Life After Death: The Assassin’s Redemption

"Find her! She's surely hiding in the shadows!" the leader shouted to his soldiers.

In the darkness of the forest near the palace, Maerwyn, cloaked in black from head to toe, remained silent, her sword held firmly in her hand. She knew it was not yet time to reveal her presence. The commotion in the palace was a distraction, but it was also a challenge that had to be overcome.

From her position, she carefully measured every move of the soldiers. There were more of them now, more alert, more prepared. She smirked; she knew it would be difficult to escape, but the mission had to be completed. Fear was not part of her nature, and the uncertainty of the situation only strengthened her resolve.

She moved gracefully, like a shadow in the dark, fast and silent, like waves flowing around the trees. But the sheer number of guards presented a new challenge. With each passing second, the possibility of being caught intensified.

In a flash, she attacked—without hesitation. The first five guards on watch fell before they could even speak. But she did not expect a sudden rain of arrows showering down from behind. With lightning-fast reflexes, she pulled the body of one of the fallen guards and used it as a shield. The sound of the arrows striking the guard's body was like music that thrilled her senses.

More soldiers emerged from the darkness, surrounding her. She noticed that some were still concealed, ready to unleash another volley of arrows.

She smirked, slightly raising her sword. It's as if they know exactly who they're up against... They know they can't take me down easily, that's why there are so many of them... A grim realization settled over her—the chilling certainty that this was no mere ambush, but a carefully orchestrated attempt on her life.

The first soldier who charged had no chance. With a swift move, she avoided the attack and swung her sword sideways, hitting the soldier's shoulder; he fell lifeless. She didn't waste any time. Her movements were like a dance, clean, without a hint of hesitation.

One by one, the enemies fell. Her sword was an extension of her anger, of her purpose. But no matter how many fell, the soldiers seemed endless. She knew she didn't have enough time to eliminate them all. She had to escape.

With a powerful leap, she jumped over the heads of the soldiers, towards the high wall. But before she could get close, those hiding in the darkness unleashed another barrage of arrows. The first pierced her shoulder. The next hit her leg. The hits came in rapid succession, each one threatening to impede her movement.

She felt her warm blood soaking her clothes, but she did not waver. Her eyes remained sharp, full of unwavering determination. This was not the end.

Maerwyn reached the second floor; the cold air from the large window offered slight comfort to her bleeding body. Her hand trembled as she broke the wooden shafts of the arrows embedded in her leg, arm, and back. The sharp tips of each arrow remained embedded in her flesh, but she did not succumb to the pain. She had to continue—there was no room for weakness.

She used her sword to cut away the long parts of the arrows that hindered her movements. She felt every ache, every throb of the wounds. But more pressing was the question that kept nagging at her: Why now? Why do they seem to know I'm coming?

This wasn't normal; in all her missions, she had always been in control. But now, it seemed like the whole palace was waiting for her, as if she had walked into a meticulously laid trap. However, she forced herself to forget the doubt. Finish the mission first, then the questions.

With every guard she encountered, she showed no mercy. One by one, the soldiers fell in her path, and their screams were gradually swallowed by the silence of the night. But she knew it wasn't over yet. She wasn't safe yet.

On the fourth floor, she suddenly stopped. Five shadows emerged from the darkness, all clad in pure black like her. She immediately noticed the way they moved—fast, clean, and full of discipline. These were no ordinary guards.

She swallowed hard. She was used to fighting soldiers, but against those like her? This was different. Despite her hesitation, she tightened her grip on her sword. Whoever they were, they wouldn't stop her.

One charged first, fast and silent. Maerwyn dodged the first attack, quickly raised her sword, and slashed. It hit, but the opponent quickly retreated, as if unfazed by the wound. The second followed, charging from the right, but met the blade of her sword.

With every movement of the five assassins, it became clearer to Maerwyn: They are like me. Same tactics, same movements—like a mirror of her abilities. The possibility began to dawn on her. Are they my comrades? Is this a test from our group?

But there was no room for curiosity in the mission. Every second of doubt could bring death. So even though the possibility that they were her comrades was clear, she did not waver. She removed all emotion from her mind and focused only on the fight.

She attacked again, and with every move, two of her opponents fell. The remaining three changed positions, seemingly challenging her to make a mistake. But Maerwyn wasn't easily trapped. She exploited every weakness of theirs, and one by one, she finished the fight.

But it wasn't a victory full of relief. When the last assassin fell, she paused for a moment and looked at them. One assassin was wearing a necklace that was familiar to her. She frowned.

Maerwyn cautiously approached, struggling to fight the pounding of her chest as she gathered every clue of the situation around her. She couldn't deny the weight of her feelings as she slowly faced the truth that those she had killed were not skilled opponents but young men just starting on the path she had walked before.

She quickly removed the mask of one. A wave of disbelief washed over her as she recognized who it was and quickly removed the masks of the others. Each face that appeared before her was like a wound that refused to heal—innocent eyes that had lost their light, lips that seemed to want to say something but it was too late. One of them, a boy no older than sixteen, clung to her arm, his fingers trembling in fear and pain. But like the others, he also let go completely, his breath stopping like a whisper in the wind.

Why are they here? They're not fully trained assassins yet! And most of all, why are they attacking me? Even if my face is hidden behind a mask, they would still know who I am! Why? The questions clawed at her, a desperate, agonizing search for answers.