The Arno's Passing

I stared at Arno's picture, the gruesome image frozen in my mind. The blood, the look of terror on his face—it was almost a message. I couldn't stop the questions flooding my mind, each one pushing me closer to the edge. 

How could this have happened? Who would go to such lengths, and why? Did the Shadow Mystics do it? No. They wouldn't leave traces behind. They were loyal, precise, and understood the importance of keeping our actions hidden from the knights and anyone else who might meddle in our world. Besides, they would have informed me if they'd planned something like this, especially with Athlea now tied to me. She wasn't just another enemy to them. 

But if it wasn't them, then who? 

I felt a weight at my side, the faint tremble of Athlea clinging to me, her body wracked with sobs that seemed to shatter the quiet around us. She held on tightly, her face buried in my shirt, her breaths uneven as she gasped between choked whispers.