Falco staggered through the towering iron gates of Thorne Manor, his breath heaving. He'd run across the entire city without stopping. Lord Thorne would expect nothing less of him.
The estate loomed over him like a mountain, its black-stone pillars rising into the night, lit only by the cold glow of the lanterns that hung from every few meters from the gates.
He climbed up the steps to the front door, pausing just before the threshold. A cold sweat coated his neck, just beneath his collar.
His hands shook with nervousness. No one approached Silas Thorne willingly. Especially after a failure such as the one he'd just experienced.
He had one job. Keep a lookout for the boy. If spotted, capture him and bring him before Lord Thorne.
It was just a boy. No physical strength. No training. No special abilities.
Why would they need weapons to snatch up a weak, scared kid?
They had severely miscalculated. How were they supposed to know that the boy would have found an ancient sword?
The ancient sword.
It was straight out of the books. The drawings he'd seen as a child were indistinguishable from it.
The only thing Falco was more afraid of than Thorne was that sword. It was said that whoever's hands it fell into, it took over their minds. Turned them into monsters that wanted nothing more than to kill. Its blade never became dull. Its steel never became rusted.
Every powerful being in the world wanted their hands on that sword. But only those lucky enough had ever been able to stumble upon it.
Falco sighed and pushed open the double doors. Two guards stepped out from the shadows, armed with spears. They wore heavy armor, and in the dim light, he could see Thorne's tonic coursing through their veins.
One of the guards squinted. "Falco? Is that you?"
Falco nodded. "Yes. I must see Lord Thorne immediately."
The guards exchanged looks, and the first gestured for him to follow. He could tell they were confused. A hunter like him didn't just show up in the middle of the night.
Falco stayed a couple paces back, steeling his nerves.
It was colder in here, like the warmth of the outside world had been stripped away at the threshold. It felt…unnatural. His breath misted faintly as he followed the guard deeper into the manor.
The entry hall stretched before him in a long corridor of black stone walls polished so clean they reflected the lantern light in warped, distorted shapes.
Ornate metalwork lined the walls; iron vines twisted into patterns that looked a little too much like constricting serpents.
Thick crimson carpet muffled their footsteps as they moved up a flight of winding stairs.
Portraits hung on the walls, each one nearly life-sized. Noble figures from the Thorne bloodline, expressionless, their eyes almost following Falco as he moved.
One of the paintings had long scratch marks across the canvas, as if Thorne had wanted it torn from history.
The guard said nothing, only gesturing for Falco to keep up. No one ever spoke inside these halls unless Thorne addressed them first.
They passed a set of double doors that were sealed with thick metal bolts. Behind them, Falco heard the faint clink of chains and a low, ragged breathing. There was some kind of animal back there, though Falco doubted its origins were natural.
He quickened his pace, a chill running down his arms. This place was not made for the faint of heart. The faster he could get this over with, the better.
Finally, the corridor opened into a vast chamber lit by a cold blue light.
The Sanctum.
Stone pillars rose like blackened bones, and a massive table dominated the center of the room, its surface etched with glowing runes marking troop movements and territories.
And at the far end, behind the table, stood the man Falco feared more than death itself.
Lord Silas Thorne.
He was tall, dressed in immaculate black that was tailored to perfection, silver thread embroidered along his cuffs like thorns curling around his wrists. His hair was dark and neatly kept. His face was clean shaven, long and angular, with high cheekbones.
Thorne turned to him, his golden eyes locking on Falco. There was a curiosity behind them.
"What have we here?" He asked, his accent thick with royalty.
Falco immediately fell to one knee, bowing his head in submission. He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing.
This was his first meeting with the man who ran the city. Even though he worked for Thorne, he'd yet to lay eyes on him. But the stories Falco had heard…if you wanted to be on the right side of history, you worked for Silas Thorne.
"You may speak," Thorne said, remaining behind the table.
Falco looked up. "T-thanks, my Lord. I…um…I come to you with a report. It's about the boy."