The air in the dungeon cells had weight, a low, rotten sweetness of dead rat caught behind the stones, mingling with the sharper reek of old urine from across the passageway. It coated the back of the throat, made the eyes water slow and hot. They sat across from each other, not touching the walls so much as braced against them, the silence between them thick as pitch.

Their steel armor was gone, stripped along with their station. The lean man, knees pulled hard to his chest, spine a rigid curve, wore only a filthy linen shirt and breeches stiff with sweat.

He stared at the floor between his boots, where a black beetle scuttled over mortar dust. The short man, thick-bodied, had his legs splayed out on the cold stone, the damp seeping through the seat of his trousers. He watched the tall guard, or where the tall guard had been; the corridor was empty now, just torchlight bleeding shadows across the bars.

The short man cleared his throat. The sound was raw, too loud. "You think they'll feed us soon? Breakfast?"

The lean man's head came up slow. In the dim light, his face was hollowed, the bones sharp. "Breakfast." His voice was flat, almost a laugh but not quite. "Now?"

"Always thinking about food, aren't you?" The lean man's jaw tightened; he felt the grind of it in his teeth, a pressure behind the eyes.

"Want a last meal, at least." The short man's voice pitched higher, defensive. "Something hot. Before..." He trailed off, then forced it out. "Before they decide."

"Don't." The lean man's voice dropped low. His jaw clenched again, he could taste copper, bit the inside of his cheek without meaning to. The beetle had disappeared into a crack.

"Don't what? You think the pale reapers are merciful?" The short man shifted, his foot scraping loud on stone. The torchlight flickered, made his shadow jump. "We were guards. You know what that means to them. We fall under the old code. They can do whatever, use us however. Doesn't matter we're not wearing the tabard anymore."

"I know." The lean man looked at him directly. His eyes were red-rimmed, sunken. "I know what we are. They are not gonna kill us outright. They'll want information. They'll want..." He stopped. The word torture sat between them like the smell. "It won't be quick."

The short man stared at him, mouth slightly open. Then he huffed, a wet, broken sound. "So what, you think you can handle that? Handle what a pale reaper does?"

The lean man had no answer. The silence came back, heavier than before, pressing against the walls, thick with the smell of piss and something dying in the dark.

The iron door creaked open. The fat guard's eyes widened. "Oh," he muttered. "Is that them?"

The tall guard's voice came low, edged with that familiar bitterness: "Probably that breakfast you've been waiting for."

Bootsteps echoed down the hallway, several pairs, growing louder.

A woman's voice, sharp: "What is that smell? Do you even clean this place?"

Then the captain's voice, quick: "Sorry for the unpleasant smell. The worker who normally cleans here fled to another town."

The tall guard's chest squeezed. *A woman? Is that the Pale Reaper?* His heart hammered against his ribs.

The fat guard heaved himself up, hands grabbing the steel bars, face pressing between them to see. He spotted the captain and the woman coming this way. His heart kicked up in his throat. Confusion warred with fear: she looked like a hunter, young, but the captain's voice had that edge, that careful respect. The fat guard's knuckles went white on the bars.

The woman made a face. "Can't you get one of your guards to do it at least? It reeks in here."

The fat guard glanced back, whispered sharp, "Hey. They're here."

The tall guard's eyes widened. "Really?" He pushed to his feet with a grunt, swayed, then stood beside him.

Anna stood before them, her nose wrinkling once more at the stench of rot and damp stone. The captain moved past her, the rust-flecked keys jangling on his belt as he singled one out. The metallic scrape as he pushed it into the cell's lock was unnaturally loud, a sound that promised an end to their waiting and a beginning to something worse.

"The Pale Reaper has questions for you," the captain said, his voice devoid of all the camaraderie it might have held days ago. It was flat, administrative, the tone of a man stating a simple, brutal fact. "Answer them. It will go easier."

The iron lock clunked open with a sound like a cracking bone.

The lean guard didn't hear the rest. The world had narrowed to the shriek of metal as the cell door scraped against the stone floor, swinging inward.

Anna stepped into the cell. The two men scrambled back, their boots scraping frantically on the grimy stone until their shoulders hit the damp, unyielding wall. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, narrowed. "So, you two were positioned at the town's entrance that night."

Both men nodded, a quick, jerky motion of fear.

She turned her head, pinning the captain with a look. "Can you step outside of the cell for me?"

The captain's eyes widened as he met her gaze. The intensity there was a physical force, utterly serious. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Wordlessly, he stepped out over the threshold.

"And close the cell," Anna said, her tone flat.

The iron door swung shut with a final, resonant *clang* that sealed the two men inside with her. The lock slid home. *What in the world is she doing?* the captain thought, a cold dread seeping into his gut. *She said she wasn't going to torture them. She said it was just questions.*

Inside the cell, the lean guard felt his own heart begin to gallop, a painful pounding in his throat. The captain took an involuntary step back.

Suddenly, Anna's pupils ignited, glowing with a faint, unnatural blue. The very air in the cell grew heavy and still, then a sudden, profound cold bloomed from her, washing over the space. It was a damp, seeping chill that bit through their thin clothes and settled deep in the bone.

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"Tell me," she said, her voice eerily calm amidst the growing frost. "What did the shadow hunter look like?"

The two men gasped as the cold needled into their skin. Their breath plumed in the air, thick and white. The tall guard screamed, the sound raw and desperate, "We don't know!"

The fat guard hugged himself, his teeth beginning to chatter. "We don't remember what he looks like! We swear it!"

Anna's head tilted. "Do you really expect me to believe both of you don't remember what he really looks like?"

As she spoke, the cold intensified violently. A sharp, cracking sound filled the air as a lacework of frost spiderwebbed across the dark stone walls, glittering in the dim light. The rotten sweetness in the air was now laced with the metallic tang of ice, and every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass.

The thin man's voice shook, barely breaking through the heavy air. "We were drunk that night; we don't remember what he looked like."

Without warning, the fat man's eyes widened as he caught the glint of steel. In a blur of motion, Anna unsheathed her sword, the silver blade slicing through the air with a deadly grace. It arced mercilessly, the sharp edge biting deep into the thin man's throat.

A spray of blood erupted in a visceral fountain, crimson droplets splattering across the fat man's cheek, warm and visceral. The thin man's eyes widened in shock as his head pulled free from his body, a grotesque ballet of horror. His head tumbled to the ground, rolling until it nestled against her leg , while the lifeless body crumpled, collapsing like a marionette cut from its strings.

The fat man stumbled back, choked on his own scream, a raw, agonizing sound that echoed off the frost covered walls. Terror turned his legs to water, and he crashed into a corner, falling to his knees as salty tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood that stained his skin.

Anna advanced with chilling composure, her gaze ice-cold and unyielding. "The same fate awaits you if you don't tell me the truth," she said, her voice steady as a blade.

His vision blurred through tears, the fat man turned to the captain standing beyond the iron bars. The captain's face was expressionless, confusion mingling with the grim reality of what had just unfolded. He bowed his head, forehead thudding hard against the stone floor, voice trembling as he cried, "I'm telling the truth! We don't know what he truly looked like! He wore black armor, had red eyes, and black hair. That's all I can remember! Please, don't kill me!"

Anna's expression hardened, eyes narrowing as they flicked towards the fat man with an intensity that could freeze fire. "Are you lying to me?"

"No please believe me, I speak the truth."

"All right," she replied, her voice as devoid of warmth as a winter night.

With trepidation, the fat man finally dared to look up, heart lurching in his chest at the sight before him, his friend, the thin man, stood unscathed, confusion etched on his features, eyes wide as he grappled with the remnants of shock.

"It was all an illusion," Anna explained, her voice calm yet serrated, slicing through the tension. "What you witnessed didn't really happen."

What?" the fat man gasped, disbelief clawing at his throat. He turned frantically to his friend, the air heavy with the weight of realization. No blood marred the floor; his friend's head was still firmly in place. The horror he thought he'd witnessed was a trick of Anna's dark craft, leaving him reeling, caught between the edges of reality and nightmare.

"What happened?" the captain's voice broke the thick silence in the cell, his brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

Anna turned towards him, her expression sharp. "I made him see an illusion of me killing his comrade," she explained, her tone steady and unwavering. She shifted her gaze to the tall, thin guard, who was visibly trembling under her scrutiny. "Judging by his reaction," she continued, "I don't think he's lying to me."

The captain swallowed hard, a wave of realization crashing over him. She can cause illusions? he pondered, grappling with the unsettling implications."Isn't that a skill more suited for mages?" But Anna moved with the assuredness of a warrior, her presence commanding. He was left speechless, frozen as he watched the thin man.

The fat guard remained on all fours, trembling, unable to fully comprehend the situation unfolding before him.

Anna turned decisively and strode out of the cell, passing the captain as she spoke. "You can release them. Keeping them in here won't solve anything."

"Right," the captain replied, his voice strained as he held the cell door open, glancing at the thin guard whose face was etched with horror. She made him see me die, he thought, the chilling thought reverberating in his mind.

"Come on, you're free to go," the captain said, trying to offer a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos.

With a low groan, the thin man helped his friend to his feet, their bodies stiff and weary. The captain watched them, guilt etched into his features. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you by giving you your jobs back, but I don't think I could even if I wanted to." His voice was laced with regret.

The thin man shook his head, determination glistening in his eyes despite the tremors running through him. "No, it's all right. We'll be on our way," he replied, pushing through the fog of fear.

"Your friends will help you on the way out," the captain assured, trying to give them a sense of hope as the two men stepped into the light beyond the cell, the weight of their ordeal still heavy in the air.

As they moved past him, the captain could still feel the remnants of Anna's presence, a potent mix of fear and power that lingered long after she had left the room. He watched the two men disappear down the corridor, their silhouettes flickering like shadows, marked forever by the illusion they had just survived.

The two men turned the passage, their footsteps echoing on the cold stone as they ascended the iron stairs, leaving behind the suffocating darkness of the dungeon. The weight of the horrors they had just witnessed clung to them like a shadow, each step away from the depths of the guard station a small victory over their fear.

As they emerged into the bright hallway, sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating the dust that hung in the air. But their reprieve was short-lived. Standing in the middle of the hallway was Anna, her figure imposing and her eyes fierce with intensity. She fixed her gaze on them, and a chill ran down the thin man's spine.

"Don't tell anyone that a Pale Reaper has arrived in Aria," she commanded, her voice low and steady, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

The tall man swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Of course, we would never tell anyone," he promised, his heart racing.

Anna's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing them deeply, as if reading their very souls. "Good," she replied, her tone almost a whisper but heavy with threat. Without another word, she turned, her presence a dark mist trailing behind her as she walked away, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

The thin guard watched her go, a mix of awe and terror swirling within him. *So that was a Pale Reaper. The rumors hadn't been exaggerated.* Panic knotted in his gut as he recalled every moment spent standing in her presence, the unmistakable awareness that she could end his life with a mere thought if she chose to.

He turned to his friend, who stood frozen, staring blankly at the floor, lost in his own tumultuous thoughts. The trauma clung to him like a second skin, an echo of the illusion, the blood that had felt so real against his cheek.

The thin man reached out, shaking the fat guard gently. "Hey, are you alright?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

With a visible effort, the fat man looked up, dazed yet managing to muster a semblance of composure. "Yeah," he muttered, shaking his head slightly as if trying to dispel the lingering horrors. "Let's go."

With that, they leaned on each other for support as they stepped out of the guard station. The world beyond the doors was full of sunlight and life, a stark contrast to the darkness they were leaving behind.

Meanwhile, the guards inside the room turned their gazes to Anna, their movements freezing mid-task with a sudden hush, tools clattering softly to rest on wooden tables as whispers trailed off into silence, the air thick with the musty scent of ink and aged paper from scattered documents.

They had already pinned their lead suspect, the weight of that discovery hanging like a pall, but now their eyes locked on her, a mix of curiosity and wariness flickering in the dim lantern light that cast long shadows across the stone walls.

Frank stared too, his burly frame shifting with a faint creak of leather straps, his rough beard catching the glow, the room falling into an oppressive quiet.

She thought to herself, *Was it a careless decision to let those two men live?* The question gnawed at her like a cold draft seeping through cracks, stirring a knot of doubt in her gut, she knew the other pale Reapers would have ended them on the spot, their methods brutal and unyielding, extracting truths through screams that echoed in blood-slicked chambers, prolonging agony just enough to wring out every scrap of information without granting the mercy of death.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, warm against the cool air, as she stepped forward toward Frank, her boots thudding dully on the worn floorboards, and pointed at him. "You."

Frank straightened, his voice gruff and deep, rumbling like gravel underfoot. "Yes, ma'am."

"Take me to where it happened," she said, her tone firm, carrying a subtle edge that vibrated in her throat, "to where the Black Cloud guild was slaughtered."

The captain entered behind her then, his armor clinking softly with each stride, the scent of polished steel and sweat trailing him as he surveyed the room. Frank glanced at him and nodded.

"Yes, of course, ma'am."

The captain cleared his throat, his voice steady but laced with deference. "So what do we do now? Do we go to the Crossroads base?"

She turned to him, her dark eyes meeting his in the flickering light, a flicker of resolve hardening her features. "No. I want this guard to take me to... the Black Cloud Guild Mansion. And I want to go with him alone. I don't want to draw any attention. I'm sure everyone in town will be looking at us if I went with you. After all, you're the captain of the guards. I assume everyone knows you."

The captain replied, "Ah, yes, of course, that would draw attention. Is it that you're not trying to alert people you're a Pale Reaper?" His voice carried a note of understanding, low and gravelly, echoing slightly in the room's confined space.

"Yes, no one needs to know a Pale Reaper is in town. If the news spreads, it'll just make the Shadow Hunter more cautious, if he's still around."

The words left her lips with a quiet exhale, warm against the cool air, a prickling caution tightening her chest like a drawn string.

"All right, I understand," the captain said, his tone resolute, a faint crease forming between his brows as empathy flickered in his gaze.

"Then shall we?"

She looked at Frank, her gaze locking on his burly form, a spark of determination warming her core. Frank replied, "Yes, right away." He passed by the captain, his heavy boots scuffing the floor with a dull scrape, pushing open the door with a creak of hinges that released a draft of fresher air from the corridor beyond.

Anna followed, her own steps measured and light, the door swinging shut behind them with a definitive thud that muffled the room's lingering murmurs.

They exited the guard station, stepping into the town of Aria, deep within its heart,cthe streets eerily empty under the morning sun, a few scattered people passing by with hurried strides, their footsteps echoing faintly, the air carrying the subtle tang of baked earth and distant woodsmoke from chimneys.

Anna trailed him as they walked through the town, their feet thudding against the cobblestone road, hers soft and rhythmic, his heavier with each step.

She was now heading to where she hoped to find what she sought, a quiet thrill of anticipation stirring in her gut like a simmering flame, the key she could really use to ensnare the Shadow Hunter.

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