The Raven’s Roost wasn't just a tower; it was a vertical fortress built of black granite and desperation. Its narrow windows acted as arrow slits, and the only entrance was a heavy oak gate reinforced with iron bands.
Robert and Marin moved like shadows across the snow-dusted perimeter. The "Level Up" from their union was palpable; Robert’s footsteps felt lighter, his vision piercing through the morning mist with predatory clarity. Beside him, Marin moved with an effortless power, her claymore feeling as light as a training sword in her grip.
"Two guards on the battlements," Robert whispered, gesturing with a flick of his chin. "One at the main gate. They aren’t expecting a frontal assault. They think they’re safe this far up the pass."
"Good," Marin replied, her voice a low, dangerous hum. "Let’s keep them surprised."
The Infiltration
Robert didn't use the stairs. He scaled the rough stone of the outer wall, his daggers acting as pitons. He reached the first battlement in seconds, slipping behind the sentry and silencing him before the man could draw breath.
Below, Marin didn't bother with stealth. She stepped into the open, her silver-blue aura flaring. "Open the gate!" she commanded, her voice ringing out like a clarion call. "By order of House Montclair!"
The mercenaries scrambled, shouting in confusion. They recognized the crest, but they were loyalists to a fallen man—they had no choice but to fight. As the gate groaned open and three men rushed her, Marin met them with a single, devastating horizontal sweep. The impact didn't just push them back; it sent them flying into the stone walls, their armor crumpled by the sheer force of her enhanced strength.
The Inner Sanctum
Robert dropped down from the rafters of the main hall, landing in the center of a group of mercenaries who were preparing to reinforce the gate. He was a whirlwind of steel, his daggers carving through leather and mail. Every move he made was synchronized with the distant sound of Marin’s claymore striking stone below. He could feel her—a steady, warm pulse in the back of his mind.
He kicked open the door to the Captain’s quarters.
Inside stood Captain Vane, a scarred man who had been Verican’s right hand during the Atten massacre. He was clutching the arm of a thin, pale girl with silver-grey hair. Silica.
She was older now, but the amber eyes that stared at Robert were full of a haunting, familiar terror. Beside them stood a man in foreign silks—the buyer.
"One more step, Shadow Knight, and the girl’s blood is on your hands," Vane hissed, pulling a serrated knife and pressing it against Silica’s throat.
The Final Bargain
"Robert?" Silica’s voice was a fragile thread, barely audible over the wind howling through the window.
"I’m here, Silica," Robert said, his body coiled like a spring. "I’m not leaving without you."
"You’re a ghost, Atten!" Vane spat. "Verican should have finished you when he had the chance. But no matter. Your sister’s value just went up. Maybe I’ll kill you and sell her for double to the Southerners."
The door behind Robert exploded inward. Marin stepped into the room, her armor splattered with the soot of the battle below. She didn't look at Vane; she looked at the foreign buyer.
"The deal is over," Marin stated, her eyes glowing with a cold, noble fury. "If you value your life, you’ll leave now. The girl belongs to House Atten."
The buyer looked at Marin, then at the carnage in the hallway behind her, and bolted for the balcony, disappearing into the mist.
Vane snarled, his grip tightening on Silica. "I’ll kill her! I swear I’ll—"
The Strike of the Bonded
Robert didn't hesitate. He didn't even look at Vane’s knife. He looked at Marin. In that split second, they shared a thought through their secret link.
Marin slammed her claymore into the floor, the shockwave vibrating through the floorboards and making Vane stumble. In that half-second of lost balance, Robert moved. He was faster than he had ever been. He caught Vane’s wrist, twisting it until the bone snapped, and pulled Silica into his arms.
Vane fell back, howling, only to find the point of Marin’s claymore resting at his throat.
"For my parents," Robert whispered, standing over the fallen captain. "And for every year you stole from her."
He didn't kill him—not yet. He looked down at Silica, who was trembling in his embrace. She reached up, her small hand touching his face as if to make sure he was real.
"Big brother?" she sobbed.
"I've got you," Robert breathed, burying his face in her hair. "I've got you, Silica."
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