Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~10 min read
The gardens were Draven’s favorite place at sunset.
Raven had learned his patterns over ten days of observation, training, and attempted murder. Every evening, he walked the shadow gardens alone, checking on the various deadly plants he’d cultivated over centuries. No guards. No attendants. Just him and the perpetual twilight and shadows that moved wrong.
It was the most vulnerable he ever was.
Which made it the perfect place for attempt number four.
Raven lay flat on a palace spire forty feet above the gardens, bow in hand, iron-tipped arrow nocked and ready. She’d been here for three hours, perfectly still, breathing controlled. The Guild had trained her in patience. Sometimes a contract required hours of waiting for the perfect shot.
This was that shot.
The bow was fae-made—she’d “borrowed” it from the armory—and enhanced to fire faster and truer than mortal weapons. The arrow was pure iron with a tip coated in shadowbane poison. Hit anywhere major, and even a fae prince would go down.
She’d failed with poison. Failed with blade in the dark. Failed with ambush.
But she’d never failed with a bow.
Archery was her specialty. The one thing she was naturally gifted at beyond what the Guild had beaten into her. Give her a bow and line of sight, and she didn’t miss.
Draven entered the gardens, and Raven’s breathing slowed to nothing.
He walked the winding paths between carnivorous flowers and trees that wept liquid shadow. Stopped occasionally to examine something, completely unaware he was in a sniper’s crosshairs.
Raven tracked his movement, calculated wind, adjusted for distance. At this angle, she had a clear shot at his chest. One arrow, iron tipped, poison coated. He’d have maybe ten seconds before the toxin spread.
Not even shadow magic could save him that fast.
Her finger rested on the bowstring, drawing back slowly. Breath held. Mind clear. Just the target and the shot.
Complete the contract.
Earn freedom.
Kill the prince.
She released.
The arrow flew true—perfect arc, perfect speed, aimed precisely at his heart.
Draven’s hand snapped up and caught it.
Caught it.
Mid-flight.
With his bare hand.
From forty feet away.
Raven stared in disbelief as he examined the arrow, smiled, and then snapped it in half with casual strength.
Then he looked up. Directly at her. Violet eyes glowing even at this distance.
“I’m enjoying this,” he called up, voice carrying perfectly. “Are you?”
Raven rolled off the spire just as shadows erupted from where she’d been lying. She caught herself on a lower ledge, dropped to a balcony, and started running.
He was coming.
She could feel him in the shadows—not chasing exactly, but following. Playing. Like a cat who’d found a particularly entertaining mouse.
She vaulted over a railing, slid down a column, hit the ground running. Pulled two more arrows from her quiver as she ran, turned, fired both in quick succession.
Both arrows dissolved into shadows before reaching him. He was fully corporeal but somehow still controlling shadows around him, using them as shields.
“That’s cheating!” She shouted, still running.
“It’s adaptive defense!” His laugh echoed through the gardens. “You’re learning to improvise. I’m proud!”
Raven dove behind a massive tree that probably had teeth, nocked another arrow. This one was different—tipped with light essence crystal instead of iron. She’d prepared contingencies.
She rolled out, aimed, fired.
The arrow exploded in brilliant white light the moment it left the bow. Draven’s shadow shields evaporated, and he raised his arm to block—
The arrow grazed his shoulder, cutting through his shirt and drawing blood.
“Ha!” Raven felt a surge of triumph. “Got you again!”
“So you did!” He sounded delighted rather than injured. “Twice in one week. You’re improving dramatically!”
She fired three more arrows in rapid succession—two normal, one light essence. Force him to defend, overwhelm his shadows, find an opening.
Draven danced between them—literally danced, movements graceful and impossible. One arrow passed through his shadow form, one was caught in darkness, and the light essence one forced him solid where he grabbed it mid-flight and threw it back at her.
Raven dodged her own arrow and ran deeper into the gardens.
This wasn’t working. He was too fast, too skilled, too comfortable in his own territory.
She needed different terrain.
The maze. The shadow maze in the center of the gardens that even Vex said was dangerous. If she could lose him there, reposition, she’d have another shot.
Raven sprinted toward the maze entrance—an archway carved from living shadow. Draven’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
“The maze? Bold choice. Most people don’t enter voluntarily.”
“Most people aren’t trying to kill you!” She plunged into the darkness.
The maze was alive. Shadows moved like liquid, walls shifted when she wasn’t looking, and every path seemed to lead in circles. But Raven had the navigation crystal he’d given her. It showed her location, showed the paths.
Showed Draven’s location tracking her from above, moving through the maze like he was part of it.
Because he probably was.
“Clever girl,” his voice whispered from the walls. “Using my own gift to navigate my own maze. I’ve trained you well.”
Raven ignored him, focusing on movement. Turn left, drop low under a shadow-branch, roll forward, come up running. The crystal showed a clearing ahead—open space where she could get a clear shot.
She burst into the clearing and immediately knew it was a trap.
The space was circular, surrounded by walls of solid shadow. No exits except the way she came. And standing in the center, arms crossed, looking thoroughly entertained—Draven.
“Took you four minutes,” he said. “I predicted five. You’re getting faster.”
Raven had an arrow nocked before he finished speaking. “Don’t move.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” He spread his arms wide. “Go ahead. At this distance, you can’t miss. Pure skill, no tricks. Let’s see if you can actually do it.”
She drew the bow fully back, arrow aimed at his heart. This was it. The perfect shot. No more chances, no more games.
Just her, him, and the contract.
“Why aren’t you defending yourself?” She demanded, arrow steady.
“Because I want to see if you’ll do it.” His expression was open, honest. “Fourth attempt. Fourth time you’ve gotten me in position. Every time, you hesitate at the last second. I want to know if this time will be different.”
“I don’t hesitate.”
“You’re hesitating right now.” He took a step forward. The arrow tracked his movement, still aimed at his heart. “You could have released the moment I appeared. Instead, you’re talking. Asking questions. Trying to understand why I’m not fighting back.”
Another step. He was fifteen feet away now. Close enough that even if he tried to dissolve into shadow, the arrow would hit before the transformation completed.
“I’m going to kill you,” Raven said, but it sounded like a question instead of a statement.
“Then do it.” Another step. Ten feet. His eyes glowed violet, intense, seeing straight through her. “Release the arrow. Complete your contract. Earn your freedom. It’s what you came here for.”
“Why do you want to die?” The question burst out before she could stop it. “Why make it easy? Why not fight back?”
“Who says I’m making it easy?” He smiled. “I caught your first arrow mid-flight. Led you through gardens I control. Herded you into a maze that’s part of my power. And now I’m standing here, making you question whether you can actually kill someone who isn’t fighting back.”
Five feet away. She could stab him with the arrow at this distance.
“That’s psychological warfare,” she accused.
“That’s strategy.” He stopped, close enough that she could see the cut on his shoulder from her earlier arrow. Still bleeding slightly. Proof she could hurt him. “You’ve gotten better, Raven. Dramatically better. But you still see killing as a technical problem to solve instead of a choice to make. Every time you have a clean shot, you realize you’re choosing to end someone’s existence, and you hesitate.”
“I’m an assassin. I don’t hesitate.”
“You’re a person who was forced to become an assassin. There’s a difference.” He reached out slowly and touched the arrow tip. Pushed it gently against his own chest, right over his heart. “One word from you. One tiny release of tension on that bowstring. I’ll be dead. Is that what you want?”
“That’s what the contract says.”
“I didn’t ask about the contract. I asked what you want.”
Raven’s arms began to tremble from holding the draw. What did she want?
Freedom. Payment. Escape from the Guild.
But also… this. Whatever this was. Training sessions where he taught her to be better. Dinners where they talked about loneliness and purpose. Court sessions where he showed her complex politics like she was worth educating. Moments where someone finally saw her as a person instead of a weapon.
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.
“That’s progress.” He smiled, and it was gentle. Proud. “Three days ago, you’d have said you wanted to complete the contract without hesitation. Now you’re questioning. Thinking. Choosing.”
“The Guild will kill me if I fail.”
“I’ll protect you from the Guild.” He said it with absolute certainty. “Break their binding magic, hide you, destroy them if necessary. You don’t have to complete this contract. You choose to. Or choose not to. But it’s your choice, not theirs.”
The bow trembled in her hands. “You’re making this complicated.”
“Life is complicated. The Guild just made you think it was simple.” He stepped back, giving her space. “Keep the shot. Or don’t. Either way, I consider this attempt a solid eight out of ten. The light essence arrows were inspired, and you’ve improved your tactical improvisation significantly.”
“You’re rating me while I have an arrow at your heart.”
“I’m rating you because you have an arrow at my heart and still haven’t released it. That’s interesting. Fascinating, actually.” He turned and started walking toward the maze exit. “Twenty days left, Raven. Plenty of time to figure out what you actually want.”
He dissolved into shadows and vanished, leaving her alone in the clearing with a drawn bow and no target.
Raven slowly released the tension on the string, the arrow un-nocked but not fired. Her arms shook from holding the draw too long.
Four attempts. Four failures.
Or four successes at not becoming a murderer? She couldn’t tell anymore.
She looked at the arrow in her hand—iron tip, deadly enough to kill a prince. She’d had him. Perfect shot. And she’d talked instead of acted.
Because he was right. She hadn’t wanted to kill someone who wasn’t fighting back.
When had she started caring about that?
Raven navigated out of the maze using the crystal, her mind spinning. Back in the gardens, she found the broken arrow where he’d snapped it. Picked up the pieces, studied them.
“I’m enjoying this,” he’d said.
And the terrifying thing? She was too.
Furious that he’d made her question everything she thought she knew about herself. Thrilled that someone finally challenged her to be more than just efficient. Confused about whether completing the contract was victory or loss.
Twenty days left.
And Raven Storm, the Guild’s perfect weapon, had no idea what she actually wanted anymore.
In his private chambers, Draven touched the cut on his shoulder and smiled.
Four attempts. Four hesitations.
She was learning. Growing. Becoming someone who chose instead of just obeyed.
Whether she killed him or not mattered less with each attempt. He’d already won—she was free from the Guild’s control, even if she didn’t realize it yet.
The binding magic would kill her if she failed the contract.
But he’d figure out how to break it before thirty days elapsed.
Because having a worthy opponent was good.
Having a worthy partner was better.
And Raven Storm was becoming extraordinary.
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