A Dagger of Hopes and Dreams

The parchment was in his hands before he even realized it, the details of his next contract as cold and unyielding as the Guild Master's gaze. There was no need for words, no preamble. He knew the rules: the target, the payment, the method. All it took was action. No hesitation. No remorse.

Atula unfolded the parchment, scanning the inked details. A name. A location. A reason.

Lady Selene Rhiannon.

She was a minor noble, nothing more than a footnote in the political games of the Twelve Families. Her family's wealth had come from trade and influence, her name whispered in the right circles but never truly powerful enough to draw attention. Atula's eyes lingered on the location: a villa on the outskirts of Ravenshade, isolated and secure. It would be a difficult job, but not impossible. The Guild had given him no details beyond the name and location. The rest was up to him.

Lady Selene Rhiannon had been marked for death, and that was all that mattered.

Atula moved through the streets of Ravenshade with the precision of a shadow, his face hidden beneath a dark cloak. His movements were fluid, almost imperceptible, as though he were part of the night itself. The city seemed alive with noise and chaos, but to Atula, it was all distant. His focus had narrowed down to the mission at hand, blocking out the distractions of the world around him.

The villa was tucked away in the city's wealthiest district, a mansion that seemed to glow with the opulence of its inhabitants. The stone walls were adorned with ivy, and the windows gleamed in the dim moonlight. Guards patrolled the grounds, their heavy boots thudding on the cobblestone walkways. Atula paused in the shadow of a nearby alley, watching the patrols with the practiced gaze of a master assassin. This was not the first time he had taken on a high-profile target, and it would not be the last.

Lady Selene had a reputation for being more than just a pretty face. She was known for her connections, her ability to charm and manipulate the right people to secure favors. The Guild had its reasons for wanting her dead—reasons that were buried in the politics of the Twelve Families, details Atula didn't need to know. All that mattered was the payment and the contract.

The villa was surrounded by a tall iron fence, the gates locked tight. Atula scanned the perimeter, noting the weak points. A single guard was stationed by the main entrance, his posture rigid but careless. He was bored, not expecting trouble, which worked in Atula's favor. Without a second thought, he darted across the street, moving swiftly through the shadows. His heart beat with the cold rhythm of a predator stalking its prey, but there was no thrill here. No excitement. Just the necessary movements, the steps he had long since mastered.

He reached the back of the villa in mere moments, where the guards were fewer, their attention divided between their posts. Atula slipped through a gap in the wall, entering the well-kept garden unnoticed. The scent of flowers and fresh earth filled the air, a stark contrast to the sharpness in Atula's chest. This would be over quickly, like all the others. There was no room for hesitation.

Atula crept closer to the villa, listening carefully to the sounds inside. He could hear the faint hum of conversation, the clink of goblets, the soft laughter of a celebration. Lady Selene was likely hosting guests, which meant the villa would be crowded. But crowded rooms didn't bother Atula; they only made his job easier. The chaos would hide his presence.

He scaled the wall with the ease of a spider, his fingers finding holds in the stone. The window he had been searching for was on the second floor, a small study with a wide view of the gardens. It was unlocked.

Atula slipped inside.

Inside, the room was richly furnished, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and expensive perfume. Lady Selene sat at a desk, her back to the door as she wrote something in a leather-bound ledger. Atula paused in the doorway, watching her. She was beautiful, yes—long, flowing hair the color of moonlight, sharp eyes that would make anyone uneasy. She was everything the Guild had said she was: confident, manipulative, untouchable. And yet, she had no idea that her end was so close.

The contract had been simple: eliminate Lady Selene before she could do more damage to the Guild's interests. Atula didn't care for the details; they were none of his business.

He moved swiftly into the room, silent as a shadow. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, Lady Selene's head snapped up, her eyes locking with his. There was no surprise in her gaze, no fear—only calculation. She had known he would come, in one form or another. She was smarter than most, but not enough to survive.

Atula's hand moved to the hilt of his blade. The steel was cold to the touch, familiar in his grip. His breath was steady, his focus absolute. There was no hesitation. There was no room for weakness. This was business.

Before she could react, Atula was on her, the blade flashing in the dim light. He moved with the precision of years of training, his strike landing without mercy. Her body went limp almost immediately, crumpling in the chair. There was no struggle, no scream, just the quiet finality of death.

Atula stood over her, watching for any sign of life. There was none. She was gone.

The contract had been completed in less than a minute.

Atula wiped the blade clean, his movements as cold and efficient as ever. He had done this so many times now that it had become second nature. He had lost count of how many lives he had taken, how many contracts he had fulfilled. He didn't need to count. What mattered was the job being done, and it had been done.

As Atula turned to leave, his eyes flicked to the woman's desk. A letter, half-written, lay discarded beside her. Atula didn't care for it, didn't care for any of her personal possessions. But as he walked toward the window, a single word caught his eye.

"Revenge."

Atula paused for a brief moment, his thoughts swirling. The word lingered in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. It meant nothing. Not anymore. He had no room for sentiment, no room for emotion. Only the Guild.

He exited the villa the same way he had entered—through the shadows, unnoticed, unseen.

The contract was complete.

And Atula's heart remained as cold as the blade in his hand.