《Old Eldarion, the past is going to catch up to you》 The Young Pup with a Dagger in the Pub Chapter 1 There was a young pup in his pub. Though that wasn¡¯t exactly unusual¡ªthere were always plenty of them, especially during the school year. Fewer in summer perhaps, which was to be expected, but the pub was never short of young pups. Some were boasting, some simply drinking; and as the owner of the establishment let his eyes wander, he noticed a few in the back drowning their sorrows in bad company. He placed a bottle on a shelf behind the counter and let his gaze drift again, lazily, toward one of his guards. A nod, a flicker of his eyes, another nod. The guard went off to attend to his duty, while the rest of the patrons pretended not to notice. There was only the briefest pause in the murmur of conversation¡ªa raised voice, a heavier, growlier murmur¡ªand the young ones were discreetly extracted from that table, taken safely to one of the rooms in the adjacent inn, another establishment he owned. He crossed eyes with the director of the Academy, an elf older than him even, and a silent nod of thanks. Eldarion smiled a bit to himself, there was no need, it was good business practise to protect your own customers. He ran an old, callused hand over his richly purple robes and let his eyes wander once more, as if seeking nothing in particular. All the clientele were fed and their glasses replenished with drinks. Molly¡ªwell, Molly the Fourth, a proud descendant of the original Molly¡ªzipped through the tables, collecting empty cups and plates while taking orders with practices ease. A Molefolk, barely tall enough to peek over the tables, she was as capable as her predecesors. She needed no help. So he sat back and relaxed, letting his silver mane cascade over his robes as he savored the quiet moment of stillness. And he couldn¡¯t help but wonder: why was that young pup in his pub? This pup in particular was an elf¡ªlike himself, like the Director¡ªand, like many of the others there, the pub also hosted several lizardmen, dwarves, and humans. Faculty and students alike mingled within these walls. They made up the bulk of his customers, followed by members of the guilds, the nobility, and, of course, the merchants. Those were the bitter spots in his otherwise beautiful establishment¡ªgaudy clothing, overloaded tables that promised a cleaning nightmare¡ªand they even carved out an island of isolation for themselves. Yet he couldn¡¯t evict them without cause. His eyes kept wandering, and with practiced, effortless ease he could check on that young pup without his knowledge. He could tell who was who from the subtle cues. The older students were nervous, expectant¡ªexams loomed on the horizon, far enough to feel safe yet close enough to fill them with an energy of fear and doubt. Those in the middle were confident, even relaxed; though soon the reality that nothing lasts forever would come crashing down on them, for now they were comfortable in their situation and station. And then there were the young and new, uncertain and unconfident¡ªalways with his guards close by so long as they were in his pub, for they were prime targets for any lowlife, especially in a city like this. Yet that young elf had caught his eye. Not for the way he looked¡ªfor with a touch of sarcasm and irony, he was sure most of elfkind looked alike: a squarish face, rich clothing, golden hair, and a perfectly chiseled visage with deep, golden eyes. He almost scoffed, almost, and to cover his expression he poured himself a cup of one of his gins and looked up. No¡ªthe reason he had noticed that young pup was the way he carried himself. The way he drank¡ªnot enough to simply savor the moment¡ªand the subtle manner in which he concealed a dagger beneath his robes. Innocent enough for anyone who might glance his way, save perhaps for Eldarion, whose ears twitched at the slight shift in conversation. Something was afoot. He got up, grabbed a special bottle from behind his counter, and let himself be guided by the slightest change in the soundscape. That was his pub, and he always knew when something was seriously amiss. He approached the table and grumbled under his breath. He had secretly hoped it was the merchants causing the ruckus¡ªso he could boot them out¡ªbut no, they were too smart for that. This was a faculty table, and by the time he arrived, they were deep in a philosophical debate. ¡°¡­ but I am telling you, back in the homeland, maintaining something like this could incur a great cost¡­¡± The one speaking was a lizardman, still adorned with his tribal markings and chains hanging from his horns¡ªan expat who had come to teach at the Academy recently. ¡°Indeed, but the cost is already covered! The boys in silk here have already paid for it! All my people do is keep things from falling over!¡± Answered an old acquaintance of his¡ªThundok Stonebarer, an unimaginative name for an unimaginative dwarf. He taught the basics of geology and was as happy as a camper about it. ¡°But costs are never paid just once, especially for things that need to be maintained!¡± The lizardman pressed on. He still hadn¡¯t met him¡ªa fiery fellow this one. ¡°What does it matter!¡± Thundok dismissed his concerns with a wave, while drinking deeply from his beer mug. In that moment, Molly zipped in from nowhere with a freshly poured drink for him. Thankfully, he always paid for his drink. Eldarion was measuring whether or not to intervene; the conversation, though fiery, wasn¡¯t yet enough to warrant action. That was when the Director spotted him and beckoned. ¡°Eldarion! Come here, let me introduce you to one of our newest faculty members,¡± the Director called with a knowing smile. ¡°Allow me to introduce you to Skalskar the Ironscale.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,¡± Eldarion greeted. Skalskar rose, stiff and upright, crossing his arms over his chest in a solemn bow. ¡°A pleasure to be in your establishment, sir,¡± he added, his tone expectant. ¡°Please, please¡ªdon¡¯t be so stiff. This city doesn¡¯t call for that, and certainly not in my pub. Relax a bit; here, this one¡¯s on the house,¡± Edlarion said as he uncorked the bottle and made a round for the table¡ªsave for Thundok, who was happily nursing his mug. ¡°The Wolf and Moth is always happy to welcome new elements of the faculty.¡± Someone passed him a chair¡ªlikely Phin, though with that halfling¡¯s notorious silence, it was hard to be sure¡ªand Eldarion was given a spot at the table. ¡°And what is your specialty, Professor Skalskar, if I may ask?¡± Eldarion inquired, digging at the source of the debate. ¡°International politics,¡± he boomed with pride. ¡°It was my great grandfather who broke the peace between our warring tribes; he was the one who taught me everything.¡± ¡°Ah, I see¡ªyou are a bearer of his ideals,¡± Eldarion remarked. Though his words sounded complimentary, his mind churned furiously. ¡°Indeed¡ªsomething this city needs a lot,¡± Skalskar continued, downing a glass of Eldarion¡¯s special liquor¡ªa brew of coffee and honey he concocted himself. He poured another glass for Skalskar. ¡°I see, I see. And let me ask you something¡ªhave you been here long?¡± Eldarion pressed, seeking better context. ¡°Just a few weeks,¡± came the reply. Eldarion furrowed his brow; that particular bottle was from a batch stronger than he had intended. He had to be careful¡ªhe was so old that he was losing his touch. In lizardman terms, that meant¡­ at least a moon or two, oh dear. ¡°I see, I see. I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re misunderstanding something, Professor Skalskar. This isn¡¯t your land¡­ If I were to do what you¡¯re doing right here, wouldn¡¯t that be dangerously naive?¡± Eldarion pressed, his muted eyes flashing with every ounce of meaning and warning. ¡°I¡­ understand.¡± Those simple words struck true¡ªa moment to drive the point home. ¡°Furthermore, just as your noble great grandfather had to deal with people at the table¡ªpeople with their own interests and objectives¡ªso it is in this city, from locals to foreign powers. And while this pub may be a haven of peace and quiet, a place for drink and respite outside its walls¡­¡± He let the sentence hang, much like many had in the past. Skalskar swallowed hard, so frightened that the alcohol seemed to have lost its effect. Eldarion and the Director exchanged a sharp glance, and the latter nodded in thanks. It had perhaps been the most unelegant warning he had ever given, but it was enough. The atmosphere had grown tense and heavy, a consequence of Skalskar¡¯s foolish idealism¡ªand Eldarion knew exactly how to set things right. "Anyway," Eldarion boomed to everyone present. "Why don''t you give us one of your songs, Rook!" he called to the human who had been working at the bar alongside him. Though young and eager to play, Rook¡¯s eyes shone with a mix of anticipation and a hint of nervous excitement. "Sir, yes sir," Rook replied, dropping what he was doing behind the counter as he rushed to the piano. In his haste he nearly toppled over several chairs and stepped on at least one person¡ªbut it was all right. That person happened to be a merchant, who merely offered a bemused smile. Just before his fingers could dance on the keys, Rook looked at Eldarion, confusion bright in his brown eyes beneath his dark hair, and asked, "What should I begin with, sir?" "Why not my favourite! So people may laugh a bit!" Eldarion nodded, and with a flourish, Rook prepared to sing. "Who is going to end it?" Rook intoned. "Who Is Going to End It?" (Verse 1) Oh, the guilds made their move with their hocus and pride, The merchants just nodded and paid from the side, The nobles poured blood just to keep it all right, And the powers-that-be said, "Eh¡­ let¡¯s not fight." (Chorus) Tick, tock, the wheels still spin, They all made the mess, but who cashes in? Tick, tock, the walls grow thin¡ª So who is going to end it? (Verse 2) The guilds keep the magic, they claim they¡¯re the spine, They loathe all the merchants who hoard every dime, The merchants fund magic, but scoff at the lords, Who bleed for the city, yet sharpen their swords! (Chorus - building in energy) Tick, tock, the gears still turn, The liars still profit, the dreamers still burn! Tick, tock, the fire¡¯s been lit¡ª So who is going to end it? (Bridge ) "Oh, but don¡¯t worry, folks! The foreign lords are here to help! They whisper to merchants, they bribe all the guilds¡ª And as for the nobles? Why, they¡¯d sell off their city for a fancy new shield!" (Verse 3 - a slow, mocking waltz rhythm) The rebels cry "freedom!" but still take the coin, The traders want power, but won''t break a joint, The nobles dream banners, the guilds dream of crowns¡ª And all the while, the city drowns! (Chorus - marching rhythm, growing in urgency) Tick, tock, the sand runs low, The cracks in the stone begin to show¡ª Tick, tock, the deal¡¯s been writ¡­ So who the hell is going to end it?! (Verse 4 - playful but sinister, like a conspirator whispering secrets) Now the city still stands, but the vultures all wait, The kingdom sends whispers, the empire sends bait, The merchants want gold, the guilds want their share, The nobles want thrones¡ªbut nobody dares! (Verse 5 - faster, spiraling into chaos) Oh, the beggars are spies, and the priests take their tithes, The coin has two faces, the truth comes in fives! The papers are signed, but the ink''s never dry, And the people just ask¡ª"who¡¯s next to die?" (Chorus - sharp and dramatic, final note held long before cutting off suddenly) Tick, tock, the voices fade, Another deal, another blade¡ª Tick, tock, the fuse is lit¡­ So who the hell is going to end it?! The patrons at the bar were first shocked, but soon after laughter filled the room. Despite the song¡¯s satirical edge, everyone had fun¡ªit was nice to laugh at one¡¯s own situation. Eldarion took another appreciative swig of his drink. "Keep it going, Rook, and pocket any tip these fine folks give you; I''ll handle the bulk of the bar," Eldarion said. Rook nodded all slimes¡ªa simple man with simple needs¡ªbefore being immediately mobbed by adults and students alike, all clamoring for this tune or another. As he left the table to man the counter, drinks began to flow freely. He cast one last glance back: Skalskar was studying his drink thoughtfully, Cleten remained calm (perhaps he¡¯d been wrong about elfkind¡ªafter all, Cleten might be an elf, but he looked decidedly gnomish), and Thundok was just happy, a strange shine lighting his eyes. And still, Eldarion had to answer the lingering question¡ªwhy was that young pup in his pub with a dagger? The Young Pup with a Dagger in the Pub Chapter 2 Clink, clang¡ª the coins sang their end-of-day melody. It was that time when Eldarion Thorne had to count the day¡¯s earnings¡ªa task he never relished, yet one he dutifully performed. His employees needed to be paid, his guards their cut, and money had to be set aside for supplies and restocking. There was something comforting in its predictability, a ritual carried out almost without thought. It had been a good night¡ªtruly good¡ªand there was still plenty to do before his staff could finally be released for the evening. ¡°It¡¯s been good, eh chief?¡± asked Rook, his voice a blend of exhaustion and high spirits. Despite the fatigue evident in his eyes, the young man¡¯s joy at playing was unmistakable. ¡°Uh, yes¡ªyou were very good, youngster, very good,¡± Eldarion replied warmly. A sudden thought struck him. ¡°Say, you want to do that every day? It seems that having music with the drinks really makes the gold flow,¡± he said with a knowing smile, clinking two coins toghether. ¡°I¡¯ll have to let you off the hook from the bar duties¡ªyou¡¯ll still get your pay, but you can keep any tips you earn, of course.¡± Rook¡¯s eyes lit up with happiness. ¡°You sure, Mr. Thorne?¡± he asked, his youthful eagerness shining through. ¡°Yeah, yeah. There¡¯ll be a little discount when the piano needs maintenance, but other than that,¡± Eldarion added, as around them the pub¡¯s staff busied themselves with final tasks. The guards were stacking chairs atop tables so that the waitresses could clean the floor. Molly, in particular, zipped over in the blink of an eye, focusing on clearing the cluttered table that the merchants had occupied. Then Phin¡ªhis resident halfling¡ªappeared from somewhere unexpected, startling Molly in the process. ¡°Phin, dear, please try not to startle your fellow coworkers now. Come here and take your pay for the day,¡± Eldarion said, crossing his arms over the table and leaning forward. A knowing smile played on his lips, and his muted green eyes shimmered briefly with expectation¡ªa look enough to give the halfling pause. ¡°Uhm, yes sir. Here¡¯s what the Inn produced today, and what¡¯s needed for tomorrow,¡± Phin replied. ¡°Good man. Now hand the list over to Molly¡ªshe¡¯ll take care of it. And as for the money, this bag,¡± Eldarion said taking the offered object, giving the cloth bag a little shake so it clinked, ¡°is a bit lighter than it should be, isn¡¯t it?¡± A hint of a lupine smile curved Eldarion¡¯s face. ¡°Uhm, sir, yes sir¡­I am sorry,¡± said Phin with a cheeky smile as he handed over the pilfered coins to Eldarion¡¯s outstretched hand. After a brief pause¡ªEldarion¡¯s hand remaining still¡ªPhin, now with an even broader grin, handed over the rest. ¡°Now Phin, you¡¯ve got your pay. Go along before I change my mind,¡± Eldarion said as he began counting the coins. Around him, the pub was winding down; employees were leaving as they finished their tasks. Molly had to pry Rook away from the piano, for the young lad was staring in disbelief, unable to believe that he was being paid for his music. And yet, amid the nightly routine, one question still lingered in Eldarion¡¯s mind: why had been that young pup in his pub carrying a hidden dagger? He furrowed his brow in deep thought, idly playing with a handful of coins as the mystery continued to haunt him. He barely registered the soft farewells of his employees or the arrival of the night crew¡ªthose who kept watch over the inn and managed its modest kitchen. His attention wasn¡¯t on the coins themselves, but on his old, calloused hands. Every clink of metal summoned memories of what had been done, what should have been done, and, more painfully, what had never been done. His mind whirled in a repetitive cycle, trapped in the endless, almost hypnotic song of clanking coins, each note echoing possibilities and old regrets. Armed patrons were not unusual here; many carried weapons openly¡ªeven if his own were hidden from sight. The adults and even some of the students frequented the pub with arms at the ready: dwarves relied on raw strength and sturdy gear, lizardmen boasted of their armored scales and razor-sharp claws, humans wielded ingenious contraptions, and the elves, for the most part, depended on ancient magic. And yet, here he was, obsessing over a mere youngster with what was probably nothing more than a concealed toy. Clink, clink¡ªthe coins kept their rhythm, mirroring the steady pulse of his anxious thoughts. Could this be something from his own life¡ªa ghost of a past he never managed to tie up neatly? The City, its age-old accords, binding contracts, and unyielding agreements¡ªheld together by deep, ancient magic that could not be easily undone. That was why he had remained, why his past had never fully released him. Was he there for someone else? For his pub? His muted green eyes shimmered with a flicker of worry, suggesting that perhaps, after all, this was not merely coincidence. A heavy wooden thud abruptly brought him back to reality. Molly had slammed her staff onto the table with a force that scattered coins in every direction. ¡°Sorry, sir,¡± she said in her small, nasal voice, tinged with concern. ¡°You seemed so lost in thought I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be coming¡ªit looked like you were utterly entranced.¡± Eldarion, momentarily startled out of his reverie, took a few seconds to collect himself while Molly efficiently gathered the scattered coins. ¡°Besides, there''s metal on the table, and we don¡¯t want Phin getting any ideas,¡± she added with a wry, toothy, smile. ¡°Uh, yes, lass, yes¡­¡± Eldarion murmured, trying to anchor his mind back to the present. ¡°Now, tell me¡ªwhy haven¡¯t you gone home yet?¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°Because I live here,¡± Molly countered with a shrug and a hint of a smile. ¡°Ah, yes¡ªthe old cellars under the tower, I remember,¡± he said softly, resuming his coin counting as the rhythmic clink resumed its steady cadence. ¡°Sir, you¡¯re doing that again,¡± Molly remarked, her tone a mix of amusement and concern. ¡°Yes, old lass, because I¡¯m deep in thought,¡± Eldarion replied. ¡°Sir, I am not my great grandfather,¡± she teased cheerily, her deep green garments swaying as she rested her hand on the old wooden staff¡ªa relic passed down from the original Molly. ¡°Uhm, yes¡­ sorry, it¡¯s just¡­¡± Eldarion trailed off, then added, ¡°You¡¯re worried. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve seen you look so troubled, sir.¡± Molly¡¯s eyes crinkled into a knowing smile as she leaned on her staff. ¡°Tell me, have you seen anything odd going around the pub or the inn?¡± she asked, careful not to press too deeply into his private worries. ¡°No, sir, nothing at all,¡± she replied brightly. ¡°I haven¡¯t smelled anything funky, nor have my furry friends seen, smelled, or heard anything amiss.¡± As if to punctuate her words, a squirrel bounded in through the open high window and landed on Molly¡¯s shoulder. It looked fed and happy. Eldarion smiled contentedly. ¡°I see you are taking care, but try to keep them away from the food storage areas, including here. Now, go along¡ªI need to put things away and secure them.¡± He rose and gathered the coins, along with a certified annotation detailing the day¡¯s takings, into a secure chest. The tax collectors were sure to be arriving soon, and he knew they wouldn¡¯t appreciate any discrepancies. With his routine complete, Eldarion slipped into a trance¡ªa state as natural to an old elf as sleep, honed by decades of practice. Instead of changing clothes or washing up, he carefully locked away the coins and the paperwork in a sturdy safe box. Molly¡¯s domain¡ªa small but intricate network of tunnels and burrows beneath the building¡ªserved as a safe haven, carved into the earth in such a way that it posed no threat to the structure above. His personal quarters, perched in a tower that overlooked both the pub and the inn, remained undisturbed tonight. Rather than ascending the tower, Eldarion headed to an unused corner of the building¡ªa private workshop where he could tend to his true passion. Here, among dusty shelves, old alchemical texts, and an assortment of mysterious ingredients, he began working on his latest batch of liquors. The coffee-and-honey liquor had been good, but his restless mind yearned for refinement; he wanted to create something unique, a blend that might stir memories and soothe old wounds. In the gentle haze of his trance, as he measured ingredients with slow, deliberate care, his thoughts drifted back in time to his days as an alchemist. His mind wandered to a little chest hidden in his quarters¡ªa chest he always avoided opening. It was filled with remnants of a past filled with dangerous experiments and grim recipes. He recalled them vividly, as if they had been etched into his very soul. He remembered one recipe: a touch of finely ground toxic mushrooms, mixed with a stabilizing agent extracted from the bitter bark of an ancient tree, and bound with a slow-release retardant chemical that ensured the toxins would seep lethally into their victim. To mask the bitterness and add a deceptive sweetness, a bit of rich chocolate and a spoonful of sugar were stirred in¡ªa grim concoction fit for a lover scorned or an enemy betrayed. Another recipe flitted through his memory like a dark whisper. It called for the extract of nightshade, combined with a pinch of powdered serpent venom and a few drops of honey. A dash of lime juice was added to balance the flavors¡ªa deadly mixture that, when properly administered, could ensure maximum suffering over a long, agonizing period. Eldarion¡¯s calloused hands, which now meticulously mixed and matched liquors in his private workshop, had once prepared these poisons and toxins. The recipes were a reminder of the brutal lessons he had learned long ago¡ªlessons that time and regret could not fully erase. He paused, his bushy eyebrows furrowing as his mind snapped back to the present. He was not concocting poison now, but rather a new type of liquor¡ªone that might yet heal old wounds or at least distract from them. The rhythmic clink of his tools and the subtle bubbling of his mixtures filled the silence. He was alone, just him now. Until the end For a long moment, Eldarion simply stood there, caught between two worlds: the innocence of his current pursuit and the dark, perilous path of his past. A long, storied life had led him to this point¡ªa life filled with triumphs and regrets, alchemy and intrigue, violence and guile. With a deep, measured breath, he resumed his work, determined to perfect his latest creation, even as the ghosts of old recipes whispered in the shadows of his mind. He had hoped to remain hidden and unseen, believing that the only gaze upon him was that of his own conscience¡ªthe one constant companion he could never leave behind, the very thought that kept him awake at night. That unyielding inner scrutiny prevented him from ever finding true rest. His nightly routine was a palliative measure, a way to keep the turmoil from blooming into something uncontrollable; it provided temporary respite, but it offered no genuine relief. Eldarion opened a creaking cupboard and carefully selected several clean bottles, each one specially ordered for its unique shape and size. He arranged them methodically on the shelf. The current batch of liquor he was working on in his private workshop wasn¡¯t ready yet¡ªit wouldn¡¯t be finished for a long time¡ªbut an older batch was already set to go, and he needed these bottles to package it. He made a mental note to dip into his savings and order more; he was running perilously low on supplies. One variant in particular¡ªthe coffee-and-honey infusion¡ªhad become popular with his wealthier patrons. With a few empty bottles in hand, he silently calculated the price he should set, as memories of his younger, alchemist days stirred in his mind. So focused was he on this routine that he tried to ignore the weight of his past and the worries of his present. Yet his conscience, ever vigilant, remained his constant companion¡ªthe one thing that followed him like a shadow and kept him up at night. In those moments, as the clinking of bottles merged with the soft echo of his footsteps, his mind wandered back to darker times. He recalled the days when his calloused hands mixed deadly poisons and toxins with the same precision he now applied to his liquors, the weight of sword and shield, of plate and mail, of lies and deceit. Lost in his work and haunted by these memories, Eldarion barely noticed the silent observer. Hidden in the shadows, high on a rickety perch near the ceiling and among the lingering fumes of his experiments, an assassin had taken position. The assassin¡¯s focus was unnervingly fixed on Eldarion¡¯s head, as if waiting for the slightest lapse¡ªa moment of weakness in the old man¡¯s guarded mind. For a long, tense moment, Eldarion paused between his routine tasks. He balanced a bottle in his hand and considered the price for his popular coffee-honey variant, while his thoughts danced between the present and the echoes of his past. Each clink of glass and soft shuffle of his steps reminded him of the secrets he¡¯d long buried¡ªsecrets that still haunted him like specters. In that fragile space between duty and regret, the weight of his history pressed in on him, a burden he could neither shake nor fully embrace. And so, with a deep, measured sigh, he resumed his work¡ªeach action a delicate attempt to keep his past at bay, even as it threatened to overtake him once more. The Young Pup with a Dagger in the Pub Chapter 3 The assassin measured his chance, his eyes narrowing in the gloom as he calculated every heartbeat. He knew he had but one opening¡ªa single, fleeting moment to strike. Crouched atop his hidden perch in the dark recesses of the high ceiling, he observed the swirling fumes and smoke that coiled around him, cloaking his presence in secrecy. In that murky veil, he was grateful for the very concealment his mark, Eldarion Thorne, inadvertently provided. Below, as the night deepened, Eldarion toiled in his workshop¡ªa sanctuary bathed in the soft glow of oil lamps and the occasional flicker of a solitary candle. Here, time slowed to a measured pace. His weathered hands moved deftly, stirring ingredients and pouring precise measures into waiting vessels, while his thoughts wandered back through the corridors of his long and storied past. Each clink of a bottle and every soft sizzle of a simmering concoction echoed like a heartbeat in the stillness. Leaving behind a table where new mixtures simmered over braziers and bronze instruments, Eldarion ascended a small staircase to check on his latest batch of coffee-and-honey liquor. He carefully opened the lid of a large container, inhaling deeply as his muted green eyes scrutinized the reflective surface of the liquid. A satisfied smile played on his lips¡ªthis batch was ready. Casting a quick glance at another table to ensure that nothing was amiss, he gathered several pre-prepared bottles. He opened a tap, allowing the rich, brown liquid¡ªinfused with a subtle golden glow¡ªto pour steadily into the awaiting vessels. Without even testing it further, he knew it was perfect. High above, the assassin continued his silent vigil, his patient eyes fixed on the exposed head of the elder elf¡ªa tantalizing invitation, a challenge cloaked in vulnerability. Yet he lingered, waiting for that precise moment when everything would align. Eldarion then corked the last of the bottles, placing them with meticulous care into a special box before returning to his worktable. He examined each experiment and liquid with a discerning eye, already mulling over ideas for his next creation¡ªa blend of mint, chocolate, and rose. His mind briefly flitted to a forgotten volume on Flowerlogy¡ª was it flowerlogy what it was called? He had never delved deeply into it, but remembered the basics. Lost in thought, he added a few more metal bowls and small cauldrons to his array of simmering mixtures. Their rising fumes intermingled with those already drifting above until, at one miscalculated moment, the fumes thickened, casting a heavy, oppressive blanket over the stone-tiled floor. Eldarion clicked his tongue in mild disappointment before turning his attention to a newly prepared infusion. Its color, reminiscent of dusk, and its aroma¡ªa delicate balance of bitter herbs and a whisper of honey¡ªspoke of promise as the perfect foundation for his next experiment. As he checked the labels and measured his ingredients, his thoughts meandered to his old alchemical recipes. In certain fields everythign was the same, cooking, dessert making, baking, chemistry, brewing. All the same principle different intent. His calloused hands, now dedicated to crafting fine liquors, had once been used with the intend of death and suffering and profit, a testament to a darker past that still lingered like a ghost. Outside, the distant murmur of the city¡ªthe City, the World¡¯s Desire¡ªfloated on a cool breeze that occasionally slipped through a cracked window. Like Eldarion, the city never truly slept; it merely shifted, guarding its secrets from prying eyes. The interplay of light and shadow in the workshop lent a surreal quality to the scene bouncing off the ver thickening cloud he was producing, as Eldarion¡¯s thoughts flowed as fluidly as the liquors he so carefully crafted. Satisfied that nothing remained undone, he rested his weight on the edge of his worktable, crossing his arms as he made a mental note to adjust the price on his increasingly popular coffee-and-honey variant¡ªa quiet reminder that even in these solitary moments, commerce and consequence danced together. High above it all, the assassin shifted his weight, every muscle tensed with anticipation. His gaze remained locked on the unsuspecting figure below, his mind a coiled spring of precise calculation. In that charged moment, as the soft hum of bubbling mixtures, the gentle rustle of parchment, and even the distant tick of an ancient clock converged into a single, ominous note, fate itself seemed to hover at the very edge of that note¡ªa fragile pause before the storm. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. The shadow glided from its high perch, soft and silent, merging with the swirling fumes. Every heartbeat brought him closer to that decisive instant, and the promise of his strike grew ever nearer. In that suspended breath, the night held its secrets close¡ªa delicate balance of dark intent and imminent chaos¡ªjust one step away from shattering the stillness. The assassin pounced¡ªa dark shadow cascading silently from the high ceiling. Below, the exposed head of Eldarion lay there in stillness, a tantalizing opening that beckoned him forward. With one swift, fluid motion, he drove his blade toward the vulnerable neck, intent on cleaving the head from the body in one decisive stroke. In that instant, however, his weapon met not the warm resistance of flesh, but a cold, deceptive nothingness. The image of Eldarion began to unravel before his eyes; his target dissolved into a wisp of smoke¡ªa spectral illusion disintegrating into the ether. For a heartbeat, the assassin froze, his mind reeling in disbelief. Never had he witnessed such an occurrence. The tangible presence he had so meticulously sought was nothing more than a phantom. How could this be? Panic stirred within him¡ªa cold, creeping fear he had not felt in ages. His strike, meant to be fatal, had severed nothing but an ephemeral mirage. The smart play would have been to retreat, to leap back into the shrouded safety of the darkness. Yet his pulse raced, and adrenaline surged through his veins, igniting a burning frenzy that made him feel intensely, maddeningly alive. As his heart hammered in his chest, more apparitions began to manifest in the shifting gloom¡ªsome standing, some sitting, and some bearing little resemblance to Eldarion at all. In a wild, deranged glee, the assassin¡¯s mind fractured into manic delight. He whirled through the space, slicing and cutting at the ghostly figures. Each stroke of his blade turned the apparitions into curling tendrils of smoke, their forms dissolving into nothingness. His entire world narrowed to a chaotic dance¡ªa bubbling, giggling mania of slicing and dicing spectral shapes. In that moment, he was lost in the thrill of the carnage, his laughter echoing like that of a small, deranged child; a mad rictus contorted his features as sweat beaded along his skin, his eyes watered uncontrollably, and his throat itched with an unnamable fervor. Then, without warning, one apparition struck him¡ªa sudden, searing blow that cut through the haze of his exhilaration. Disoriented, the assassin staggered, his blade trembling in his grasp. From the depths of his frenzied mind, a quiet voice pleaded for him to stop, but the manic energy was too overwhelming. Fueled by a delirious mixture of rage and ecstasy, he lunged at the phantom that had dared to strike him. The very air around him pulsed with an eerie energy, the potent fumes and swirling vapors wrapping him in a drugged embrace that blurred his senses and distorted his movements into dangerous miscalculations. Riposte, parry, slice, and dice¡ªeach of his blows was a desperate attempt to regain control. Yet the phantom moved with a mocking grace, matching every strike with fluid precision. As the combat escalated, his arms and legs began to grow numb, a deep, gnawing pain clutching at his chest. In a final burst of frenzied strength, the assassin launched a wide, arcing blow¡ªa sweeping steel crescent that cut through the glow and gloom of the fumes. The apparition caught the blow; its hand glowed with a strange, magical luminescence as its fingers brushed the venomous blade. For a moment, time seemed to suspend¡ªthe assassin stood there, gasping for air, his face frozen in a horrid rictus beneath his dark, tattered clothes. Then, as if the final act of a cruel farce, the apparition retaliated with a savage kick that struck him squarely in the groin. The force sent him crashing to the ground, where he lay, breathless and screaming in pain as the noxious fumes swirled over him like a choking fog. And then, in a maelstrom of agony and delirium, everything burned. The searing pain clenched his mind, reducing his senses to a blur of torment and madness. In those final, agonizing moments, as his consciousness began to fracture under the onslaught, the last thing he saw was the dispassionate gaze of Eldarion Thorne, muted green eyes lost in them middle of a perfectly white mane¡ªleaning over him with an air of detached boredom, as if this macabre spectacle were nothing more than an inconvenient interruption in an otherwise ordinary night.