Rashan took a slow, steady breath, eyes fixed intently on the dense foliage below. Each muscle was taut with practiced readiness, every sense sharpened by the rhythmic patter of drizzle against his armor—a calming cadence that heightened rather than dulled his alertness.
Then came the signal—a subtle, clear whistle from Alain, precise and unmistakable.
Their prey was approaching.
His pulse quickened slightly, a controlled rush of anticipation. Rashan remained silent, words unnecessary at this point. Each operative already knew their roles precisely, drilled into instinct through relentless preparation.
Above, concealed carefully atop the ridge by dense brush and mud camouflage, Gorrun, Dorrsan, Bjorn, Malik, and Saif waited silently. The Orc and Nord warriors, whose size and strength were ill-suited for stealth within the thick marshland below, were perfectly positioned now—poised to leverage their raw power. Each man stood ready, muscles coiled, grips firm upon their heavy javelins and large, head-sized rocks.
Rashan's strategic placement was precise: two massive boulders, carefully arranged at the ridge's edge, were ready to plunge violently downward, intended to separate the enemy formation decisively. Behind these enormous stones, several hundred smaller, head-sized rocks were positioned meticulously, meant to rain down relentlessly in a chaotic hailstorm of crushing blows and confusion, inflicting maximum casualties and further disrupting enemy cohesion.
The effectiveness of this ambush hinged upon perfect timing, lethal accuracy, and complete surprise. The forward scouts—Cassia, Alain, and Devan—were critical now. Their task was to remain undetected until the very last instant, ensuring the enemy had no inkling of the devastation poised above them.
Rashan exhaled slowly, patiently, feeling a familiar clarity sharpen in his mind.
Then there was Rashan's own carefully orchestrated trap. Beside him crouched Adrien, Tariq, Rashaad, Khalid, Jalil, and his teacher—each gripping hand-sized glass vials filled with his custom accelerant. The substance glistened faintly in the dull marshlight, thick and viscous, swirling gently within clear glass containers.
They hadn't dared pour it directly onto the trail; the Khajiit scouts' damned keen sense of smell was simply too sharp, and no amount of alchemical trickery could mask the accelerant's subtle, distinctive odor completely. This wasn't some idiotic game scenario where enemies blindly stepped over pools of oil, oblivious until flames erupted beneath their feet.
Instead, Rashan had devised something far more precise—something closer to perfection.
Guided by his flawless recall of modern chemistry from his previous life, Rashan utilized an alchemical method entirely unknown in Tamriel. While Tamrielic alchemists primarily relied on natural mixtures and rudimentary magical enhancement—rarely refining processes beyond simple infusion—Rashan carefully combined mundane yet potent ingredients: dense tree resins, purified marsh pitch, distilled animal fats, and finely ground charcoal. He meticulously heated and condensed the mixture in controlled stages, creating an exceptionally dense, gel-like accelerant with an extraordinarily high ignition point. Not even persistent rain posed an issue; water droplets merely slid harmlessly off its surface, and upon ignition, its fierce heat quickly dried surrounding materials, ensuring a sustained burn lasting at least a minute.
Despite its sophistication, Rashan intentionally kept the process straightforward and inexpensive, essential for sustained wartime operations. His heightened comprehension, gifted by his Healer-class talent, streamlined the creation, seamlessly blending advanced scientific principles from his former life with practical alchemy from this one. It was elegant in its simplicity, alien in its effectiveness.
His arrows were lightweight, designed purely for accuracy and speed, their tips infused with a minor flame enchantment—an enchantment mirrored precisely in the javelins wielded by Gorrun, Dorran, Malik, Bjorn, and Saif above. The enchantment was subtle, just strong enough to ignite upon impact, barely producing more than a brief spark or smolder. Alone, these projectiles were nearly harmless—but if one managed to catch an accelerant vial mid-flight, the results would be spectacular. Even if Rashan missed the perfect shot, merely striking spilled accelerant after the vials broke would still achieve the desired conflagration, igniting a roaring blaze that would burn ferociously.
Rashan allowed himself a small, satisfied grin beneath his dragon mask.
MEANWHILE….
Cassia's mind raced urgently. She had signaled immediately when the Dominion's forward scouts first appeared—one Bosmer, one Khajiit—but instinct told her others likely lurked nearby.
Everything had unfolded exactly according to plan until a small jackrabbit emerged silently from the brush. Cassia remained utterly still, her breathing slow and controlled beneath her camouflage, perfectly blended with her environment. The subtle illusion spell she maintained bent the light around her body, further concealing her presence from even the sharpest eyes. Yet the jackrabbit moved cautiously closer, ears twitching, nose scenting the air carefully. It seemed utterly oblivious to her, stepping gently between roots and small stones.
Then, inexplicably, the animal hopped straight into her concealed form.
Cassia froze, heart thundering as the jackrabbit paused, confused. It sniffed curiously, sensing something out of place but uncertain what. Instead of bolting away in panic, it began hopping slowly in small, puzzled circles around her. Her throat tightened with anxiety; every passing second increased her danger. She didn't dare move yet.
The jackrabbit drew nearer, nose twitching, sniffing at her leg once more. Cassia held her breath, waiting for it to leave—but it refused. A choice had to be made. Before the creature's strange behavior could draw even more attention, her hand flashed forward, gripping her blade tightly as she swiftly pierced the rabbit's neck in a precise, silent kill.
The jackrabbit went limp instantly in her grasp, but a sharp chill raced down her spine. She slowly turned her eyes toward the Bosmer scout in the distance. He had abruptly frozen, head snapping around, eyes locked in her direction. Cassia felt a surge of dread. He had sensed something through his bonded animal's sudden silence.
She remained motionless, pulse roaring in her ears, as she saw the elf narrow his gaze. She swiftly layered a stronger, more demanding illusion spell atop her existing concealment, heart hammering at the strain—but she didn't move.
She couldn't.
Not yet.
Faelar's POV
Faelar moved silently, eyes scanning the thick marshland carefully, alert for any disruption. Ahead, his bonded jackrabbit moved with quiet agility, its natural awareness an invaluable extension of his senses. It had been carefully selected—perfect for slipping unnoticed through Hammerfell's rugged brush, able to detect threats long before Faelar himself might sense them.
He halted abruptly mid-step, a sudden flutter of confusion washing gently through his empathic bond. Faelar frowned slightly, pausing as the odd feeling deepened.
Through the subtle mental connection, he sensed the jackrabbit's abrupt bewilderment, a curious uncertainty as though it had encountered something entirely unexpected. Not panic yet—just an odd hesitation, like confusion at finding something out of place. Faelar tensed instinctively, carefully probing the emotional impression. Was it a hidden predator? No—there was no immediate surge of fear, no flight instinct triggered.
Then he felt it clearly: the jackrabbit, instead of immediately fleeing, was now cautiously sniffing around the unknown presence, slowly hopping in a curious circle, puzzled by something it clearly could neither see nor fully understand. The behavior was unnatural, strange enough to unsettle Faelar, though he still felt only mild suspicion.
Suddenly, without warning, the rabbit's emotions snapped to intense surprise, followed instantly by a cold, absolute silence.
Faelar's muscles tightened sharply as he felt the empathic bond vanish, severed completely. The jackrabbit was dead. Yet this wasn't the behavior of a natural predator; the confusion had been too specific, the reaction too sudden. This was precise—calculated.
Eyes narrowing, Faelar immediately focused on the spot where the jackrabbit had been lost. Motioning carefully to his Khajiit companion, he signaled a cautious approach. His heart quickened slightly as suspicion grew stronger, uncertain what awaited him.
Faelar's heartbeat quickened, eyes narrowing as he focused directly toward the point where the jackrabbit's presence had abruptly vanished. . Carefully, he motioned toward his Khajiit companion, signaling him closer as they both cautiously approached Cassia's hidden location towards where his jackrabbit companion had died.
Cassia's pulse quickened, steady yet sharp beneath her practiced calm. She drew shallow, silent breaths, feeling the marsh's chill seep through her clothing, moisture cold against her skin. She lay hidden among thick grasses, reeds, and dense patches of slick moss; the rich, earthy scent of damp vegetation filled her senses. Droplets of rain trickled quietly down leaves, gently splashing into small, stagnant pools beneath tangled roots.
Her eyes narrowed, tracking the two Dominion scouts as they advanced cautiously through the thick marshland. The Bosmer moved with deliberate grace, slender limbs easing through brush, his steps nearly soundless except for the faint rustling of wet foliage against leather armor. Parallel to him, roughly eleven meters apart, the Khajiit crept forward, feline features alert, ears twitching subtly, sensitive nose testing the air for scent.
They were cautious, skilled even, but unaware—perfectly unaware. Cassia felt quiet satisfaction beneath her measured breath. These were precisely the types Rashan had drilled into her mind and muscle memory, year after relentless year.
As the scouts closed in, Cassia's heartbeat steadied, adrenaline refining rather than distracting her senses. She counted each quiet step, every slight shift of their bodies as they drew near. Around her, the marshland seemed to hold its breath, insects momentarily silenced, breeze settling into unnatural stillness. Each passing second sharpened her awareness, pushing perception to an almost painful clarity.
Twenty meters.
Cassia remained motionless, barely breathing, hidden by her carefully woven combination of camouflage and subtle illusion magic. Rashan's words echoed softly in her mind, a rhythm of deadly repetition:
Again. Do it again.
Fifteen meters.
The Khajiit's whiskers twitched, nostrils flaring gently as he sniffed the humid air. Cassia didn't flinch, didn't shift, didn't even blink. Every muscle was perfectly disciplined, held in absolute control.
Ten meters.
Mud squelched gently beneath their careful steps. The Bosmer paused briefly, head cocked, golden eyes narrowing suspiciously at something far off. Cassia remained frozen, her heartbeat utterly steady, waiting for the precise moment Rashan had drilled endlessly.
Five meters.
Cassia felt every detail—the slick dampness of the Khajiit's fur, droplets running down leather armor, the subtle movements beneath cloaks. Her breathing slowed further, heart calm and deliberate.
Three meters.
Two.
One.
Now.
She surged upward from concealment, fluid, smooth, lethal grace embodied. Her dagger flashed outward instantly, sliding deeply and savagely across the Khajiit's exposed throat. The keen blade bit sharply, severing vocal cords and slicing deeply into muscle, cartilage, and tendon. Hot blood sprayed vividly against her hands, warm and slick, staining her fingers crimson. The Khajiit's eyes bulged in sudden, horrified realization, mouth gaping soundlessly, breath escaping in a voiceless gurgle as his knees buckled beneath him.
Even as she rose, Cassia's left hand snapped forward, releasing the throwing dagger in a practiced blur toward the startled Bosmer. The blade spun silently through damp air, burying itself deeply into his throat with a wet, meaty thud. The Bosmer staggered, eyes wide with shock, hands clutching helplessly at the handle jutting grotesquely from his neck. Blood erupted from the wound, streaming down his chest in bright crimson rivulets.
Cassia closed the distance in two swift strides, soundless footsteps barely disturbing marshy ground. She grasped his shoulder firmly and drove her dagger brutally upward beneath his jaw, plunging the blade deep through muscle and sinew. Twisting sharply, she tore the weapon forward, slicing open the Bosmer's windpipe and arteries with ruthless efficiency. Thick, warm blood filled his throat instantly, choking any desperate cry he might have attempted, spilling heavily across her hand.
She stepped back as both bodies collapsed limply to the damp earth, her breath calm, steady, heart already settling to quiet stillness. Rashan's relentless training echoed in her thoughts—precise execution, without hesitation, without remorse.
She was exactly what he'd shaped her to become: his hidden blade, silent and deadly.
READ AUTHORS NOTE BELOW