Chapter 22 – Coming back, and departing again

The cart had barely stopped when Hunfen leapt to the ground with the agility of a cat, despite his legs still stiff from the long journey from Riften. A crisp autumn breeze tickled his face, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and freshly plowed fields—a strange mixture of familiarity and comfort. The midday sun, already low in the sky this season, struggled to warm the landscape, casting bluish shadows over the hardened earth. The sight of Whiterun's imposing walls brought a surge of warmth to Hunfen's chest, a feeling he hadn't experienced in days. It felt like coming home.

Lydia dismounted from the cart behind him, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as if danger might strike at any moment. She patted her arms to ward off the cold, then nodded to the driver in thanks.

"Remember, Hunfen, we're heading straight to the palace," she reminded him, adjusting the shield strapped to her back. "The Jarl must be informed of our arrival and… everything else."

The boy nodded absentmindedly, too absorbed in the bustling activity around the city gates. Farmers entered with carts loaded with hay bales or autumn vegetables, while guards monitored the flow of people, their armor glinting in the sunlight.

As they approached, one of the guards raised a hand in greeting. His tone, mocking but friendly, rose above the din:
"Hey, isn't that the curious kid who followed Irileth and the others when the dragon attacked the watchtower?"

Another guard burst into laughter. "It is him! You're lucky to still be in one piece, lad. Not many would've dared!"

Hunfen flushed slightly, caught between pride and embarrassment, before letting out a joyous laugh. He was back—soon, he'd see his friends again. Lars, Braith, Lucia… There was so much to tell them! Behind him, Lydia exchanged an amused glance with the guards before placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

The gates creaked open slowly, revealing the lively bustle of Whiterun. The colorful market stalls, the interweaving voices, the vibrant energy—it all enveloped Hunfen in a sense of familiarity. He took a deep breath, then turned sparkling eyes toward Lydia.

"Can I… just go say hi to my friends? It's been so long…"

Lydia sighed, already defeated by the insistence in the boy's gaze. "Alright, but make it quick. I'll be waiting near the palace. And no trouble."

Hunfen nodded enthusiastically and darted off before she could change her mind.

oOo

The rocky formation concealing the entrance to the Dark Brotherhood's sanctuary barely emerged through the gray haze. Fog blanketed the forests around Falkreath, clinging to the pine branches and dripping sporadically. Aventus trudged forward with heavy steps, fists buried in his pockets, his expression grim. The cool, damp air clung to his skin, sending shivers through him more from emotion than the chill.

This sinister place now felt strangely inviting, almost comforting. He'd grown accustomed to the musty scent of the forest and the ever-present, looming shadows. The once-terrifying surroundings of the sanctuary now felt familiar, like the remnants of a home rediscovered after a long absence. Yet the storm within his mind remained unabated. Grelod, Maven, Astrid. He had been their pawn. One day, they would pay.

Beside him, Babette walked in silence, her piercing gaze flitting between the surroundings and Aventus himself. Her uncanny ability to read him only heightened his irritation. It was as if her gaze brushed against every corner of his soul, and he turned his head away to avoid meeting it.

The sanctuary finally emerged from the mist, its carved, ominous door looming large and foreboding. The etched skulls mocked him with their eternal grimaces. Then, that familiar disembodied voice rang out, cold and unyielding:

"What is the music of life?"

Aventus sneered. He wasn't in the mood for this charade. All he wanted from this door was for it to open when he approached, without wasting his time with its ridiculous rituals. Dripping with sarcasm, he drawled, mimicking an exaggerated solemnity:
"Si-lence, my bro-therrrrr."

The door groaned open slowly, revealing the sanctuary's dark interior. Babette sighed and, without missing a beat, smacked the back of his head.

"You'd better watch that insolence, kid. Astrid doesn't have my patience."

Aventus glanced up at the vampire, defiance glinting in his eyes, but he said nothing. His feet carried him over the threshold almost on their own, and the familiar darkness swallowed him whole.

The flickering torches cast shifting shadows on the walls, filling the air with the mingled scents of ash and steel. The sanctuary seemed frozen in time since his departure. Despite himself, Aventus felt a part of his turmoil ease—not from comfort, but from an odd sense of belonging.

oOo

Lydia eventually found Hunfen at the entrance to the Market District, her expression a mix of weariness, melancholy, and exasperation. She gently tugged him by the shoulder, wordlessly guiding him toward Dragonsreach. The spark that had lit up the boy's eyes upon their arrival seemed extinguished, replaced by a closed-off and pensive look.

"They've changed," he finally muttered, dragging his feet. "All of them! Lars—his father's forcing him to train all the time. He's always at Jorrvaskr now, and all he talks about is fighting, but it's like he's pretending to enjoy it. And Lucia—she's not even here anymore! They sent her to Winterhold to learn healing magic! And Braith… she just wants to leave. The Companions wouldn't train her either. She says everything here is boring now."

Lydia slowed her pace, letting Hunfen vent his frustration. She understood that feeling all too well. Returning to a cherished place, only to find it changed by time, could be a cruel blow.

"People change, Hunfen. It's natural. They grow, they do different things. Haven't you changed too?"

The boy looked up at her but couldn't find an answer. He'd been through so much… Had it really changed him? He didn't feel all that different. All he wanted was to keep playing with his friends. What he did know was that Whiterun no longer felt as welcoming as it once had.

In silence, they passed by Jorrvaskr, where Farkas was sparring with a focused Lars using wooden swords. Hunfen slowed, hoping for some acknowledgment from his friend, but Lars was too absorbed in his training. Lydia placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, pulling him back to reality.

"Come on. The Jarl is waiting for us."

The heavy doors of Dragonsreach creaked open, revealing the grand hall. Hunfen took in his surroundings with curiosity, though his earlier enthusiasm had waned. The solemn atmosphere stood in stark contrast to the lively city. Guards stood on either side, their eyes scanning every movement.

They had barely stepped inside when a shrill voice rang out from their right. A young girl, dressed in fine clothes, was watching them with a haughty expression, flanked by two boys who bore an uncanny resemblance to her. Their noble bearing and self-assured demeanor left no doubt about their status.

"Oh, perfect! A new servant!" the girl exclaimed with an imperious tone. "I hope you know how to prepare meat rare—that's how I like it."

Hunfen flushed, caught off guard.
"No… I'm here to see the Jarl," he stammered.

The girl squinted at him, doubtful. One of the boys, a dark-haired youth about Hunfen's age, burst out laughing and stepped forward with a provocative grin.
"You're here to see my father? Not so fast—how about you show me what you've got first? A good old-fashioned fistfight to prove your worth—how about it?"

Hunfen swallowed nervously, but before he could respond, Lydia stepped between them.

"That's enough," she said curtly. "He's not here to brawl with you."

The youngest of the boys, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. He looked younger than Hunfen but already bore a striking resemblance to Jarl Balgruuf. However, the dark, disdainful glint in his eyes made Hunfen instinctively step back.

"Another bootlicker for my father," the boy sneered. "So, even kids are lining up to grovel now? Impressive!"

Lydia clenched her jaw but ignored the remarks, gently urging Hunfen toward the Jarl's throne. The children watched them leave, smug smiles plastered on their faces. For the first time, Hunfen felt almost relieved to be heading into a conversation with adults.

oOo

The sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood felt even darker than Aventus remembered. Flickering torches cast shifting shadows on the walls, and every step he took was swallowed by the oppressive gloom. He walked in silence behind Babette, lost in thought yet ever-alert. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.

"What's that noise?"

A high-pitched, discordant laugh echoed in the distance, mingling with what sounded like an animated conversation. Aventus quickened his pace, both curious and wary.

Entering the main hall, he froze at the sight before him. A man clad in a gaudy outfit adorned with jingling bells was gesturing wildly at the center of the room, near a finely decorated sarcophagus. His piercing voice reverberated through the sanctuary. In this place devoted to death, his presence felt disturbingly out of place.

"But the Night Mother is our mother! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And, surely… punishment?"

From a shadowy corner of the room, Arnbjorn growled, idly carving a piece of wood. "Keep yapping, little man, and we'll see who gets punished first."

Festus Krex sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, do shut up, you great oaf. This man has traveled far—you could at least try to be civilized." Turning to the newcomer, he added in a more affable tone, "Master Cicero, it is an honor to have you and the Night Mother among us. Your presence is a welcome return to tradition."

Cicero leapt with glee. "Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are! Surely, the Lady will favor you!"

Astrid, leaning against a column, finally spoke, her usual drawl laced with barely restrained irritation. "Of course, you and the Night Mother are welcome here, Cicero. And you will receive the respect due to your position as Keeper. Isn't that right, dear husband?"

Arnbjorn grunted again but nodded reluctantly. Cicero, meanwhile, performed an exaggerated bow, exclaiming theatrically, "Oh yes, yes, yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Astrid's smile was as cold and calculating as ever as she added, "But make no mistake. I run this sanctuary. My word is law here. Is that clear?"

Cicero nodded frantically, his tone unwaveringly cheerful. "Oh yes, Mistress! Perfectly clear! You're the boss!"

Babette, watching the scene unfold from the threshold, leaned toward Aventus. "Cicero," she whispered, "is the Keeper of the Night Mother. His job is to care for her remains—he's escorted her here from Cyrodiil. This isn't just symbolic; it could bring some… changes around here."

Aventus stared at Cicero, a mix of disbelief and unease in his expression. The man before him seemed pathetic, almost ridiculous, with his flamboyant attire, exaggerated gestures, and manic enthusiasm. Yet there was an unsettling energy about him. "Is this for real? He looks like… a madman, a jester!" he murmured.

Babette shrugged, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Maybe so, but he's also a deadly assassin. You'd best be careful."

Before Aventus could respond, Cicero, who had likely overheard them, turned toward him with an unsettlingly mischievous grin. "Who doubts Cicero? A sweet little lad, oh yes? You'll see, you'll see!"

In a blur, Aventus felt a hand slam onto his shoulder, forcing him to his knees, and the cold edge of a dagger pressed against his neck. His breath hitched, paralyzed by shock and fear. Even Astrid wasn't this fast. Despite all his training, he hadn't seen it coming. Struggling to maintain a neutral expression, he refused to show weakness here—not in front of them. Cicero's face was unnervingly close, lit with a disturbingly childlike glee. Without loosening his grip, Cicero sing-songed, "Too slow, little lad! And now you've been had!"

Then, as if nothing had happened, Cicero released him, performed a deep bow, and skipped back toward the sarcophagus.

Aventus remained frozen, his breath slowly releasing as he processed the bizarre encounter. His hand trembled slightly, but he clenched it into a fist to hide his unease. Babette patted his shoulder, her grin mocking but not unkind. "Don't worry—you'll get used to it. Or maybe not."

Tearing his gaze from the eccentric Keeper, Aventus looked toward the intricately carved sarcophagus. For the first time, he realized the Night Mother had once been a person of flesh and blood before becoming the revered entity of the Brotherhood. The thought filled him with a strange mixture of awe and dread.

Drawing a deep breath, Aventus straightened, his face regaining its composure. He had to pull himself together. This sanctuary, this dark and unforgiving world, was his now. And for the moment, he had a report to deliver to Astrid.

oOo

Jarl Balgruuf had relocated the meeting to a secluded chamber within Dragonsreach that Hunfen had never seen before. In the center stood an enormous oak table, upon which lay a detailed map of Skyrim alongside several charts of the surrounding regions. The room's austere military atmosphere contrasted sharply with the grandeur of the throne room. Around the table, Balgruuf had assembled a small council: aside from himself and his ever-present housecarl Irileth, only Steward Proventus Avenicci and Court Wizard Farengar were in attendance. Hunfen couldn't suppress a shiver of anticipation. He felt as though he were about to be privy to a great secret. As if to confirm this, Jarl Balgruuf began without preamble:

"Nothing discussed here is to leave this room without my express order. Lydia, we're listening."

Hunfen stood close to Lydia, a growing sense of apprehension gnawing at him. He dreaded some of the details that would inevitably arise in his guardian's report. Lydia began speaking, her voice calm and measured, resonating through the chamber.

"My Jarl, per your orders to locate Hunfen, I went directly to the Honorem Orphanage in Riften. There, I learned that Hunfen had fled following the accidental death of its director, Grelod the Kind. The children there informed me that he had headed toward Windhelm to find a boy named Aventus, another orphan who had run away a few days earlier."

Hunfen lowered his head, staring at the floor. The memories came flooding back: Grelod's fury, his own fear, and the word "Fus" bursting forth instinctively like a primal scream. He felt the Jarl's gaze settle on him but didn't dare look up.

"I found Hunfen in Windhelm," Lydia continued. "We then sought out this Aventus, but only hours later, he was taken by the Dark Brotherhood. Uncertain of their intentions toward Hunfen, I decided to leave Windhelm immediately and take him to High Hrothgar, as you instructed."

Balgruuf nodded but remained silent, his lined face impassive. Lydia pressed on.

"The Greybeards confirmed what we suspected: Hunfen is a Dragonborn. They began teaching him the basics of the Thu'um, and he learned several Words of Power within a few days."

Farengar stepped closer to the table, his eyes alight with interest. "Fascinating… Might we see a demonstration? I could attempt to analyze the power—"

Balgruuf raised a hand to cut him off. "Later, Farengar. Continue, Lydia."

She inclined her head slightly before resuming. "The Greybeards conditioned the continuation of their training on Hunfen completing an initiation quest, which he is to undertake when he is ready. We descended from High Hrothgar and stopped at Ivarstead. That's where things became… complicated."

The warrior seemed to search for the right words before continuing. "The boy Aventus was there, as a new recruit of the Dark Brotherhood."

Irileth's grip on her sword hilt tightened, and Hunfen paled, wishing this part of the tale could be left untold. Lydia cast him a regretful glance and continued.

"He was assigned to eliminate a local man named Narfi, accused of heinous perversions. However, after determining that the accusations were false, Aventus devised a plan to fake the man's death and help him flee. We assisted in this scheme. The plan was to burn Narfi's cabin to create the illusion of his death and then smuggle him out of the village unnoticed."

Proventus Avenicci raised an eyebrow, and Farengar briefly paused his note-taking, his expression one of astonishment. Irileth pressed her lips into a thin line, her fingers still tense on her weapon. Balgruuf remained impassive, though a shadow of tension flickered across his face. Lydia didn't give them time to interject and quickly continued.

"Our escape was hastened by external threats. A Thalmor agent arrived in Ivarstead, searching for the Dragonborn, though they had no precise description. At the same time, a group of zealots preaching the return of someone named Miraak also arrived, openly hostile toward the Dragonborn. They attacked the Thalmor agent, causing significant collateral damage."

"Miraak?" Farengar interjected, intrigued. "The name is familiar. I've encountered it in ancient records… a Dragon Priest from the Merethic Era, I believe. Surely he's been dead for millennia."

Balgruuf raised an eyebrow but said nothing, signaling Lydia to continue.

"Fearing these hostile forces, we fled Ivarstead immediately and headed to Riften to catch a carriage to Whiterun. However… a dragon attacked Riften as we were leaving."

The faces around the table tensed. Hunfen struggled to mask his unease. He remembered the dragon vividly: the seething anger that had consumed him, his helplessness before such an enormous creature. He shivered, stealing a glance at Lydia. The warrior paused before pressing on.

"The dragon caused significant damage, but we managed to bring it down."

Irileth crossed her arms, a nearly imperceptible smile touching her lips. "You killed the dragon?"

"With the help of the city guards, of course," Lydia replied. "And at great cost. But before that, Hunfen…" She hesitated, her expression reflecting a deep sense of failure. Finally, she lifted her head and continued. "He tried to face it himself and was gravely injured."

Balgruuf frowned, turning his gaze to Hunfen. He studied the boy for a long moment before shifting his attention back to Lydia. "Go on."

Lydia took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, and resumed in an even tone.

"After seeing him charge, I prioritized neutralizing the dragon. I fought alongside the guards until it was down. When I returned to Hunfen…"

She paused, her features hardening slightly, then continued.

"He was frozen and unconscious. A… girl was already there, tending to him."

Farengar looked up, intrigued. "A girl with healing talents? In Riften, of all places?"

Lydia shrugged slightly, hesitant to explain. "She's a vampire. Likely turned as a child. She introduced herself as Babette. She's a member of the Dark Brotherhood."

Irileth stiffened, but Balgruuf remained expressionless. Lydia pressed on, her tone growing graver.

"She intervened at the behest of Aventus, who was there, terrified. Once Hunfen was out of danger, she revealed that she had been following Aventus and monitoring our movements since Ivarstead."

Hunfen, silent until now, snapped his head up, alarm flashing across his face. He burst out, "What? She knows? The Dark Brotherhood knows Aventus betrayed them! They… they'll kill him! I know they will!"

His voice trembled with fear. His breathing quickened, and tears threatened to spill. Lydia cast him a brief, stern look, weighing how best to respond.

"Hunfen, calm yourself. Babette told me she merely reprimanded Aventus herself. She didn't reveal his plan. He's not in immediate danger."

Hunfen wasn't convinced. His mind raced with images of Aventus facing seasoned assassins alone. But before he could protest, Lydia continued her report.

"She also claimed to have… corrected Aventus's error. By killing Narfi herself."

Her words landed like a thunderclap. Hunfen's thoughts fractured into a chaotic cacophony, struggling to process what he'd just heard. Narfi… dead? No. It couldn't be true. The plan had worked—he was certain of it! Then why…? A lump of frustration formed in his chest. It wasn't fair! They had done everything to protect him! The room seemed to shrink, the edges of his vision blurring as if the world itself were closing in on this singular, horrifying revelation.

A ragged breath escaped his lips, almost a whimper. His gaze locked onto Lydia, searching desperately for some sign that she was mistaken, that this was all a terrible misunderstanding. But Lydia's steady eyes didn't waver. Hunfen looked away, unable to meet her gaze, staring at the floor as bitterness churned in his stomach. Why had Babette interfered? Everyone would have believed Narfi was dead; there was no need for this!

But Lydia couldn't pause. She turned back to the Jarl and continued as if nothing had happened.

"After the battle, the dragon's body burned away on its own. I believe Hunfen absorbed its power, even while unconscious. He remained at Honorem to recover for a few days before we left Riften and returned here."

Hunfen didn't move. His mind was still frozen on Lydia's words. The image of Narfi—kind, welcoming—blurred with the burning cabin and Aventus's face. Was that why Aventus had left Riften so abruptly? To avoid telling him the truth? His hands trembled, and he turned his face away as silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

Despite being in the presence of the Jarl and his council, Lydia cast him a fleeting look, as if to silently urge him to stay strong. Balgruuf, ever perceptive, allowed a heavy silence to linger, giving Hunfen a moment to collect himself. The Jarl finally broke the quiet, his voice grave but steady, his gaze anchoring Hunfen like a stone in a storm.

"Hunfen, I know this is a heavy burden to bear. Too heavy for someone your age. But it's yours now, whether you like it or not. You are the Dragonborn, and that makes you a target for many factions across Skyrim and beyond."

The boy slowly raised his head, his tear-streaked face meeting the Jarl's gaze. Balgruuf's expression held neither pity nor harshness, only sincere, weighty understanding.

"The Thalmor will likely try to capture you to ensure you never interfere with their plans. These zealots devoted to Miraak seem intent on killing you for reasons we don't yet understand. The Imperial Legion and the Stormcloaks will both try to use you as a symbol to legitimize their war."

Hunfen swallowed hard, his mind flashing to Ralof and Hadvar. No, they would never do such a thing. Not them. But the names Balgruuf mentioned next sent a chill through him.

"General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak themselves would stop at nothing to bring you to their side," Balgruuf said, his tone sharpening with disdain. "Don't be naive. These men care only for their power and ambitions."

Hunfen averted his eyes, his thoughts desperately rejecting this grim reality. He had always seen them as heroic leaders. This couldn't be true! But Balgruuf's voice pressed on, unyielding.

"And then there's the Dark Brotherhood." His arms crossed, and his features darkened. "They could receive a contract on your life at any moment. And, Hunfen…" He paused, his words deliberate. "If I were in their place, I would send Aventus to kill you."

The words struck Hunfen like a hammer blow. "No!" he protested, his voice trembling. "Aventus would never hurt me! He's my friend!"

The Jarl sighed, both sympathetic and firm. "And that trust would make it easy for him to get close. We can't take that risk. For all these reasons, it is imperative that no one outside this room knows you are the Dragonborn."

A weighty silence followed, and Hunfen nodded slowly, though his mind remained in turmoil. After a moment, Balgruuf straightened and asked:

"The Greybeards have given you a mission, haven't they?"

Hunfen nodded, his throat tight. "Yes… I'm to find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller in Ustengrav and bring it back to them."

Balgruuf pointed to the map, to a location that seemed impossibly distant to Hunfen, north of the country near Solitude. With his finger, the Jarl traced the route from Whiterun.

"Ustengrav lies between the marshes of Hjaalmarch and the frozen pine forests of the Reach. Even taking a carriage to Morthal, the journey will be long and perilous. But the sooner you complete this quest, the sooner the Greybeards can continue your training. And believe me, you'll need it. The dragons have returned, and we must be ready."

Balgruuf's eyes locked onto Hunfen's, his gaze heavy with a mix of gravity and encouragement.

"Lydia will accompany you; she is still your housecarl. And if it becomes too dangerous, you'll return. Your life is too important, Hunfen."

The boy nodded, his heart pounding. Despite the fear clawing at him at the thought of such a faraway and daunting place, a part of him felt a thrill of excitement. Another journey, another adventure. He hesitated for a moment before asking in a small voice, "My Jarl… Have you heard anything about my father?"

Balgruuf's expression darkened slightly, and he replied with sincere regret, "The messengers I sent have not yet found him. But we are still searching. We will find him, Hunfen. I promise you."

A single tear slid down the boy's cheek, but this time, he didn't wipe it away. He nodded, feeling a strange void bloom in his chest.

Balgruuf placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You are brave, Hunfen. Braver than many men I've known. Stay strong. Skyrim needs you."

oOo

The alcove was one of the few well-lit places in the sanctuary. Astrid, lounging nonchalantly behind her makeshift desk, observed Babette and Aventus with a piercing gaze. Her smooth, measured voice finally broke the silence, resonating softly in the chamber.

"Well, my dear Babette, do tell me… how did our so promising young recruit perform on his first mission?"

Babette smirked, leaning casually against the wall. Her mischievous eyes flicked to Aventus, who was making a visible effort to maintain his composure.

"Oh, he managed just fine," she replied with exaggerated enthusiasm. "A true little assassin in the making!" She crossed her arms, clearly enjoying Astrid's attention. "Even before we reached the target, he had a… warm-up encounter, let's say."

Astrid arched an intrigued eyebrow, and Babette continued with feigned innocence. "A chance meeting with a roadside bandit who mistook him for… a fragile and helpless victim?"

Aventus felt his stomach tighten at the mention. The memory surged back: rough hands groping under his clothes, the suffocating panic, the bandit's guttural scream when he had blindly lashed out with his dagger. His face remained still, but his fist clenched ever so slightly.

"But of course," Babette added, her smirk widening, "this supposed prey turned out to be quite capable of defending himself. Very effectively, for a first attempt. Beginner's luck, I suppose."

Astrid nodded slowly, offering Aventus an approving smile. "Fascinating. And as for dear Narfi?"

Babette pivoted slightly to face Astrid more directly, adopting a mock-serious expression. "Oh, that went splendidly as well. Aventus followed your instructions to the letter. The poor, lost, starving child! Even I might have been moved!" She paused for dramatic effect. "The poor old man shared his bread, gave him water, warmed him by his fire, and even offered him a roof for the night… And the next morning, Aventus took great care not to wake him. To never wake him again."

Astrid's smile grew, though her eyes remained sharp, scanning both the pupil and his mentor. "And after that?"

Babette waved a dismissive hand. "He had a spark of creative inspiration. He set fire to the cabin and painted a lovely Black Hand on the ruins. Ah, the enthusiasm of youth! That's when I met him, and we slipped away without issue to Riften, then took a carriage back here."

Aventus, who had been holding his breath, felt a wave of relief wash over him. Babette had kept her word and concealed the truth about Narfi's faked death. Striving to appear confident, he spoke up: "Narfi served as an example! Now, Skyrim will know the Dark Brotherhood is still here, and that we do not forgive!"

Astrid chuckled softly. "Truly, Aventus? I thought you understood that we operate from the shadows. Our strength lies in our discretion. A cabin fire and a prominent signature… that's more of a cry for attention than a subtle message."

Aventus lowered his gaze, seething internally. If Narfi had truly been the depraved man Astrid claimed, he would have exposed his crimes alongside the Black Hand! Not only had she lied to him, but now she sought to stop him from delivering justice to the world? Never! One day, he would expose her instead. But Astrid interrupted his internal tirade as she straightened and continued.

"Still, the objective was achieved. However, your future missions will require greater… finesse. Most of our esteemed clients prefer their targets to simply vanish without a trace. You won't always have the luxury of signing your work if it's meant to appear as an accident, will you?"

The boy suppressed the urge to raise his head, forcing himself to master his anger. Did she think him that foolish? Astrid turned to Babette, her tone shifting to one of directness.

"It's time to confront him with more serious assignments. Babette, you will accompany Aventus to Markarth tomorrow. A certain Muiri has apparently performed the Black Sacrament."

Babette raised an eyebrow. "Ahh, Markarth! You'll love it, Aventus. A charming city built atop a pile of dead Dwemer, surrounded by not-so-dead Forsworn, and full of even less-dead schemers!"

Astrid ignored the quip. "Find Muiri, listen to her request, and handle the contract. I want you to guide and assist Aventus in eliminating this target. It will likely be more perilous than dispatching a beggar in an isolated cabin."

She turned one last time to Aventus, her smile as calm and unsettling as ever. "You're in good hands. Don't disappoint me."