The blade's betrayal

*Stoneshade Keep*

Wraith stood motionless in the dimly lit chamber, outside the Kee's Great Hall, the smell of incense and charred wood filling his nostrils. The flickering candlelight and torches cast jagged shadows on the stone walls, creating a dance of light and darkness that mirrored the turmoil inside him. His hood was pulled low over his brow, obscuring all but his eyes. Cold, dead, and unfeeling, while his scarred face lay beneath, a testament to both The Purger's handiwork and his own devotion to pain. Each mark on his skin was a memory, a sin burned away through his newfound ritual of self-scarification. Pain, after all, was his only truth now. His only friend. It kept him tethered to his purpose.

In the quiet of the room, Wraith, once Hunter, shifted slightly, his fingers brushing the hilts of the many blades concealed across his body, waiting to be called inside. They were his companions now, cold steel in place of warm hands. They made no promises, held no expectations. His masters. His saviours. The Purger had shown him the way, given him new purpose when everyone else had abandoned him. When SHE had abandoned him.

He thought of Voah then. The memory of her was a dull ache, a phantom limb that once moved him, a source of betrayal. Once, he had walked by her side, not as Wraith but as Hunter, an assassin who had started to believe in something more than the shadows. He had trusted her, fought for her, even bled for her. But she had left him. They all had. Left him to rot in the mountains of Fang, like a discarded piece of trash. Forgotten. Abandoned. The cracks that had already fractured his soul deepened in that dark place. Yet, The Purger had found him, broken him down further, and rebuilt him into something more. Something sharper. Now he belonged to Zinheim, the God of Death.

His new mission was simple, but it was not without its cruel intricacies. Voah would be his target, but not for a swift, clean kill. No. The Purger wanted more from him. He wanted her broken, shattered, to see her fall under the weight of her own failings. Wraith's task was to escort her, to stay close to her, to ensure she "toed the line" as the Purger had said. But more than that, Wraith knew this was about torment. About watching her suffer as he had suffered. Watching her squirm as she tried to hold onto the shards of her dignity, her faith, her humanity.

The Purger had smiled when he gave the order, a twisted, knowing smile that spoke volumes about the man's cruelty. He had seen in Voah a weakness, her attachment to the past, her guilt, her need for redemption. And Wraith, once her friend, was the perfect weapon to exploit it. His presence would be a constant reminder of her failures. A living, breathing testament to her betrayal, to her inability to save him when he needed her most.

In the silence of the ante-chamber, Wraith heard the Purger's voice in his mind, a cold whisper that echoed through his thoughts: "She will break. You will ensure it. And when the time comes, you will bring her to me. We will watch as she crumbles under the weight of her sins, and you will see the truth of her weakness, as I have seen it in you."

Wraith closed his eyes, relishing the thought. He had no more doubts, no more questions about his purpose. His old self, the man who once dared to believed in something greater, was dead. Now, there was only the mission, only the will of The Purger and Zinheim. He was their tool, and Voah would be the blade's edge he would press into his own scarred flesh one final time.

The flicker of flame across his scarred features revealed a twisted smile as he thought of the days to come. She would try to fight, of course. He had known Voah long enough to understand that. Her resilience, her defiance. But in the end, it wouldn’t matter. The Purger had given him the truth. Zeiheim had granted him clarity.

In the coming days, they would ride into battle together. The war would come, and she would fight valiantly, perhaps even win a few victories along the way. But her fate was sealed. The Purger's blade was already at her throat, and it would be Wraith who held it steady, waiting for the moment to strike. Her fall would be slow and agonizing, just as his had been. And when the time came, he would bring her to his master, as ordered, and watch the final pieces of her soul crumble into dust.

Wraith opened his eyes and stepped forward from the shadows as he heard his name being called. His fingers gripped the hilt of one of his many blades, the familiar weight bringing him comfort. A weapon, after all, was all he had ever been. And now, at last, he understood it. He embraced it.

"She will break," he whispered to himself, as he strode down the darkened halls to meet his new master once again. "And I will be there to see it."

The man once known as Hunter pulled his hood back and entered the Great Hall his steps steady boring his soulless eyes into his once friend.