[You have received a sub-quest.]

[S-Quest: Taking Hands]

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Increase influence in the Draken to 20%.

– The Draken linger at the edge of potential destruction as they stand to lose their great monopoly over the most Sacred of beasts: Dragons.

Take the ringed hands of all Draken betrayers and present it to their council, hence gaining their Favor.

Reward: Party feature Upgrade: War.

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***

Night fell heavy over the Imperial City of Draken, the kind of night that pressed down like a velvet curtain, muffling sound and sharpening shadows.

The city thrived even beneath the moonlight—streets alive with clamor, torches and lanterns painting the stone avenues in shades of fire.

The smell of roasted meat, wine, and the acrid tang of forge-smoke drifted upward to where Aric and Serina crouched, balanced along the sloped roof of a marble building.

From their vantage, the city stretched endless, a sea of slate rooftops, glowing spires, and crowded marketplaces still bustling even at this late hour.

Draken never slept.

Serina adjusted her balance, resting her hand lightly against the tiles, her cloak blending into the darkness.

Her gaze shifted toward Aric. "So… remind me again. Which one of em are we cutting down tonight?"

Aric's eyes remained fixed on the city below, cool and sharp.

"Denari. He's first. Then Selim and Ozborn."

He leaned forward, pointing with two fingers toward the heart of the district below.

A lantern-lit building sprawled across the corner of two streets, its balcony crowded with laughter, music, and the faint strains of strings being played too carelessly. Painted girls leaned from windows, laughter drifting out with the scent of perfume.

"Denari is a creature of habit," Aric continued, his voice low. "And his habit is debauchery. That brothel there? He practically lives in it when he isn't pretending to be a Crusader."

Serina raised a brow, a sly smirk curving her lips. "A holy warrior of dragonfire spending his nights with cheap wine and cheaper women? How noble."

"Not so noble," Aric said evenly, "but very useful."

She tilted her head. "And the other two? Selim and Ozborn?"

Aric's jaw tightened.

He finally turned his gaze from the brothel, scanning the distant skyline where the tallest spires of Draken's keep stood like jagged teeth.

"All three of them have been losing face among their own. Crusaders vote on each other's standing, their worth, their control over their dragons. For years now, whispers have spread that these three are… weak. Their bonds faltering. Their dragons growing restless, disobedient."

Serina's brows drew together. "And the Assembly would vote to strip their rings, wouldn't they? I'm guessing that is the tradition."

"It is," Aric said, nodding slowly. "And that's precisely why they turned. When Northrend offered them wealth, status, command over dragonflights in the north, they didn't resist. They took the deal before their own kind could strip them down to nothing."

Serina exhaled, shaking her head. "So their loyalty has a price tag."

Aric's voice hardened, though quiet as ever.

"Everything does."

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, reading between the words, but she didn't press.

Instead, she turned her gaze back toward the brothel, tapping a finger against her thigh. "If Denari's in there, without his dragon, doesn't that make him a lamb for the slaughter? Should be easy."

"Not that easy," Aric countered. "The dragon isn't the only danger. The ring itself channels power. Every rider is assigned a dragon from birth, yes, but the ring isn't just a leash—it's more a vessel. It gives them a share of the dragon's flame, its strength, sometimes even its peculiar abilities."

Serina's lips parted slightly as she glanced back at him.

"So even without the beast, he's still dangerous."

Aric inclined his head once. "Exactly. Luckily for us, Denari, Selim, and Ozborn are all low-ranked. D-rank Crusaders. They command the weakest of the bonded dragons—barely above hatchlings compared to the great wyrms. Their flames are lesser. Their strength, limited. That gives us a chance."

Serina rolled her shoulders back, the grin returning.

"A chance is all I need."

Aric allowed the faintest ghost of a smile, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

"There will be guards. Denari isn't a fool—he surrounds himself with hired blades. It's important we don't kill them. Not shedding Draken blood would be necessary in the grand scheme. The goal is simple: remove the ringed hand, and leave before anyone realizes what's happened."

Serina tugged the cloth mask up over her face until only her sharp eyes were visible. She gave a joke salute.

"Chop hand, leave quietly. Got it."

Aric mirrored her, drawing up his own mask, the fabric blending him into the shadows.

Then he extended his open palms into the air.

A ripple of unnatural energy shimmered around his hands. Dark light flickered, bending the air, and with a soft hum, twin blades took shape in his grip.

Daggers—long, lean, with blades the color of night itself, carved faintly with runes that pulsed as though alive.

The steel didn't reflect light; it devoured it, giving the weapons a hungry, spectral aura.

The hilts were wrapped in midnight leather, balanced perfectly to his palms, each blade curving just slightly, promising speed and precision. When Aric shifted them, they moved as though cutting not only through air, but through the fabric of the world.

Serina blinked, her smirk faltering for once.

"Damn," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "When did you get those?"

Aric glanced sidelong at her, the faintest glint in his eye.

"After ChoppingAszer's head off."

These blades were the reward of Aric's successful conquest of Byzeth, and as eager as he was to use them—no matter had demanded them.

Not until now.

Serina gave a low sigh. "And here I thought you only liked cheap swords for some reason."

"Well, cheap swords always did the job."

He twirled the daggers once, their edges trailing faint wisps of shadow, and then nodded toward the brothel. His voice was calm, decisive.

"Let's get to work."

And then, in the span of a blink, the two figures vanished into the night, melting into darkness like hungry animals moving toward prey.

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