CHAPTER 1

Wind rustles the soft pine needles around me. Light sparkles off an amber drop of tree sap near my feet. Somewhere, a bird caws, and takes flight. The sound is unexpected, and I shift slightly. The edge of my boot nudges a pile of snow, and it falls off the branch, fifteen feet to the ground. I wince. Not that there was anyone around to be affected by my mistake, but still. The prey must be unaware that it's being hunted. For the hunter to simply be invisible isn't enough; the prey must feel at ease to ensure that the kill will go well.

My prideful side suddenly makes an appearance, and scoffs at my self-berating conscience. Without another thought I leap into the air with a soft whoosh. I land on a lower branch with barely a sound, and scan the area around me. In quick succession I leap again, to a lower branch, on top of a mossy boulder, and then alight softly on the ground. I straighten up, and stretch vigorously. I wince as my back cracks. Crouching in trees may be wonderfully sneaky, but it really doesn't do anything for my posture. I straighten my bow on my back, and check the arrows in my quiver. I grin, pleased. That has got to be a mark of agility, to be able to leap around indiscriminately, and to not lose any arrows. Still smiling to myself, I start walking down a rough dirt trail. It's covered by a thin, barely visible layer of snow, but I don't bother to hide my footprints. Unless someone were to come looking for me in the next half hour, any trace of my passing would already be covered under two inches of fresh white flakes. This is Skyrim, by Talos. It snows here like it, well, doesn't snow in the Alik'r desert.

The dirt path suddenly veers sharply to the right, towards what seems to be a rocky hill. And through the thickly wooded forests of Falkreath hold, no one would think that it was anything besides that. I walk closer to it, and I see the dark glint of the cold, black door gleaming in the sunlight. I round a last, sharp corner, and I'm face to face with the skull-embossed entrance to my sanctuary. I reach for the handle, and, as always, it refuses to budge. And right on cue, not a second later, a high, raspy voice cuts through the otherwise bright and pleasant day. The speaking door has always creeped me out a bit.

What is the music of life? I wince slightly as the voice cuts into my skull. I can never really tell if it's actually speaking, or if it's just inside my head.

"Silence, my brother." I answer, trying to feign somberness. The high, rasping voice replies. Welcome, home. Gee, thanks man. I push against the cold, heavy metal. It slowly opens, the old hinges screeching like a banshee.

With the unpleasant sound of the door's voice still reverberating in my head, I step inside the sanctuary. I feel the smooth stone beneath my thin leather boots. It's so much more pleasant to walk on than the icy ground outside. Silently, I step down the stairs. I hear the soft drip, drip, as water droplets fall onto the stone ground from a small hole in the ceiling.

I breathe in deeply. The sanctuary has a very unique smell. Ice, and pine from outside, mixed with the surprisingly warm and living smell of plant life, and earth. It's strange, that a place like this would smell so strongly of life, and growth. I exhale, and close my eyes for a brief moment, enjoying the feeling of home. A pointed cough draws me out of my reverie. I can tell by the voice exactly who it is. Without opening my eyes, I raise my eyebrows.

"Yes?" I ask. Deafening silence. I smirk, and open my eyes. Ha! I knew it. There, leaning against Astrid's desk and glaring tiny pointed daggers at me, was Gabriella.

"How did you fare?" She asks, icily. "Gaius Maro," I answer, sweeping my hand in a flourish, "lies dead!" Yet again, that ringing, deafening silence. I drop my hand, and let out a sigh. "Come on Gabriella, give me something here." She rolls her eyes. "Daanik, why are you standing in the middle of the sanctuary, with your eyes closed, looking like a sleepy horker?"

I look down, my hood shielding my face from view, debating whether I should say something sarcastic and ultimately disarming, or of I should actually tell her the truth. There's always been something about Gabriella that makes me feel somewhat guilty, of the half-truths and veils of sarcasm I put forth. Ha! An assassin with a conscience. Funny. I'm a funny guy. I wait a minute before answering, and decide to tell the truth.

"I'm glad to be home. Truthfully." I look up. Her ruby eyes soften. She looks down, and plays with one of the many iron daggers that seem to appear on Astrid's desk. I swear, they're reproducing. "Well I am glad that you are back. Gaius Maro was one of the more difficult contracts you have completed, so I am pleased that you are alright."

She looks down again, and I can't help but smile. I open my mouth to say something, but I never get the chance. A deceptively soft voice from the staircase interrupts me. "Daanik." I turn to look at the source of the voice. A tall, lean, blonde woman is standing at the top of the staircase, leaning against the wall.

"How'd it go?" Her voice is like silk draped over steel. It gives the impression of kindness, but remains cold and calculating beneath the surface. And yet, she's not scary enough to dissuade me from a few quips. No one ever is. "Astrid!" I greet her. "Good news! Gaius Maro, lies dead!" I make the same, swooping hand motion, and look up expectantly. My efforts are met with raised eyebrows.

I sigh again. "You people have no sense of drama." I look over my shoulder, and see Gabriella smiling slightly. "Aha!" I exclaim. "I saw that! That was a smile!" Astrid rolls her eyes. People do that a lot around me. "Don't encourage him, Gabriella." She drawls lightly. "I think it is far too late for that, Astrid. He is already a lost cause." Gabriella replies, sighing dramatically, and shaking her head. "Anyway, I have some work to do with Festus." Her black and red robes swish as she glides down the stairs, into the main part of the sanctuary.

"Speaking of Festus," Astrid says, "go talk to him." Wonderful. Thank you so much for that detailed set of instructions, matron. "What does Julianos himself want this time?" I ask. Astrid raises a questioning eyebrow.

"Well, he's old." I explain. "Julianos is the god of magic, right? And since he's a god, he's probably been around a while. Which means Festus is old, if he's Julianos, because…oh, never mind. Forget it." I finish sullenly.

"Festus Krex is a brilliant magician and assassin, and you'd do well to remember it." Astrid replies, crossing her arms.

I kick a loose rock near my boot. "He's still old and grumpy." I mutter. "He's an invaluable part of this family!" Astrid exclaims, as I make my way down the staircase.

"He's a curmudgeon!" I hiss back up the stairs. I think I hear a quiet chuckle from behind me, but it must just be my imagination. Astrid doesn't laugh. And even if she did, I'm sure it would be a terrifying, and probably sickly, sound.