Page 23 of Unravelled

The Festival of the Final Sun was everywhere.

Even now, the celebration pulsed beneath the city’s skin, soft music drifting from closed tavern doors, low laughter winding between alleys, the occasional flicker of a lantern released too early, drifting upward like a lost prayer.

Garlands hung across narrow streets. Ribbons of gold and rust-blood red.

Chalk sigils drawn for protection and offering in doorways were already smudged by footsteps.

The entire city was caught between the revelry and ritual.

Mira tugged her hood lower over her brow.

The rhythmic thud of hooves against the dirt road along the town's border, a steady drumbeat that matched the quickening of her pulse.

She was seated behind Tharion, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. His back was solid, a wall of warmth and strength between her and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

With every jostle of the horse, she pressed closer, grounding herself in the steadiness of him.

He said nothing, but his hand would occasionally brush against hers as he held the reigns.

A small that they were still together in this.

Ahead of them, Brahn rode alone, his silhouette a dark cutout against the pale wash of moonlight.

His horse moved with controlled grace, each stride deliberate, as if even the beast knew not to disturb the stillness too much.

Brahn didn’t look back. His focus was honed to a blade’s edge, his silence a tether that held them all taut with unspoken command.

They rode for what felt like hours, the city’s lights swallowed by rolling hills and thickening trees.

The air cooled slightly, wrapping around them like damp wool.

When Brahn finally pulled his horse to a stop, they found themselves on a small rise overlooking a well-traveled road.

The trees parted just enough to offer a view of the dirt track below, where wheel ruts ran deep and the stones reflected the moonlight.

Mira slid off the horse, her legs protesting as she found solid ground.

Tharion followed, his movements fluid, but his eyes remained fixed on Brahn.

She mirrored him, watching as Brahn easily dismounted his steed.

The air seemed to still around them, the trees a wall of shadows, eavesdropping on secrets.

Brahn crouched at the edge of the hill, his eyes fixed on the road below. His gloved fingers tapped against his thigh, a slow, thoughtful rhythm that seemed to echo inside Mira’s chest. “They can't be much longer." he whispered .

The minutes stretched, each one a coil tightening in Mira’s chest. She exchanged a glance with Tharion, his expression a mirror of her own confusion. The wind tugged at her hair, strands slipping from beneath her hood, and she fought the urge to shift, to fill the silence with something, anything.

A convoy slowly came into view, the creak of wheels and the soft clinking of metal are hooves breaking the quiet.

Three wagons, sturdy and loaded with crates, rolled along the road.

Each was flanked by a guard, their armor catching the light in dull silver flashes.

The sigil of Myrdathis, a star encircled by a ring of laurels, adorned their breastplates.

Their faces were obscured by helms, but their postures spoke of weariness, of duty-bound men simply following orders.

Mira narrowed her eyes at the passing convoy, her gaze locking on the sigils etched into the guards’ breastplates. “They're not Khadradorian,” she said sharply. “That’s the crest of Myrdathis. They're Myrdath.”

Brahn stepped slightly in front of her, his hand hovering near his sword. “No, they want you to think that.”

“What?” she turned to him, incredulous. “Brahn, that’s not the Khadradorian symbol.”

“It's a disguise,” he growled, eyes fixed on the convoy. “Khadradorian scouts have done it before. Borrow the colors, wear the sigils. It’s a trick to get close, to pass unseen.”

Mira exhaled through her nose, sharp and controlled. Doubt flickered through her head, but she didn’t step back. “You’re sure?” she asked, voice low.

Brahn didn’t look at her. “As sure as I’ve ever been.”

That was enough to clear her doubts. She nodded once, jaw tight. “Then we do it clean. No blood”

Tharion crouched, drawing a quick diagram in the dirt with his knife. “We set a trap. A tree downed across the road, nothing too obvious. When they stop, we create a distraction.” He glanced at Mira, a question in his gaze. “You’re an excellent shot. Can you light a fire with a bow?”

Mira nodded, her mind already rifling through her pack. A small flask of oil and a set of arrows fletched with dark feathers. “I can."

Brahn interjected "And if you add a bit of powder to the oil, it’ll burn hotter. The smoke will be thick. Give us cover.”

“Perfect.” Tharion’s knife moved again, sketching out positions. “We’ll take out the rear guard first, quietly. When the smoke hits, they’ll panic. We knock them out, bind them, and take the wagons.” Brahn considered, his face a unmoving. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Mira let out a breath. She reached for Tharion’s hand, her fingers brushing against his, before he took her hand and squeezed. Quick, reassuring. They had a plan. And they could do this without bloodshed.

Brahn rose, brushing the dirt from his gloves. “Then let’s get to work.”

Surrounded by deep shadows, they settled in as Mira prepared the powder-laced arrows, the gravity of their mission dawning on her. Not thieves. Not killers. They were striking back, a warning to Kharador and a message to the council. We will fight for our kingdom, for our people.

They moved quickly, each of them slipping into position along the tree line like shadows cast by the moon. The fallen stick tree lay across the road, its branches tangled and gnarled, appearing as though it had been brought down by the wind rather than the careful work of Tharion’s blade.

Mira crouched behind a cluster of rocks, her crossbow resting against her thigh. Her fingers moved deftly, wrapping the oil-soaked cloth around the arrowhead, smearing the head with powder. The scent burned her nose, acrid and sharp, but it would do the job.

The smoke would billow thick and dark, a veil between them and the guards.

Her heartbeat steadied, the rhythm aligning with the quiet sounds of the forest. She struck a flint, the spark catching, and the cloth ignited with a soft whoosh.

The flame was a tiny, hungry creature, gnawing at the arrow.

She took aim at the brush on the opposite side of the road.

The arrow flew true, arcing through the night. When it struck, fire bloomed, a bright, sudden flare that devoured the dry leaves and sent a plume of smoke curling into the air. The forest shifted around it, shadows dancing in the orange glow.

Voices rose from the approaching convoy, foot guards scrambling as the smoke thickened.

They moved as expected, some towards the fire, others back toward the rear of the convoy where Tharion and Brahn waited.

Mira moved, slipping from her cover and down the slope.

The soft leather of her boots made no sound against theearth.

She kept low, her body a line of shadow against the forest, eyes fixed on the convoy.

Tharion and Brahn moved through the chaos with practiced efficiency.

They slipped between wagons, their dark forms blurring against the smoke and shadow.

Tharion struck first, his arm curling around a guard’s neck, his other hand pressing against the man's temple. The guard crumpled to the ground without a sound, his breathing deep and even. Unconscious. Brahn was a step behind, his blade hilt knocking against another guard’s helm, a quick and precise blow that sent the man slumping against the wheel of the wagon.

The metal clattered softly, but the smoke and sounds of fire swallowed the noise.

Mira’s breath hitched, but not from fear.

There was a fluidity to Tharion’s movements, a predatory grace that she couldn’t look away from.

Each step he took was calculated, his movements an artful blend of power and silence.

His hair, clung to his forehead, and his expression was one of calm focus.

There was nothing brutal about his actions.

Each strike was measured, every guard left breathing, their bodies only temporarily surrendered to the dark.

She slipped closer, her eyes darting between the few guards who remained.

Two were still near the lead wagon, their swords drawn, the silver blades reflecting yellow in the wavering light of the fire.

They spoke in hushed tones, their attention divided between the blaze and the rear of the convoy where their comrades lay.

Mira reached the edge of the wagons, pressing her back against the wood.

The heat from the crates radiated against her, and she forced her breathing to slow.

She needed to focus, needed to keep her thoughts clear.

But even now, as Tharion moved ahead, her eyes lingered on him.

The strength in his shoulders, the careful way his fingers gripped the hilt of his blade, not to stab, but to strike with the flat edge.

A weapon used for subduing, not killing.

She moved silently, flanking Tharion ahead of her.

He moved with a predator's grace, his form slipping through the smoke like a shadow. Mira crept forward, her crossbow in hand. She loaded an arrow, aimed, exhaled and released. The arrow found its mark, sinking into the wood above a guard’s head.

He looked up, confusion clouding his expression, suddenly Tharion was there, a spectre that appeared through the smoke.

The guard turned, but Tharion’s hand struck the side of his neck, and his body folded gently to the ground.