Chapter 1: Dying Is Not Cool

I'm about to die for the first time, but I'm not aware of it yet. It's kind of nerve-wracking, but hey, dying is never fun, right? I should know. After all, the number of lives I've taken in my years as Raven, the elite assassin, would make the God of Death blush.

But I shouldn't get ahead of myself. I should focus. I've been waiting my whole life to kill him, and I don't want to miss my chance. Prince Alexander Hartley, heir to the Ironhold throne. A bloody monster. The man who burned my village to ash.

The night air is cool against my face as I scale the wall of the Asterian Palace, like a deadly spider climbing its web. Moonlight illuminates the building, a giant white and gold structure that dominates the city of Astra with its tall spires and ivory walls. Surrounding it, there are lush gardens and courtyards, symbols of the opulence and power of Asteria's royal family.

Reaching the third floor, I find the window open just as the informant said. Slipping inside, I merge with the shadows, letting them cloak me in their comforting darkness. My black clothing helps me to blend in and I check the daggers at my sides, eager to drain the life from Alexander's body.

My hard, hazel eyes scan the environment. The palace is magnificent, a testament to the wealth of our kingdom. From the towering ceilings to the luxurious decor, it's abundantly clear that this place is meant to make a statement. A statement that seems to be repeating 'Look how rich we are!'. But the only thing important is that there are no guards around. So the intel is correct. Whoever paid the Phantom's Hand to assassinate Prince Alexander is definitely an insider, someone who works at the palace or knows it well. It could even be a high-ranking noble.

However, I must be careful. The Asterian Palace isn't just guarded by men with swords. The royal families have Arcanists protect its halls, capable of using magic. Even though the chances of meeting one are very slim, I need to tread diligently.

Long black hair flows over my shoulders as I navigate through the dark, empty hallway. The informant's intel had been spot on so far: no soldiers, no obstacles in my path. It seems too good to be true.

"Almost too easy..." I think to myself as I reach the set of stairs that will lead me to Alexander's chamber. I ascend the cold marble steps, my heart pounding. This is it – the moment I've been waiting for, the chance to exact my long-awaited revenge!

The report stated that Prince Alexander Hartley of Ironhold recently arrived at the Asterian Palace as an ambassador. The Phantom's Hand Clan received a mission to kill Alexander in exchange for ten thousand crowns and as soon as we were told about the assignment, I volunteered. I hate Alexander, he's the one responsible for my parents' deaths during the War of the Crimson Sun.

The memory hits me like a punch to the gut - my parents' lifeless bodies, charred and twisted. Our home engulfed in flames, smoke choking the sky, ashes swirling through the air like snow. The screams of my friends and neighbors, silenced forever by the cruel hands of fate. And standing among the destruction, his face etched with a smug smile, the young Prince Hartley.

My hatred for him fuels my determination as I reach the last floor of the east tower. I stand before a sturdy wooden door, the only thing separating me from my nemesis. I reach for the handle, but it doesn't budge – locked, of course. I roll my eyes in annoyance and take a deep breath, time to go to work! I kneel, picking up the lockpick from my pocket, and start working on the lock. I slide the metal pick inside, feeling for the pins. Truth be told, this is child's play for me.

Being an assassin comes pretty easily to me in general. After my parents died, I was taken in by the Phantom's Hand, the best assassin guild in all of Asteria. I did well in my classes: hand-to-hand combat, weapons, poisons, stealth... My masters were always impressed by my natural talents. The only subjects I didn't ace were Impersonation and Seduction; this is why they never sent me on undercover missions. To be honest, I'm pretty inept at those things. But that type of mission is more for nerds anyway! Everyone knows I'm the Phantom Hand's top assassin.

Finally, the lock clicks open with a satisfyingly smooth sound, and I can't help but grin. This is it – the moment I've been waiting for. The air in the room feels heavy with anticipation, my heart pounding in my chest. I carefully push the door open, just wide enough to peek inside. My eyes scan the dimly lit chamber, noting the lack of guards and traps.

"No guards?" I think to myself. "What ever happened to the mighty Ironhold kingdom? Couldn't scrap together enough coin for some protection for their dear prince?"

A door at the back right corner catches my attention, but it appears to be closed. Then, my gaze lands on the bed, where a figure lies sleeping, dark hair spilling across the pillow. Prince Alexander Hartley, the monster responsible for so much pain and destruction... and now, he's within my grasp. I tighten my grip on the handle of one of my daggers, feeling a thrill surge through me.

I slip into the room, my footsteps light as a feather. Stealth comes naturally to me, and I know better than to risk setting off any hidden traps or waking the prince. After all, he's not just any ordinary royal – he's a dragon shifter, capable of manipulating fire. One false move, and I could end up a pile of ashes.

I approach the bed, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and draw one of my daggers, raising it high above my head. This is it – the moment of reckoning. With a swift downward motion, I plunge the dagger deep into the lump on the bed, expecting to feel flesh give way beneath the blade. But something's not right. Instead of the satisfying sensation of piercing skin, the dagger meets resistance, as if it's been buried in... fabric?

"Shit!" I hiss, yanking the blanket off the bed to reveal what lies beneath. To my horror, it's not Prince Alexander at all, but a dummy made of fabric and hay! "Well, this is embarrassing," I mutter as I stare at it in disbelief, my heart sinking. How could I have been so easily fooled? Was this some sort of trap, or just a cruel joke?

The room suddenly floods with light, the brightness disorienting me for a moment. Magic lights dance around the chamber like dozens of tiny stars, casting shadows against the walls. I hear footsteps – and not just one or two. A whole squadron is entering through the door at my right, quickly surrounding me.

"Of course," I mutter, blinking away the afterimages from the sudden illumination. "It was too easy to be true after all."

As my vision clears, I realize that these guards are not from Ironhold, but instead they're wearing the Asterian uniform. Panic rises in my throat like bile – this is not part of the plan! I was promised no guards would be around. How could this be happening? It's almost as if they were expecting me...

My mind races as I try to find an explanation, but the only thing I can think of is being sold out. Rage and betrayal swirl in my chest like a hurricane – how could someone do this? Treachery aside, the situation at hand was dire. I must act fast if I want to get out of here alive.

I draw my other dagger and prepare to fight for my life. If I'm going down, it won't be without an epic battle sequence to remember me by!

My eyes dart from one guard to another until they rest upon the man who seems to be commanding them. He's wearing a black cape as if to conceal his identity, has a scruffy beard and an air of arrogance that makes me want to punch him in the face.

"Kill the assassin!" the leader barks, his voice deep and authoritative.

"Me, an assassin? I haven't killed anyone tonight" I mock, rolling my eyes. "At least not yet..."

One of the soldiers lunges at me with a sword, but I dodge him easily, spinning out of the way with a graceful pirouette. My dagger slices through the air, finding its mark on the soldier's arm. He lets out a yelp of pain before I send him tumbling onto the floor with a well-placed kick and recover my weapon.

"Next!" I taunt, readying myself for the upcoming attacker.

And they come, one after another, trying to take me down with their swords. But I've been trained for this and I don't hesitate. I dodge and weave, my daggers dancing as I parry their attacks and retaliate with my own. My heart races, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and I can't help but enjoy the thrill of the fight. This is the kind of thing I love about being an assassin!

"Is that all you've got?" I call out between strikes, knocking another guard to the ground. "Come on, I thought Asterian guards were supposed to be the best!"

In the heat of battle, my movements become a blur as I continue to fight off the relentless onslaught of Asterian guards. Each strike feels like a dance, a deadly waltz I've perfected over the years. But just as I'm starting to gain the upper hand, an overwhelming pressure seizes my body, stopping me in my tracks.

"Wha–" My breath catches in my throat, and it feels like an invisible force is squeezing the life out of me. Horror sets in as I realize I can't move a single muscle. I look around and see the man in black twirling his fingers in a manner that seems premeditated. "Oh, no..." There is only one explanation. The man must be a noble, an Arcanist... and he's using Telekinesis on me! Damn it, I should've known he could be an Arcanist, I should've taken him out first... My thirst for revenge made me sloppy. Me, the best assassin in the clan? Ha!

"Got you now," the noble sneers, a malicious glint in his deep-set brown eyes.

This is really, really bad. I search for a way out, but there's nothing I can do when I can't even twitch a finger. I don't see the guard behind me, but I feel it – the cold steel of his blade sliding between my ribs, tearing through flesh and organs. I try to scream out in pain but nothing escapes my lips except for a small whimper as agony rips through my body, blood dripping from my mouth.

"Is this... it?" I think, feeling my strength ebbing away with each heartbeat. The pain is unbearable, but even worse is the crushing weight of failure. I couldn't avenge my family... I couldn't kill Prince Alexander Hartley, the man responsible for all my suffering. And now, my life as an assassin would end without meaning, without redemption.

As darkness encroaches upon my vision, I can't help but wonder if there could have been more to life than this. Could I have found happiness, love, or even just peace? Was there ever a chance for me to be something other than a weapon?

But it's too late. The darkness consumes me, and I lose all sensation.

I am dead... Or that's what I thought.