepped into her attack.
Her blade sank into his side.
He didn't even flinch.
He caught her wrist mid-strike and crushed it with a wet, splintering crack. Her scream barely left her mouth before Ironwill clamped a hand around her throat, driving her down to her knees. Lightning wound around his free hand in tightening coils, hissing like something alive.
"This," he said softly, "is for every Vaelorian you've taken."
Lightning surged. As he gripped the top of her head.
Her body ignited from within—skin glowing like a lantern as her veins burst in burning lines. She seized in a soundless scream, frozen in light, before he tore her apart. Her head separated cleanly from her body as both crumbled into drifting ash, scattering across the hall like burned paper.
*Four down.*
The dome descended into an uncanny stillness. The clash that had just ended had pulled more soldiers to its edge, and they stared at the aftermath, struck silent by fear, horror, and a grudging awe.
Ironwill swayed for a moment—not from weakness, but from rage held too long. Blood dripped from his wounds, steaming from the heat of his own magic. His breath was ragged but steady, his gaze burning.
Only the priest and the gathering of trembling soldiers remained.
Ironwill fell to one knee, exhausted but far from defeated. He raised his head slowly—eyes glowing with electric fury.
Even wounded, he radiated the presence of something ancient and unstoppable.
The soldiers backed away instinctively, some dropping their weapons.
The priest tried to swallow, but the sound stuck in his throat.
Ironwill vanished—
—and reappeared in front of him, lightning ripping the air apart.
He seized the priest by the neck, lifting him off the ground as sparks crackled along his arm.
Ironwill's thoughts churned, trembling with a storm of rage and old memories. * In the past… you dogs crawled under our knees for forgiveness. The Empire, all of Aresedal, feared us. Feared our strength. Us Vaelorians—when our family was whole. When everyone was still here. When everyone was strong.*
The priest clawed uselessly at Ironwill's arm, his nails scraping against unyielding muscle.
*I don't understand,* Ironwill thought, the words trembling through him rather than spoken. *Everything in this world grows… yet my family only fades.*
Shadows of memory flashed through Ironwill's eyes—faces of warriors. Thaleus, and others long dead, comrades whose names once brought terror to kingdoms. He saw himself seated among nine others in the Citadel meeting hall, each radiating power, youth, unbreakable spirit.
* Now I am old,* Ironwill thought. *Alone. All the people I grew up with, fought with… the ones who built our legend—gone.*
His grip tightened.
* I don't understand.*
The priest thrashed and gagged in his grip, spitting out fractured threats—dragging Ironwill back from the depths of his memories.
"You're dead—you hear me? Dead! Coming here alone—my death changes nothing—"
Ironwill crushed his skull in a single, merciless squeeze.
The body fell limp to the floor.
Then few moments later.
The air shifted.
A ripple of killing intent washed through the hall—cold, superior, dangerous. Not Church. Not Empire. Not anything belonging to this continent.
Ironwill turned slowly.
He saw nothing yet. Only the descent of a murderous aura approaching from the dark corridor ahead, deliberate and unhurried, like a predator savoring the moment before it struck.
Lightning crawled across Ironwill's arms as he steadied his stance.
He gathered every shred of his strength, every echo of the legend he once was.
And he waited for whatever monster was coming for him.