The Fool’s Ascension

The silence in Vale Manor was a deceptive kind—the kind that came before a storm.

Jarek sat at the former Duke's desk, staring down at a map of Rookhaven.

He traced a finger over the key districts—the merchant quarter, the noble estates, the docks.

Each held power. Each held enemies.

And every single one was watching him, waiting for a sign of weakness.

Sylva stood at the window, watching the city below. "They won't wait long."

Jarek didn't look up. "Who?"

"Everyone."

The First Strike

They didn't have to wait long for the first move.

By midnight, one of Jarek's men rushed into the manor, breathing hard.

"My Lord, there's been an attack."

Jarek's gaze sharpened. "Where?"

"The west district. Some of our men were cut down in the streets. The attackers… they left a message."

Jarek pushed back his chair, already moving. "Show me."

They arrived at the scene within minutes.

The bodies of his men lay crumpled on the cobblestone. Their weapons still in their hands, but they'd never stood a chance.

A single dagger was embedded in the chest of one corpse.

Carved into the hilt was a symbol—a black wolf's head.

Tobias whistled. "Well. That's not ominous."

Sylva's expression was cold. "The Black Wolves."

Jarek exhaled slowly. "They moved faster than I expected."

Tobias frowned. "Who are they?"

Sylva turned to him. "They were the Duke's personal assassins. A pack of killers who carried out his orders in the dark."

Tobias blinked. "Great. We pissed off a death squad."

Jarek ignored him. He crouched next to one of the bodies, gripping the dagger hilt.

"They didn't just kill my men," he muttered. "They left a message."

Sylva nodded. "They want you to know they're still in play."

Jarek exhaled.

The Duke was dead—but his wolves still roamed.

And now?

They were coming for him.

A Hunt in the Night

Jarek returned to the manor, mind already racing.

"If we wait, they'll pick us apart," he said. "We need to strike first."

Sylva leaned against the desk. "We don't even know where they're hiding."

Jarek smirked. "That's the thing about wolves. You don't find them. You make them come to you."

Tobias grinned. "Oh, I like where this is going."

Jarek turned to one of his men. "Gather our best. We're setting a trap."

The Trap is Set

By midnight, the market square was empty—except for Jarek.

He sat alone at a table, sipping from a silver goblet, his sword resting across the wood.

A lone king, waiting for challengers.

He didn't have to wait long.

A shadow moved. Then another.

Figures melted from the rooftops, surrounding the square.

Five of them.

Each clad in dark leather, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight.

One stepped forward—a woman with scarred hands and eyes like a frozen lake.

"You killed my master," she said.

Jarek tilted his head. "And?"

Her expression didn't change. "Now, you die."

She lunged.

A Battle of Shadows

Jarek barely dodged.

Her dagger sliced through air, missing his throat by inches.

He rolled back, drawing his sword in one smooth motion.

The other wolves attacked.

But Jarek's men were waiting.

Arrows rained from the rooftops.

Sylva's blades flashed.

Tobias laughed, tossing a smoke bomb into the chaos.

The Black Wolves were skilled. But they weren't invincible.

Jarek clashed with the scarred woman, their blades sparking in the night.

She fought like a ghost—fast, precise, lethal.

But Jarek?

Jarek was faster.

A feint. A sidestep.

And then—

His sword found her throat.

She gasped, eyes widening.

Jarek stepped closer. "Tell the rest. This city is mine."

Then he let her fall.

The Wolves Retreat

By the time the smoke cleared, the battle was over.

The Black Wolves were dead or gone.

Jarek wiped the blood from his blade, glancing at Sylva.

"Think they got the message?"

Sylva smirked. "Oh, they got it."

Tobias grinned. "Nice. So, what now?"

Jarek exhaled. "Now?"

He glanced at the city beyond.

"Now, we hunt the rest."

Because Rookhaven belonged to him.

And no wolves would take it back.