A Dagger of Hopes and Dreams

The echo of Atula's boots reverberated down the cold stone hallway as he made his way back to the Guild's lair. He had done it—Lord Aleric Windvale was dead. His heart had remained still through it all, detached from the emotions that had once made him hesitate. Now, there was only the task at hand and the ever-present weight of the Guild Master's expectations.

Atula knew that the moment he stepped into the Guild Master's presence, the weight of his actions would be felt. The Guild Master had eyes everywhere, always watching, always calculating. There was no room for error, no space for weakness. And as Atula walked the familiar halls, he wondered whether the Guild Master would be pleased—or whether he'd be disappointed.

The Guild was built on power, on control. It was a network of shadows and whispers, a kingdom of its own within the heart of Ravenshade, and the Guild Master was its undisputed king. To fall out of favor with him was to fall into the abyss, to disappear without a trace.

The dimly lit corridors finally gave way to the main chamber—the heart of the Guild. A single flame flickered in the center, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The Guild Master sat at his usual place, his silhouette looming like a specter. His eyes were hidden in the darkness, but Atula knew better than to mistake the absence of light for a lack of presence. The Guild Master's power radiated even in the silence.

Atula approached with deliberate steps, his face impassive, his hands clasped behind his back. The weight of the parchment in his belt, the evidence of the Windvale assassination, felt like an anchor pressing against his ribs.

"You've returned," the Guild Master's voice was as cold and calculating as ever, a blade that cut through the stillness. "I trust the task was... completed?"

Atula nodded, pulling the parchment from his belt and placing it carefully on the table before the Guild Master. "Lord Aleric Windvale is dead. It was done cleanly. No witnesses."

The Guild Master didn't move. He didn't need to. His eyes were always watching, always evaluating. "And the woman?" he asked, his tone unwavering.

Atula felt a slight tension coil in his gut. The woman had been a complication—she had screamed, her cries echoing through the manor, but he had left her unharmed. Her role in the Windvale house had been insignificant, yet her presence had made Atula hesitate. The Guild Master knew this, of course. He always knew.

"She will not speak," Atula replied, his voice steady. "She was left alive. But she won't tell anyone."

The Guild Master's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Atula could feel the weight of his scrutiny pressing on him, as though the Guild Master could see straight through him, dissecting the tiniest crack in his composure.

"You're becoming too... sentimental," the Guild Master said, the words a sharp, venomous whisper. "Mercy does not belong in your world, Atula. You're no longer a child. You are an instrument of the Guild. Your job is to remove obstacles. Not protect them."

Atula's jaw tightened, but he remained silent. He had been trained not to respond to threats or criticism. His gaze never wavered as he stood before the Guild Master, the familiar weight of the master's disappointment hanging in the air. It wasn't the first time he had felt this way. And it wouldn't be the last.

The Guild Master stood slowly, his shadow towering over Atula. The tension in the room thickened. "You're becoming a problem," the Guild Master continued, his voice low and menacing. "You're too attached to the idea of control, too focused on your own sense of morality. And that will be your undoing if you're not careful."

Atula held his ground, his mind turning over the Guild Master's words. Too attached? He had no attachment. No weakness. His heart had been hardened by the streets of Ravenshade, by the betrayal of his family, by the cold teachings of the Guild. But somewhere, deep within, the doubt still lingered. He was not the child who had once dreamed of a future beyond the shadows. He had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy: a tool of the darkness.

The Guild Master took a step closer, his presence oppressive, suffocating. "I'm giving you another chance, Atula. But be careful. There's a limit to how many mistakes I'll allow. This is your final warning. If you hesitate again—if you show weakness again—you will be replaced."

Atula didn't flinch. He didn't show a flicker of emotion. His eyes locked with the Guild Master's, his mind steeling itself against the words that could break him. He had no choice but to play the role the Guild had set for him. To do anything less was to invite ruin.

"I understand," Atula said, his voice like steel. "There will be no more mistakes."

The Guild Master's lips curled into something like a smile—a smile that did not reach his eyes. "See that there aren't. Now, go. Your next task awaits."

Atula bowed his head, acknowledging the command without a word. As he turned to leave, he could feel the Guild Master's gaze lingering on him, the weight of that cold, calculating stare pressing down on his back. Every step he took felt like a walk along a razor's edge.

Outside the Guild's lair, Atula took a deep breath, the cool night air filling his lungs. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the city's darkened streets. He walked swiftly, his footsteps echoing in the silence, but even as he moved through the city he had once called home, something inside him felt different. The Guild Master's words echoed in his mind, growing louder with every step: You're becoming a problem.

Perhaps he was. Perhaps he had been for a long time.

But there was no going back now. He was bound to the Guild. He was bound to the shadows.

And whether he liked it or not, that was who he had become.