Chapter 5
Five
KAI
Rogue located at the northern shore.
The message appears in the gold-framed mirror of my dorm, vivid and blood-red, instantly setting off a familiar chain of events. I don’t waste a second, grabbing my katana off my dresser and slinging it across my back.
Moving silently, I slip out of the dorm undetected, evading Simon, Vaughn, and the rest of the students. Simon and Vaughn know about the special missions Headmistress Bennett occasionally assigns me, but they rarely ask for details. I prefer it that way.
I move like a shadow through the forest surrounding the academy. The moonlight barely breaks through the thick canopy above, but my sight cuts through the darkness. Countless nights in a dark, isolated room will do that to a man.
The path I take is well-practiced, forged from endless nights navigating these woods. Soon, I reach an old tree, its massive trunk tilting slightly under the weight of centuries and the deep influence of magic. I swiftly climb to one of the highest branches, where I can survey the ground below. Each step is calculated, my feet finding the sturdiest branches that can bear my weight. I always prefer higher ground; it gives me the vantage I need to observe undetected.
The Rogue knows he’s being hunted. No one’s foolish enough to come here without realizing it will cost them their life.
I blend into the night, becoming one with the stillness—observing, listening, following.
Then, in the distance, I spot him.
His bald head is etched with the distinctive markings of the Rogues, and he’s wearing their light blue robes. I’ve had nightmares about that color for years. Even now, it still haunts me.
He’s using a faint light spell to guide his way, a weak attempt to stay hidden. But even low-energy spells like that are enough to trigger our magic sensors. His eyes dart around frantically, scanning left, right, and behind him. He’s checking for any sign of pursuit, but he never thinks to look above.
Too bad for him it’ll be the last mistake he ever makes.
I slow my movements, pausing on one of the thicker branches, feeling the steady pulse of the night around me. My fingers brush the hilt of my katana, the cool metal comforting beneath my palm. Magic could end this easily, but why waste it on someone so unworthy? I prefer to save my magic for greater challenges, and besides, the Rogue isn’t worth the taint. I prefer to get my hands dirty.
The Rogue nears the edge of the clearing, his nervous glances becoming more frantic as he likely prepares to send a signal to his allies. He’s close to the academy—far too close for comfort. I move swiftly and silently to the end of the branch, concealed by the dense cover of trees. My muscles coil like a spring as I wait for the perfect moment to strike.
Right before he steps out into the open, I drop from the branches like a shadow falling from the sky, tackling him to the ground with a hard thud. He barely has time to scream as the impact forces the air from his lungs. His frantic eyes widen in shock as he catches a glimpse of me—too late to react.
In one fluid motion, I unsheathe my katana. The blade catches the faintest sliver of moonlight, glinting ominously. He struggles beneath me, but I’m faster, more precise. With a sharp swing, my blade slices through the air.
A scream erupts from him as his hand is severed cleanly at the wrist. The severed limb hits the forest floor, fingers still twitching uselessly. With his hand gone, he’s no longer able to navigate his tracker, and the magic he called upon disperses into nothingness.
Blood spurts from the stump, painting the ground in a violent arc, warm droplets splashing across my clothes. The Rogue’s cry is raw, primal—an instinctual sound that’s a mixture of horror and agony. He writhes beneath me, clutching at the bleeding stump, eyes wide with disbelief, pain, and fear.
I want to stare into his eyes as I take his life.
I want to feed off his fear.
I want to be the last thing he sees.
My hand clamps over the Rogue’s mouth, silencing any further cries he might make. He needs to hear me before I kill him.
“You’ve made a grave mistake, coming here.” My tone is barely above a whisper. “Your death will have been in vain. You will have accomplished nothing.”
The Rogue’s eyes are glassy, the life in them fading. The sounds that come out are muffled against my hand, but they’re not the usual sounds of pleading and begging I’m familiar with when I’m about to end someone’s life. It’s almost as if… he wants to tell me something.
Slowly, I release my grip on his mouth, giving him one final chance to speak before silence claims him forever. The Rogue struggles to sit up, gasping for breath as I stand over him, waiting to hear whatever nonsense he’s clinging to.
“He has come...” he sobs, his voice strained with pain. “He will kill you all. He searches for the One. He searches for the One!” His words escalate into a desperate screech.
It turns out listening to him was a waste of time. The same old Rogue delusions—fear tactics meant to buy time. And now, he’s making far too much noise.
In one swift, decisive motion, I sever his head from his spine, cutting off his last breath. Blood pours from the wound, a dark, gushing flood that soaks the forest floor. His limbs spasm weakly, then grow still as the life drains from him in mere seconds.
When his body finally goes limp, I step back, surveying the aftermath. The scent of iron fills the air as crimson stains the ground at my feet. Calmly, I reach for my cloak and wipe my blade clean, the cold steel gleaming once more in the moonlight.
Another Rogue down.
Only now do I allow myself to eye him properly. He’s young—barely twenty years old. It means they’re getting as desperate as we are, eager to increase their numbers as quickly as possible.
With a snap of my fingers, acid bubbles up from the earth, hissing as it makes contact with his lifeless body. The flesh begins to dissolve almost immediately, the stench rising into the night air. It’s overpowering now, but it will fade soon enough.
Then, it’ll be as if he never existed.
I stand there, watching as every trace of him melts away, leaving only a scorched patch of earth behind. Once I’m satisfied that no evidence remains, I slip back into the shadows, moving silently to check the perimeter. There’s always a chance another Rogue might be lurking.
By the time I return to the academy, the post-kill high is gone. I move through the empty halls, slipping into the shadows as I make my way toward the dorms, hoping to avoid any interruptions. I need to clean up without answering any questions.
"Where have you been?" Vaughn’s voice stops me as soon as I reach the common room. I tense, somehow not noticing him until he steps into the light.
Damn it. He always shows up at the worst times. And tonight, he’s even using one of my own tricks against me.
“Why do you want to know?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
“Because you keep sneaking off on your own, and I’m worried you’ll get yourself killed. Given your... history, you’re a bit more homicidal than the average person.” He shrugs casually, but the jab is there. I don’t let it show, though. He’s not wrong. I’ve seen what the Rogues are capable of firsthand.
They captured me once, tried to recruit me. But I resisted. Refused to let them break me.
I fought them until I was nothing but a shattered shell, but I never lost my loyalty. I saw their cause for what it was—driven by selfishness and a thirst for innocent blood. That’s why I take such grim satisfaction in wiping them out. They have no remorse for the lives they steal, and I have none for the ones I take back in the name of the Balance.
“No need to worry, V,” I say, despite knowing he won’t drop it so easily.
“Look,” he continues, flicking a cigarette between his fingers but not lighting it. Savina must’ve gotten to him about the habit. “Do your little solo missions, whatever they are. I’m only trying to say you could use someone to watch your back. Properly.”
“Don’t go getting all soft on me,” I reply with a smirk. “I don’t need anyone watching my back. But I appreciate the concern.”
I turn and head up the stairs, done with the conversation. I’ve used enough words for one night. Whatever else Vaughn has to say can wait until tomorrow.
“Yeah, well... the trail of blood behind you definitely says otherwise. Not concerning at all,” he calls after me, but I don’t bother with a response.
I lock my door behind me and head straight for the shower. Ah, blissful silence, at last. I strip off my blood-soaked clothes, the fabric sticking to my skin before I toss it to the floor, leaving a splash of red on the white tile. I find it oddly satisfying to marr the pristine floor with the evidence of my fresh kill.
As I turn on the shower, the ice-cold water hits me like a jolt. I stand under it, letting the chill ground me as I watch the water turn red, then pink, and finally clear. I scrub myself hard, as if trying to wash away not just the blood, but everything I’ve done tonight.
I scrub and scrub and yet, no matter how hard I do, the blood never leaves my hands. And no matter how much I tell myself I’m doing the dirty work for the Balance, I fear my hands may be stained forever.