The Ironpeak Mountains loomed like ancient sentinels, their snow-capped peaks clawing at a sky heavy with storm clouds. Ash’s breath crystallized in the air as he crouched behind a jagged outcrop, his eyes fixed on the fortress carved into the mountainside. The Crimson Talon’s stronghold was a monolith of black stone, its walls slick with ice and scarred by centuries of warfare. Torches flickered along the battlements, casting long shadows that danced like wraiths.
Lyra adjusted the strap of her quiver, her emerald eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and mischief. “Ready to cause some chaos?”
Ash nodded, his gloved fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger. “Just stick to the plan.”
“Plans are for people who enjoy disappointment,” she quipped, flashing a grin before melting into the shadows.
Garrick grunted, his scarred face impassive as he checked the edge of his sword. The blade caught the pale moonlight, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly. Ash had learned not to ask about the sword—or the man who wielded it.
The plan was simple: Lyra would create a distraction at the eastern gate, drawing the bulk of the guards away. Ash and Garrick would infiltrate the western tower, locate the Crimson Talon’s ledgers, and burn them. Without their records, the mercenary guild would descend into disarray—buying Ash time to regroup and protect Seraphina.
*If we survive this*, Ash thought grimly.
A shrill whistle pierced the air, followed by the roar of flames. Lyra’s distraction had begun.
---
**Scene Break**
The western tower’s entrance was a narrow archway guarded by two mercenaries, their breath visible in the cold. Ash pressed himself against the stone, his heart pounding as Garrick moved like a phantom behind the guards. A flash of steel, a muffled gasp, and the men crumpled to the ground.
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Garrick gestured for Ash to follow, his one eye scanning the darkened corridor ahead. The air inside the fortress was thick with the scent of damp stone and iron, the walls lined with tapestries depicting battles long forgotten.
They moved swiftly, Ash’s boots silent against the flagstones. Every shadow seemed alive, every creak of the ancient structure a potential threat. His mind raced with the consequences of failure—Seraphina’s fate, Lyra’s capture, his own ignoble end in a world that still felt like a stranger’s dream.
A sudden clang of armor echoed down the hall. Garrick shoved Ash into an alcove, pressing a finger to his lips. A patrol of three mercenaries passed, their laughter echoing off the walls.
“—heard the Duke’s bastard was spotted near Frosthaven,” one said, his voice rough. “The reward for his head could buy a kingdom.”
Ash’s blood ran cold. *They know.*
Garrick’s grip on his sword tightened, but the patrol moved on, oblivious.
---
**Scene Break**
The ledger room was a vault of secrets, its shelves stacked with leather-bound tomes and scrolls sealed with crimson wax. Ash lit a small lantern, the flame casting a fragile glow over the room.
“Look for anything tied to the Duke’s allies,” he whispered, scanning the titles. *Supply routes. Contracts. Assassination orders.*
Garrick moved to the far wall, his calloused fingers tracing the spines of ledgers. He paused, pulling a tome bound in iron and leather. The cover was embossed with a serpent coiled around a dagger—the emblem of the Duke’s northern allies.
“Here,” Garrick rasped, handing it to Ash.
Ash flipped through the pages, his eyes widening. Names. Dates. Payments. The Duke’s conspiracy stretched far beyond Valencrest, implicating nobles, merchants, even members of the royal court.
“This is more than we bargained for,” Ash muttered.
Garrick nodded. “Burn it.”
Ash hesitated. The information was a weapon—one that could dismantle the Duke’s legacy or be wielded against them. But knowledge was a double-edged sword, and time was running out.
He tossed the ledger into the hearth, the flames hungrily devouring the pages. The fire spread quickly, consuming years of secrets in a matter of moments.
---
**Scene Break**
Lyra’s distraction had escalated into full-blown chaos. The eastern courtyard was a cacophony of shouting mercenaries and roaring flames, the air thick with smoke. Ash and Garrick slipped through the shadows, their path to the gates clear—until a figure stepped into their path.
The man was tall, his armor adorned with the Crimson Talon’s emblem. A jagged scar ran from his temple to his jaw, and his eyes glinted with malice.
“Leaving so soon?” he drawled, drawing a broadsword from his back. “The Master will be disappointed.”
Garrick stepped forward, his sword raised. “Go,” he growled to Ash.
Ash hesitated, but Lyra’s voice cut through the chaos. “Move, idiot!”
He ran, the sounds of clashing steel ringing in his ears. Lyra emerged from the smoke, her bow in hand, and loosed an arrow at the pursuing guards.
“The horses are north of the ridge!” she shouted. “Don’t wait for us!”
Ash didn’t look back.
**Scene Break**
As he reached the horses, Ash turned to see the fortress engulfed in flames, its shadow stretching across the mountains like a dying beast. Lyra and Garrick were nowhere in sight.
His hands trembled as he mounted the horse, the ledger’s ashes still clinging to his clothes. But the victory felt hollow. The Crimson Talon was crippled, but the names in that ledger—*their enemies*—were still out there.
And in Valencrest, Seraphina stood at her chamber window, a letter in her hand. The wax seal was broken, the parchment bearing a single line: *“The pawn has become a player.”
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