Within the Church of Ravenkeep, there was a sole individual, who was busying himself with chores. Mopping the floors, cleaning the stone pews and, most importantly, polishing the pedestal which stood beneath the five crackling orbs of azure flame that floated within the air.

It was these flames that cast the light throughout the entire church, as if lighting even the smallest candle in their presence was considered an insult, as if to consider their light and warmth unworthy. Their presence as the singular source of light cast deep shadows within the church, shadows that danced and writhed as if they were a secondary audience showing their love for the flames.

At least, that was how the man liked to see it.

The man was dressed in azure robes, to match the five flames, and hummed softly to himself as he completed his tasks with the utmost of dedication.

"Excuse me sir, are you the one in charge here?"

The priest raised his eyebrows, turning around to find a cloaked figure standing in the aisle behind him. Odd, he hadn't heard him enter. Usually that door creaked like it was taken from an ancient tomb, no matter how much he oiled it, but it didn't make a sound when this individual entered.

But there were many people who had the habit of being light footed. It was one many gained when having to sneak around beasts and survive in the wilds of the new world, so the azure priest thought little of it.

He smiled warmly, clasping his hands before him in a praying motion as he said, "Yes Brother, I am the builder of this wonderful church, and it's caretaker. How may I help you?"

"I would like to request something of you."

"Oh? What would that be? I'm always eager to answer questions about our wonderful Lo-"

The smile drained from his face, his voice trailing off as his gaze lowered down, looking down in confusion at the hilt of the dagger pressed against his chest, with it's blade buried deep in his flesh.

A circle of crimson spread out from the daggers hilt, tainting his perfect azure robes. The priest tried to call for help, or simply ask why, but all he managed to do was cough up a lungful of blood that dripped down his chin, as well as sprayed onto the black cloak of the individual in front of him.

He didn't even see him crossing the room, never mind making his attack. And yet...

The priest coughed up more blood as the cloaked assassin twisted his blade inside his wound. The figure leaned close, his breath warm against the priest's ear as he whispered softly.

"Seek the light. Go into it, and you will be forgiven."

The assassin yanked the dagger free, letting the priest fall backwards and hit the freshly mopped floor with a heavy thud. Fresh blood seeped from his wounds, a pool of crimson oozing outwards and staining his nice clean floors.

As he lay on his back, his heartbeat rapidly weakening with every doomed beat, the priest gazed up at the five flames hovering above his head. He reached up with a trembling hand, feeling their warmth against his cold, clammy skin and smiled. He just hoped that his Lord wouldn't be mad at the mess he had made.

***

Erik stumbled back, raising his sword quickly to deflect a thrown dagger and immediately side stepped to avoid the follow up rush. He lashed out with a kick, sending the cloaked figure flying backwards, but even before the assailant landed he knew it wouldn't be enough to stop them.

At most, it would buy him a few seconds to regain his breath.

Sure enough, the assassin simply flipped in the air as a sheet of ice formed along the ground beneath him, letting him glide across the ground like an elegant skater instead of skidding and flipping over.

The black cloaked assassin stood up straight, letting out a low and calm breathe that condensated in the air, like he was breathing on a cold winters day, and let it visibly curl as it left his lips.

On the other hand, Erik was breathing heavily, his breath hot and heaving. Wounds covered his body, his aquamarine skin exposed to the assassin's blade when he was first attacked. But no blood seeped from his wounds, instead frost spread from the gashes and cuts on his arms, while ice started to form on the wound on his neck.

Erik grit his teeth, trying his best to keep his grip on his sword despite his arms trembling heavily. The cold wasn't just lingering on his skin, it was seeping into his very bones and chilling his blood. His biology wasn't helping either, his constantly moist skin only helping to spread the cold at a rapid rate.

The more he fought, the more he was building up his signature sweat.

Running was the optimal choice, however... he risked a glance behind him, towards the woman who was cowering on the ground. Her body was trembling almost as much as his, her pretty dress stained with mud as she had been thrown to the ground when the assassin attacked.

His date. He had been trying for a month to get this girl to accept his invitation for a date, and finally she had said yes. What kind of knight would he be, if he simply left the princess to suffer at the blade of this knave?

Ink spread outwards, as his armour finally formed around his body. His helmet covered his face, letting him finally twist in the pain he had been trying his best to hide.

Pointing his sword forwards, he spoke like the knights he had always admired, his voice echoing in his helmet.

"I have no doubt you chose such a private location for your attack on purpose, but you have dared to interrupt my date with this fair maiden. Not just that, but you have sullied her beauty with your ignorance.

For that alone, you will pay with your life!"

The assassin didn't speak, simply tilting his head down as the air around him plummeted in temperature, condensing and transforming into the same curling white mist as his breath. The air twinkled as crystals formed in the air, knitting themselves together into long, spiked daggers of pure ice.

With a flick of his wrist, the icicles launched forwards, before the assassin shot after them, ice forming beneath his feet as he skated along it and glided like a silent spectre. The only sound being the flapping of his cloak, and the whistling of his blade as it cut through the air.

***

The door to the Lord's bedroom, within the castle of Ravenkeep, opened seemingly by itself, before closing gently soon after. Clinging to the ceiling like an insect, a man garbed in nothing but black cloth, absent of the cloak his companions wore and any form of armour, made his way further into the room.

After a few moments of clinging to the ceiling, he dropped the floor silently and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

'Intel states the heretic leader came in here. The teleporter is being taken care of, so where could he have gone?'

He glanced around the room with scrutinising eyes, before slowly rolling up his sleeves. Where skin should be seen, there were instead layers of chitinous armour covering his bare arms. Jutting out from the gaps between those chitinous plates were long, thick and wiry hairs that stuck up proudly into the air now that they were freed from the confines of his clothing.

Holding his arms up in front of him, the assassin closed his eyes and concentrated. He slowly, and with silent footsteps, made his way around the room, occasionally pausing and altering his direction.

He circled the room once, before coming to a halt in front of the fireplace. There was no fire currently lit within it, so he leaned down and held his arms closer. A sadistic smile spread across his face, as the wiry hairs on his arms twitched eagerly at the smallest hints of movement in the air's current. All of those movements, coming from this fireplace.

He dug his fingers deep into the stone, trying to pry the hidden door open, but when he leaned his weight into it he heard a soft 'Click' before it slid slightly back. Smirking to himself, the assassin forced the door back, slipped inside and closed it behind him.

Once on the other side, He took a dagger from his belt and jammed it into the gap between the door and the wall to stop it from opening.

His eyes might not have been perfect for the pure dark of the corridor, but the hairs on his arms twitched repeatedly, painting a picture of the environment around him perfectly. Latching himself onto the ceiling once again, the spider-like assassin slowly made his way into the depths of the secret passage.