The idyllic, azure waves of the Molten Sea were beautiful when Morana wasn't drowning in them. Warm hues of orange dusted the horizon as the sun dipped below it, giving the tepid waters their cautioning title. The resurfacing memories of how the bubbles pressed against her skin, how her lungs had been filled without mercy, sent shivers down her spine. Even in the summer heat, nothing could warm the bitter dread that coiled around her.

She held the cool stone of her necklace against her cheek, the sensation calming the heavy thuds of her heart. The purple gem glistened in the sunlight, darker veins appearing when it hit the right angle. They pulsed as her fingers stroked along the smooth surface, as if magic inside were attempting to escape.

Now wasn't the time. She needed to focus and keep an eye on the ships entering and leaving the port. All for the sake of her boss' plan.

Out of all of the lackeys that Silas could have chosen for the job — from Orcs that towered over people, to Sirens that could control the minds of people with their very voice — she was undoubtedly the worst fit. Her power was tamed to the remains of the dead. There was nothing she could do if this ship didn't arrive on time.

This was not how she wanted to spend her birthday.

Salt in the air coated the assassin's tongue as she watched people eagerly rush around Stargate Port. They hurried past the several wooden docks that stretched to the furthest point of the island, allowing even the largest ships to moor. She couldn't blame them for sprinting. It was the end of the day and they wanted to get home to their families. Gulls observed them from the tops of buildings, some circling them from above as if waiting to lunge at their prey.

A deep horn sounded from the docks' lighthouse, reverberating through Morana's bones, signalling that a new ship was about to enter the island. Was this finally the one she was after?

Grabbing the spyglass from her belt, she held it up to her eye so she could zoom in on the horizon. Gently rocking from side to side was one of the grandest ships the assassin had ever seen. Large crimson sails flared in the wind, proudly displaying the golden flame that had been painted on it — the Vahan royal insignia. Finally, they decided to show themselves.

"Shit," Morana cursed under her breath, her eyes darting between the ship and the setting sun. "They're not going to make it." Where were the Selkies when you needed them? A mere push of their power would help the Vahans arrive at shore faster so they wouldn't get trapped.

They had to pick today of all days to visit Wyrith.

As if by the grace of the Gods, the wind picked up and gave the ship an extra boost toward the docks. The assassin sighed in relief as the vessel passed the floating buoys that marked the island's territory —  the anchors that would soon be rife with ancient magic. Her own power tingled in excitement at the thought.

The first part of the plan was complete. Now, it was time to make sure the correct people were on board.

Tucking her purple braid in the hood of her cloak, pulling it over her head, and concealing her face with a thin mask, Morana climbed down the small alcove she had hidden in with ease. Dashing through darkened alleys and shadowed streets, she made her way to the mooring ship and hid behind a stack of crates to watch and wait once more. After the ropes had been tied and the anchor was securely buried on the sea floor, a dockman pulled out a ramp for the travellers.

Through the gaps in the crates, she saw as the first two people deboarded the ship. From their sheathed swords that reached their ankles and the engraved pattern of small, repeating flames across their armour, she knew that they were guards. The next pair, however, looked exactly like who Morana was after.

From that angle, the two brothers looked almost identical. Both had deep brown skin and kempt, ivory hair, alongside matching royal uniforms. However, some features told them apart. The man on the left was an inch or so shorter and the crown nestled on his head was simple in comparison to the other. Two thin, golden bands were bonded together with elegant filigree and adorned with ruby jewels. King Matthian, on the other hand, stood taller with a grander crown that marked his status. Keeping the same gold theme, large points jutted out of the front of the headpiece with a gemstone shaped into a flame welded into the centre.

"For such a small island, I didn't realise the views would be this breathtaking," King Matthian's gaze tipped to the castle that towered in the centre of the island. The narrow spires that stretched into the clouds were always a stunning sight to see, especially when the sun glinted off of them.

The other brother — who Morana knew to be Prince Damian — shifted uncomfortably as he scanned the horizon, the people on the docks. There was fear hiding in his ember eyes, coiling tightly and preparing to strike as if he were a cornered viper. "They don't rival Vahan, but they still have their own beauty."

Prince Damian was who Silas was looking for. He had to be. The assassin could sense it. She didn't know what her boss wanted with royalty, especially from another kingdom, but she was curious to find out why.

Perhaps he wanted to form an alliance? No, that couldn't be right. Civil agreements weren't his style. It was more likely that he wanted to add him to his collection, to the variety of puppets that he kept at his beck and call to do his bidding. It was how Silas had become such a formidable force within Wyrith — one that even the king couldn't take down. All he needed was a secret of theirs to keep as blackmail and they would fall into his trap.

Morana's fingers itched to interrogate further, but she forced herself to stay put. Her boss had only asked her to make sure Vahan royalty arrived on the island before the sun disappeared to welcome in the night, and that was what she did. Now, the plan could go ahead without any mishaps.

After waiting for everyone onboard to leave, the assassin snuck out from behind the crates and headed back the way she came, hoping nobody had spotted her. As she ventured toward the edge of the city, approaching the outskirts with fast and silent steps, a hand reached out and grabbed the hood of her cloak. Gloved fingers wrapped around her purple braid and yanked her backwards, securing her in a headlock.

"I've got her! The cursed assassin is here!" he called.

Digging her heel into his foot, Morana quickly swung around and kicked out the legs from underneath the guard. He fell onto his back, a shocked splutter indicating the air had been knocked from his lungs. Metal-plated armour covered every inch of his body — from the chipped helm to the dented breeches wrapped around his legs. A blazing sun was carved into the chest piece, the crest for the Kingdom of Wyrith. The island's guards had found her yet again.

She thought she was moving so fast that nobody would have followed her — a careless mistake that Silas wouldn't be happy with in the slightest. She had been doing so well too. There hadn't been a single slip-up with the plan until now.

Before the other guards could join them and the other could get back to his feet, Morana grabbed the sword from his sheath and wedged it through a gap in the metal plates of his armour, just above the armpit. She used it to pin him to the ground, thrusting the tip of the blade between the cobbles of the street beneath them. The agonised scream and the blood that spurted across the ground made her magic spiral with joy.

"Nictis!" Another guard rushed over with his sword drawn. As he swung toward the assassin, she merely stepped to the side and kicked his arse, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

"Is that all you guys have?" she scoffed in disbelief. "You can do better than that, surely."

A throwing dagger whizzed past her ear and landed in the wall beside her. Any closer and it would have shaved a layer of skin off of her cheek. She turned to find the culprit of the attack and her sardonic remark lodged itself in her throat, refusing to come out.

Unlike the others, this guard wore nothing to protect her face, revealing the cropped, auburn hair that blazed like fire in the setting sun. Her armour was detailed differently too. Where the standard uniform had the island's crest marked in silver, her's was painted in glittering gold, marking her as a captain. Her features — the sharpness of her nose and the freckles that were blotted over every inch of her face — felt familiar. However, it was buried too deeply in memories the assassin swore she would never uncover again.

"Morana The Cursed! You're under arrest by order of the crown, dead or alive." She placed the edge of her sword against her neck and Morana allowed it, luring her prey into her ambush. "Drop your weapons and place your hands in the air!" the guard demanded.

"Or what? I think I'd like to see what you can do with the sword since you don't seem to be the best with daggers." She smirked.

The guard's eyes narrowed as they observed her, as if they recognised her too. "Disarm yourself. Now."

"Sure." Morana sighed. "I don't need them anyway." Without any sudden movements, she reached for her belt and tossed her daggers to the side. She still had more in her boots, but they didn't need to know that. The clattering of metal attracted another two guards, giving her the perfect targets to focus on. When she came to the last blade that circled her waist, she flicked her wrist in an underarm throw and sent it soaring into the ankle of one of them.

"Oops."

Cool steel cut into her neck even more, drawing a thin line of blood. "You're lucky we need your head attached to your body. After everything you've done, all the people you've killed, I would love to repay the favour."

"Do it." The assassin stepped closer, pushing against the sword too. "Ignore your commands from that weak-hearted king and do it."

The guard gritted her teeth together, fighting off the urge to give in. She pulled her weapon away before quickly twisting the pommel back around to strike her over the head. It was a move Morana could predict without watching it happening.

She ducked under the sword and retreated several paces, giving her enough space from the enemy to use her power. The threads of death were wailing, begging to be used — a shattered symphony of dangerous and delightful desire. Reaching into a pouch on her belt, she grabbed a fistful of bone shards, the small, sharp pieces digging into her palms, and threw them toward the guards.

As they scattered across the cobbles, the Wyrith guards looked at each other with furrowed brows and frowns etched into their lips. Though, they didn't dare take their eyes off the assassin for more than a moment.

After a deep breath, Morana steadily raised her hand and the necklace looped around her throat followed suit. The violet jewel floated above her chest, emitting a faint hue of purple that reflected on her face. With a flick of her wrist, the bone shards rose into the air too and a snap of her fingers sent them plunging into the flesh of the guard she pinned down earlier. One through the neck, one into the heart, and another four buried in his arms and legs. The soft cries and pain-fuelled pants that had filled the silence before halted, finally submitted to the cold embrace of death.

This was where the fun really started.

"What in the-" another guard began but she was cut off when her previous friend jerked back to life.

He tore the sword from his arm, yanking it out of the ground beneath him and through the flesh that it pierced. Crimson stained the steel, sprinkled with chunks of pulp. The guard rose to his feet, standing as if nothing had ever happened.

"Nictis?" a guard breathed as Morana squeezed her fist into a tight ball.

The undead soldier charged towards who once his comrade with his blade held high. The assassin's power squealed as he ripped the chest piece in half with inhuman strength, before he plunged the sword into her abdomen, pulling it up and swiftly gutting her.

"Necromancer," their captain whispered under her breath, tears lining her olive eyes. They threatened to fall, luring her to give in to sweet defeat, but she fought back. "Everyone retreat!" she yelled to the two other remaining guards.

"Hey!" Morana scowled. "Not so fast! I was just getting to the good part." If they were going to interrupt her plans and stop them from sailing smoothly like the Vahan ship had into the island's port, the least they could do was let her have some fun.

With a clean arch of her hand, the bone shards left the home they had found and returned to the air once more. They hurtled towards the guards who had started to run back down the deserted street, but they didn't manage to get far before the ivory pieces pierced their throats.

All that was left now was their leader.

The remaining weapons that the assassin effortlessly wielded careened for her heart, but she ducked behind a crate to dodge them. Without taking a moment to think, the guard continued to run, passing one of her fallen comrades on the way. She tugged the dagger Morana had thrown out of the ankle of one of them and flung it toward her.

Aiming for the bones to soar like arrows into her target, she didn't notice until the blade dug deep into the necromancer's thigh, forcing her to drop her control on the shards. She didn't have metal armour like her foes, only fighting leathers. While they let her move more freely, they offered little protection.

Morana cried out in pain, her scream quickly turning into a vengeful growl. Snatching control of the bones that lay scattered across the street again, the necromancer pushed all of the power she could muster into the small pieces and sent them for the fleeing captain. With her infuriating, twisting movements, she only managed to sink one into the side of her abdomen. Nothing that would give her an advantage.

The assassin tested the weight on her injured leg after pulling the blade free from the muscle, only to be met with a searing burning across her thigh. There was no chance she would be able to catch up to the guard like that.

"Fuck," Morana swore through a hiss of pain. Without any hope of finishing the fight, she had to get out of the city before someone saw the remains of what had happened. The four dead bodies were bad enough, let alone the survivor who would tell every living soul about their encounter.

She could feel the growing flames of Silas' fury already.

Summoning the bone shards back to her and tucking them back into her pouch, all of them covered in a sheen of crimson, Morana began her limp back to the Lost Abyss.

Chapter Word Count: 2637
Total Word Count: 2637