29 Wintermarch – 21 Bloomingtide 9:35
Linnea stood in the shadowed corner of a Lowtown courtyard, her wagon parked nearby, laden with crates and bundles wrapped in coarse fabric. Her voice carried easily over the hum of the market as she bartered with a scruffy dockworker.
“Grain and salted fish—that’ll see you through the week,” she said, handing over a bundle. “Keep your coin. Just bring me news from the docks next time.”
The man nodded in thanks before disappearing into the crowd.
Michael, standing nearby, caught the exchange. The practical kindness in her tone and manner stood out in a place like this. His curiosity stirred, he approached cautiously, his armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Merchant, is it?” he asked, his tone cautious but curious.
Linnea glanced at him, her sharp green eyes assessing. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Depends on who’s asking,” she replied, leaning against the wagon. “What are you in the market for?”
Michael tilted his head, studying her. “You’re offering charity in Lowtown. That doesn’t seem like a typical business model.”
Linnea chuckled softly. “Not charity—just fair trade. Everyone’s got something to offer, even if it’s not coin.” She gestured to her wares. “Grain, meats, cloth… basic supplies. Nothing flashy, but enough to get by.”
Michael’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded. “Seems practical.”
Linnea raised an eyebrow. “And you? What’s a Templar doing wandering Lowtown? Out on patrol?”
Michael hesitated, caught off guard by her directness. Before he could answer, Linnea continued, her eyes narrowing slightly. “No, not a patrol. Templars don’t patrol alone…”
“I was passing through,” Michael said carefully, his tone measured.
“Uh-huh,” Linnea replied, clearly unconvinced. She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “An off-duty Templar in full armor in Lowtown? Either you’re hopelessly lost, or you’re looking for something that could be trouble.”
Michael blinked, startled by her sharp perception. He couldn’t help but chuckle faintly. “Fair point,” he admitted, his tone softening slightly.
Linnea straightened, brushing her hands off on her tunic. “Let me guess,” she said lightly. “You’ve been up in the Gallows too long. Can’t stand the air up there.”
Michael’s smile faded, and his jaw tightened. “Something like that.”
She didn’t press, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Rough work, I hear,” she said instead, her tone neutral but inviting. “The Gallows. Can’t imagine it’s easy.”
Michael hesitated, then exhaled heavily. “It’s not,” he said, the words coming slower now. “The mages… they’re terrified. No matter how hard I try to show them I’m not like the others, they don’t see it. They just… see another Templar waiting for them to fail.”
Linnea nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s a heavy burden to carry,” she said quietly. “You ever tell anyone that?”
He looked at her, surprised by the question. “Not really.”
“Well, now you have,” she replied simply, offering a faint smile. “Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to strangers.”
They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the bustling noise of the courtyard fading into the background. Linnea busied herself adjusting the straps on one of her bundles, giving Michael the space to gather his thoughts.
“It’s wrong,” he said suddenly, his voice low but firm. “The way they’re treated. Some of them haven’t done anything wrong, and yet they’re punished for the smallest things. It’s not justice—it’s control. And it’s breaking them.”
Linnea’s sharp gaze flicked to him, her expression unreadable. “And it’s breaking you,” she said softly.
Michael looked away, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Maybe.”
“Sounds like you’re carrying a lot,” she said, her tone gentle but pointed. “And what do you plan to do about it?”
He frowned, his hands clenching slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t keep standing by and doing nothing.”
Linnea nodded slowly, as if weighing his words. “Well,” she said lightly, adjusting the bundle once more, “if you ever need supplies—or someone to talk to—I’m around. You know where to find me.”
Michael’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly.
As he turned to leave, Linnea watched him go, her sharp eyes thoughtful. The cracks in his armor were there—small but widening. He wasn’t ready yet, but he was closer than she’d expected. The seeds were planted. Now, it was just a matter of time.
~~~
Over the next few weeks, Michael began to frequent Linnea’s wagon. It had become a quiet ritual—stopping by on his way to or from the Gallows, Ariana’s estate, or the Hanged Man. Their conversations drifted easily, covering everything from mundane trade details to the weight of Michael’s daily struggles. Linnea, ever patient, let him talk, offering little more than a knowing smile or the occasional well-placed question. But here and there, she dropped hints—subtle mentions of her connections and the shadowy trade in secrets that seemed to follow her wherever she went.
The chill of an early evening breeze swept through Lowtown, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and the distant hum of market chatter. Linnea stood beside her wagon, her hands deftly rearranging the bundles of goods with practiced ease. Her sharp green eyes flicked toward the edge of the square as Michael’s armored form appeared, his steps heavier than usual.
“Back so soon?” Linnea called without looking up, her tone casual. She hefted a sack of grain onto the wagon and brushed her hands off on her trousers.
Michael slowed as he approached, his expression tight. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted, his voice low. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not in threat, but as if seeking reassurance.
Linnea paused, her head tilting slightly. “Rough day?” she asked, her voice light but laced with curiosity.
Michael gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “Something like that.”
She leaned against the wagon, crossing her arms. “So, what’s weighing on you this time, Templar? Did another merchant give you trouble over tolls, or is it something bigger?”
Michael hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced around the courtyard. His voice dropped as he stepped closer. “There’s a mage in the Gallows,” he said, each word careful and deliberate. “He’s about to undergo the Rite of Tranquility.”
Linnea’s expression didn’t waver, but her sharp eyes locked onto his. “I’ve heard of that,” she said carefully. “Not a fate I’d wish on anyone.”
“He doesn’t deserve it,” Michael continued, his voice laced with urgency. “He’s done nothing wrong—nothing to warrant this. It’s the Knight-Commander. She’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “She’s making an example of him.”
Linnea leaned back against the wagon, crossing her arms as if mulling over his words. “And what is it that you need from me?”
Michael’s jaw tightened, his frustration clear. “I’ve heard things. Rumors about a… group. People who help mages escape. I need to know if it’s true. If someone can get him out.”
Linnea studied him for a moment, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm. Finally, she sighed, her tone thoughtful. “That’s dangerous talk, Templar.” she said softly. “You’re sure you want to go down this road?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Michael shot back, his voice firm. “He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”
Linnea’s expression softened, though her tone remained cautious. “And what makes you think anyone would trust you? A Templar?”
Michael’s hand fell from his sword hilt, clenching into a fist at his side. “Because I’m not like them,” he said fiercely. “I joined the Order to protect people, not… not this.” His voice faltered, the weight of his disillusionment evident. “I can’t stand by and watch another innocent life destroyed.”
Linnea let the words hang in the air for a moment before nodding slowly. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s say I know people who could help. It’s not as simple as asking for a favor. They’ll need to trust you. That takes time.”
Michael’s eyes flashed with determination. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Linnea straightened, her smirk faint but encouraging. “Good. Then listen carefully. Keep your eyes and ears open. Let me know if you hear anything about other mages in danger. And stay out of trouble—you bring heat down on yourself, and no one’s going to stick their neck out for you.”
Michael’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”
Linnea waved him off with a casual gesture. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a long road ahead, Templar.”
As Michael turned and made his way back into the streets, Linnea’s sharp gaze followed him. She’d seen something in him—a fire that could either burn away his doubts or consume him entirely. Either way, she knew this was the moment to move.
Later that evening, back at the warehouse, Linnea found Ariana waiting, the White Wolf’s cloak draped over her shoulders. Linnea relayed the conversation in hushed tones, her words deliberate and measured.
Ariana listened intently, her expression unreadable. When Linnea finished, the White Wolf nodded, her voice calm but resolute. “We help him. Carefully. If he’s serious, this could change everything.”
Linnea’s smirk returned, her respect for Ariana’s caution clear. “Understood, Wolf. I’ll keep pushing, but I won’t rush him.”
Ariana’s gaze lingered on the map spread across the table, her fingers lightly tracing one of the Gallows’ marked routes. She exhaled softly, her expression resolute. “Find out when the Rite is scheduled,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Let’s try to save this mage if we can.”
Linnea nodded, her tone equally serious. “I’ll get it done.”
The White Wolf’s cloak shifted slightly as Ariana leaned forward, her focus sharp. The shadows of Kirkwall stretched long, but the game was far from over. If the time came to act, she would ensure they were ready.
~~~
The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of oil lamps and aged wood. Michael sat at a small table in the warehouse, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the edge. Linnea stood nearby, her posture casual but her watchful eyes betraying her vigilance. Faint murmurs drifted from the hidden corners of the warehouse, a reminder of its many secrets.
The door creaked open, and Michael immediately straightened. His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his sword, but Linnea shot him a pointed look, her expression a silent warning to stay calm.
A figure entered, cloaked in white fur that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The hood obscured their face, leaving only the sharp glint of daggers visible at their sides. The White Wolf.
Michael’s breath caught, his heart pounding. The stories hadn’t done them justice. The White Wolf radiated a quiet power, their movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. They paused near the far wall, their presence filling the room without a single word.
Linnea stepped forward, her tone easy but with an edge of command. “This is the one,” she said, gesturing toward Michael. “The Templar who wants to help.”
The White Wolf tilted their head slightly, their hooded gaze fixed on Michael. He felt an inexplicable weight in that silent scrutiny, as though they could see straight through him.
Michael swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I… I need your help. There’s a mage in the Gallows. They’re about to perform the Rite of Tranquility. It’s wrong, and I can’t…” He hesitated, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t let it happen.”
The White Wolf remained silent, their stillness more commanding than any words. Michael’s skin prickled under the intensity of their unseen gaze. He glanced at Linnea, searching for some kind of response.
Linnea crossed her arms, her tone neutral but sharp. “And why come to us, Templar? Why not handle it yourself?”
Michael’s jaw tightened, his voice gaining an edge. “Because I’m not enough. I’ve tried—talked to anyone who’d listen—but it’s not enough. Meredith’s grip on the Gallows is unrelenting. If I make one wrong move, I’ll just end up another pawn in her game.” He hesitated, his next words heavier. “But I can’t openly defy her. If Meredith suspects anything, she’ll go after my sister.”
Linnea’s eyes flicked toward the White Wolf, her expression briefly unreadable. The Wolf, however, remained still, their face shrouded in shadow. After a moment, they gave a slight tilt of their head—a silent acknowledgment of Michael’s words.
Michael exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “She brought me here to keep Ariana in line, but I see now… it’s more than that. Meredith doesn’t just want to control her. She wants to break her. And I can’t—I won’t let that happen.”
Linnea studied him for a long moment, then turned her attention fully to the White Wolf, her posture subtly questioning. The Wolf straightened, their cloak shifting slightly as they took a deliberate step forward. Though their face remained obscured, their presence filled the room.
Linnea’s tone softened, though it retained its edge. “So, you’re not just fighting for the mages,” she said quietly. “You’re fighting for her.”
Michael’s eyes burned with quiet resolve. “She’s my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. I… wasn’t always the brother she needed me to be and… I won’t let harm come to her again.”
The White Wolf gave another slight nod, their silent approval palpable despite their lack of words. Linnea turned back to Michael, her voice steady. “Then you understand what’s at stake. There’s no room for error, Templar. You follow our lead, no questions, no deviations.”
Michael’s gaze flicked between the two, his jaw tightening before he nodded. “I understand. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Linnea stepped aside, her arms crossed. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”
The White Wolf moved fluidly toward the door, their presence lingering even as they disappeared into the shadows. Michael watched them go, a strange mix of awe and trepidation settling over him. Whatever he’d just stepped into was far larger than himself—and more dangerous.
But for the first time, he felt he wasn’t facing it alone.
~~~
The estate was quiet in the late evening, the soft glow of lanterns casting warm light across the polished floors. Ariana sat in the library, a book in her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in some time. Her thoughts had drifted between Cullen, the Rangers, and Michael. She’s my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. Michael’s words echoed in her mind, sharp and unrelenting. He was trying to protect her? All this time, she had been worried about him, about keeping him safe.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed the faint sound of footsteps until Michael appeared in the doorway.
“Michael?” she said, closing the book and setting it aside. “What are you doing here so late?”
Michael hesitated, his expression uncharacteristically grave. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and lingering near the threshold before sitting across from her. His movements were deliberate and heavy, as if the weight of his thoughts had seeped into his very being.
“I needed to see you,” he said quietly, his hands clasped together tightly. “Before… well, just in case.”
Ariana’s brow furrowed, her heart sinking at the gravity in his tone. “What do you mean ‘just in case’? Michael, what’s going on?”
He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of resolve and hesitation. “Ari, you’re the only family I have here. The only family that’s cared for me,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “And I need you to know that… that I love you. I’ve always admired your strength, even when I didn’t understand your choices. I just… I need you to hear that.”
Her chest tightened, and she leaned forward, placing a steadying hand over his. “Michael, you’re scaring me. What’s happening? Are you in trouble?” But Ariana already knew.
Michael shook his head, though his lips pressed into a thin line. “No. Not yet. But I’ve made a decision… that goes against the Order. I can’t tell you more than that, Ari. It’s safer if you don’t know.”
Ariana’s heart sank as his words confirmed what she already suspected. She didn’t need him to spell it out—she knew he was talking about the Rangers, about the mage they were planning to save. Her thoughts raced, a mixture of pride and fear swirling within her. He had chosen a path that could ruin him, and yet… it was the right one.
“Michael…” she started, her voice trembling, but he cut her off.
“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, his grip tightening on her hand. “I don’t know what will happen, but I need you to stay safe. Don’t get involved, no matter what. Promise me.”
She held his gaze, her mind whirling as she tried to think of a way to reassure him without revealing too much. If she pushed too hard, he might suspect. But the idea of him facing this alone, unaware of the support already at his back, made her stomach churn.
“I can’t promise you that, Michael,” she said softly, her voice tinged with love and defiance. “Not if it means losing you.”
He exhaled, a faint, sad smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t expect you to, but I had to try. Just… be careful. You’re all I have left.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened, her mind already forming a plan. She wouldn’t let him walk into this blind. The White Wolf would be there, watching, ensuring that no harm would come to him. He wasn’t alone—whether he knew it or not.
As Michael stood to leave, she reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Michael, you don’t have to do this alone,” she said carefully, her tone gentle but weighted with meaning.
He paused, his expression softening. “I know,” he said after a moment, though the words seemed more for her sake than his. “But this is something I need to do.”
Ariana watched him go, her heart heavy yet resolute. She sat back in her chair, staring into the dim light of the library as her thoughts churned. He didn’t know it yet, but the White Wolf would be there always. She would make sure of it. Whatever he faced, she would ensure he came through it safely. No harm would come to her brother—not while she had the power to stop it.
~~~
The Rangers moved swiftly through the shadows of Lowtown. The group was small but highly coordinated—Linnea and Riley at the forefront, their movements purposeful and silent. Ariana, cloaked as the White Wolf, brought up the rear, her dual daggers sheathed but ready, her senses on high alert.
Their target was a secluded Templar holding facility used to house mages before they were transported to the Gallows. A young elven healer named Siona, the mage in question, had been taken just days ago. Linnea’s network had confirmed she was scheduled for the Rite of Tranquility within the week.
Ariana’s mind raced as they approached the facility, her thoughts circling back to Michael. His desperation, resolve, and the quiet fear he tried to mask weighed heavily on her. She’d made her choice: no harm would come to him tonight. No matter what.
The group halted in the shadows of an alleyway, the facility’s stone walls looming ahead. Linnea motioned for Ariana to step forward, her voice a mere whisper. “We counted four guards, rotating shifts. Standard patrol patterns. Riley and I can take the east entrance. That leaves the west gate for you.”
Ariana nodded, her expression unreadable beneath the hood. “We’ll rendezvous inside. No unnecessary risks. We extract the mage and vanish.”
“Got it, Wolf,” Riley replied, her voice steady but carrying a flicker of excitement. She thrived on missions like these, where the stakes felt tangible and the victories immediate.
The team split seamlessly, each pair melting into the shadows. Ariana moved toward the west gate, her heart pounding in rhythm with her light, calculated steps. The weight of her daggers was a comforting presence at her sides, though she hoped she wouldn’t need to draw them.
The cold stone wall pressed against her as she reached the door, a sliver of light spilling out from beneath it. She glanced back once, ensuring the path was clear, then pulled a lockpick from her belt. The lock yielded quickly beneath her practiced hands, the faint click echoing louder in her ears than it had any right to.
The interior was as oppressive as she’d imagined—cold stone walls damp with condensation, and the faint hum of muffled voices echoing down narrow corridors. She moved silently, her steps precise and deliberate. Linnea and Riley had already cleared the east-side guards, leaving the west quiet for now.
She found the cell easily enough. Siona sat on a wooden bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her wide eyes darting nervously to the sound of approaching footsteps. When she saw the cloaked figure before her, her gaze filled with equal parts fear and curiosity.
“Who—?” Siona began, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Quiet,” Ariana said firmly, her voice low but not unkind. She crouched by the cell door, working the lock with deft movements. “We’re here to get you out.”
Siona hesitated, her fear momentarily holding her rooted in place before she rose slowly to her feet. “Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why are you helping me?”
Ariana didn’t answer immediately, her focus on the lock. When the door swung open with a soft creak, she finally looked up. “Because no one deserves to lose themselves,” she said simply.
Siona’s fear softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of hope. She nodded and followed as Ariana gestured for her to stay close.
Linnea appeared at the end of the corridor, signaling that the path was clear. “Riley’s covering the exit,” she whispered.
“Good,” Ariana replied. “Let’s move.”
The group slipped out into the night, the cool air a stark contrast to the facility’s oppressive interior. Riley was already waiting near the entrance to Lowtown’s network of hidden passages, her sword drawn but resting casually against her shoulder.
“No sign of reinforcements,” she reported, her tone clipped. “Let’s keep it that way.”
The journey to the safe house was uneventful, though Siona’s wide-eyed gaze darted nervously between her rescuers and the labyrinthine alleys. As they neared the safe house, she finally found her voice. “Who are you people?”
Ariana glanced over her shoulder, her face hidden in shadow beneath her hood. “People who believe you deserve more than this city would give you,” she said simply.
Siona didn’t respond, but her posture eased slightly, and her steps were less hesitant.
The safe house was a modest structure, its worn exterior blending seamlessly into the surrounding buildings. Inside, a small group of Rangers waited, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of a single lantern. Linnea guided Siona inside, her voice low as she reassured the frightened elf.
Ariana lingered by the doorway, pulling her hood down as she turned to Riley. “Make sure she gets to the rendezvous point for her transport out of Kirkwall,” she instructed, her voice quiet but firm. “She can’t stay here.”
Riley nodded, her expression serious. “And Michael?”
Ariana’s jaw tightened, her gaze distant. “We keep him out of this. He doesn’t need to know what happened tonight.”
“Understood,” Riley replied, though her sharp green eyes lingered on Ariana for a moment, as if searching for something unspoken.
As the others busied themselves inside, Ariana leaned against the cold stone wall outside, her breath misting in the night air. The mission had gone smoothly, but her mind refused to settle. One life saved, one mage spared—but how many more remained trapped in the Gallows? How many more could she save before the weight of it all crushed her?
She pulled her cloak tighter around her, her thoughts circling back to Michael. I hope this gives him some peace, she thought, her resolve hardening. For now, it was enough. But the White Wolf would always be waiting, watching, ready for the next fight.
~~~
Ariana sat on the window ledge, her gaze distant as she looked out onto the courtyard. The faint rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of nightbirds offered a rare moment of serenity, but her thoughts refused to settle. Their mission had been a success—a mage freed from the Gallows, rescued from the Rite of Tranquility. It was a victory, yet it felt too small against the vastness of what still needed to be done. One mage saved, but so many still remain, she mused, her fingers lightly tracing the spine of the book she hadn’t opened.
Michael’s boots echoed faintly in the hallway, pulling her from her thoughts. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, his expression lighter than she’d seen in months. He looked… peaceful.
“Michael,” she greeted, closing the book and setting it aside. “You’re back.”
He nodded, stepping into the room with an ease that seemed almost foreign. “I’m fine,” he said immediately, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Better than fine, actually.”
Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “You seem… different,” she remarked cautiously. “What happened?”
Michael shrugged, his movements relaxed and unguarded. “I guess I’ve been doing some thinking,” he replied vaguely. “And… I’ve made some decisions I’m finally at peace with.”
Her brows furrowed slightly. “That’s cryptic, even for you,” she teased, though her tone carried a note of curiosity. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Michael chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Ari. Really. Better than I’ve been in a long time.”
His refusal to elaborate made Ariana’s mind race, but she chose not to press further. Instead, she gestured toward the chair across from her. “Stay a while,” she said softly. “Talk to me. About anything you want.”
Michael hesitated for a moment before settling into the chair, his armor faintly clinking as he leaned back. “Alright,” he said, his tone lighter. “What do you want to talk about?”
Ariana smiled faintly, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “The Order… it can’t have always been this bad.,” she suggested. “Are there any good memories?”
Michael’s expression softened, a flicker of nostalgia passing through his eyes. “There was a time,” he began slowly, “when I believed the Order was everything it claimed to be. I remember my first day at Kinloch Hold—how proud I felt, how certain I was that I was doing something important, something noble.” He chuckled, the sound tinged with bittersweet remembrance. “I didn’t see the cracks then. I only saw the ideals.”
Ariana listened intently, her gaze steady. “What changed?”
He sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of the armrest. “It wasn’t one thing,” he admitted. “It was a thousand little things—the way some Templars spoke about mages, the way fear and suspicion seeped into every interaction. It wore me down, piece by piece.”
There was a pause before Ariana spoke again, her voice quieter. “But there must’ve been good moments too.”
Michael’s lips curved into a small smile. “There were,” he agreed. “I remember sparring with Cullen in the courtyard. He always managed to push me harder than anyone else, even though he was the new recruit. I remember being impressed by him. And there was a mage—Elenna. She used to create little light shows after curfew, just to make the younger apprentices laugh.” His smile faded slightly. “She was made Tranquil after an incident in the library. Something about unsanctioned use of magic.”
Ariana’s chest tightened, her heart aching at the quiet pain in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Michael shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Ari. It’s the system. But sometimes, I wonder if I could’ve done more—if I should’ve seen things sooner.”
They fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of unspoken regrets settling between them.
After a moment, Michael looked at her, his expression lighter. “Remember when we were kids, and you used to sneak out to the stables to ride that old mare Father said was too stubborn to train?”
Ariana laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension. “How could I forget? She threw me into the mud more times than I could count.”
“And you always got back on,” Michael said, his tone warm with admiration. “You’ve always been stubborn like that.”
“Determined,” Ariana corrected with a grin. “There’s a difference.”
Michael chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “If you say so.”
They continued talking, the hours slipping by as they reminisced about their childhood—shared moments of laughter and mischief, the simpler times before their paths had diverged so drastically. For a while, the weight of their responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of a bond neither thought they’d ever have.
As the first light of dawn crept through the library windows, Michael rose from his chair, stretching. “I should go,” he said, though his tone was reluctant.
Ariana stood as well, her smile soft. “Thank you for staying,” she said quietly.
“Thank you for listening,” Michael replied, his voice equally soft.
As she watched him leave, Ariana felt a flicker of relief herself. She could trust him. He wouldn’t expose the White Wolf or the Rangers, not even to her. That was all the answer she needed now. He’s keeping his own secrets now, she thought, Maybe that means he’s finally finding his way. Maybe I was right to trust him.
~~~
The Rangers moved with precision through the rain-soaked streets of Lowtown, their dark cloaks blending into the shadows. The steady rhythm of the rain muffled their footsteps, creating an eerie stillness in the air. Ariana, her white fur-trimmed cloak distinct even in the downpour, kept a vigilant watch from the rear. Tonight’s mission was delicate—another mage transport, another chance to weaken Meredith’s grip on the city.
The wagon came into view, its wheels creaking under the weight of the prisoners within. Four Templars flanked it, their torches flickering defiantly against the rain. Linnea and Valentina exchanged a brief glance before slipping into position, their movements seamless. Michael followed close behind, his armor muted by the wet gloom, his focus razor-sharp.
As the wagon slowed to navigate a sharp turn, the Rangers struck. Valentina’s daggers flashed in the dim light as she disarmed the nearest Templar, her movements precise and efficient. Linnea engaged another, her twin blades dancing as she parried and struck. Michael faced the driver, his sword clashing against the man’s blade in a fierce exchange.
A third Templar broke free from the fray and charged toward Michael’s unprotected flank. Before Michael could react, Ariana was there. Her daggers moved faster than the rain, disarming the Templar in a fluid motion before sweeping his legs out from under him. The man hit the ground with a dull thud, unconscious before he could cry out.
Michael turned, his eyes wide as they landed on her. The rain streaked down his face, his chest rising and falling heavily as he took in the scene—the fallen Templar, the unmistakable white of her cloak. His gaze lingered, something flickering behind his eyes as the pieces fell into place.
“You’re safe now,” he said to the mages inside the wagon, his voice steady despite the storm. “Come with us.”
Ariana stayed silent, her daggers already sheathed as she stepped back into the shadows. But Michael’s focus remained on her. He watched the way she moved, the silent communication between her and the others, the unmistakable authority she carried. And then, as if a veil lifted, clarity struck.
Michael’s breath caught, and he turned to face her fully, the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead. “You,” he said quietly, the word cutting through the rain like a blade. “You’re the White Wolf.”
Ariana froze, her heart pounding as the Rangers around them stilled. Valentina shifted slightly closer to Ariana, her hand hovering near her blade, but Ariana raised a subtle hand to signal her to stand down.
Michael’s voice softened, almost reverent. “It’s you. I knew you were involved, but… I didn’t expect this.”
Ariana’s chest tightened as she slowly pulled her mask down, the cold rain biting at her skin. With a deliberate motion, she pulled back her hood, revealing her face.
“Michael,” she said, her voice measured. “How did you know?”
He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “It was everything,” he admitted, his tone low but steady. “The way you moved just now, the way you carry yourself. It’s the same look I’ve seen in your eyes when you talk about justice, about protecting the innocent. It all… it all fit.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “And saving me back there? That sealed it.”
Ariana searched his face, her unease softening into something deeper—relief, maybe, or the quiet acceptance of the inevitable. “I wanted to tell you,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t. Not until I knew you were ready.”
Michael’s expression softened, his voice losing its edge. “I’m not upset, Ari. If anything, I’m in awe. You’ve built something here… something incredible.”
Ariana’s throat tightened, her voice quieter now. “It wasn’t that I thought you’d judge me,” she admitted. “It’s… I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to follow me where this path leads. That standing against the Order might be a line you couldn’t cross.”
Michael’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” she continued, her tone steady despite the weight of her words. “Not as my brother, not as someone I trust. I was afraid that if I told you, it would put you in a place where you’d have to choose. And I wasn’t sure what that choice would be.”
Michael’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Ari, I’ve already made my choice. And I’m standing here, aren’t I? I know the risks. I’m not blind to what this means.”
She held his gaze, her unease slowly giving way to a fragile sense of relief. “You’re sure?”
“More than ever,” he replied, his voice steady. “I’ve seen too much to look the other way. I’m with you. Always.”
Ariana turned slightly, her gaze flicking to Valentina and Linnea, who exchanged a knowing look before returning their focus to the task at hand. The White Wolf’s legend had just gained another ally—a brother who would stand beside her, no matter the cost.
And as the Rangers melted back into the shadows, Ariana felt a flicker of hope burn within her. Together, they would face whatever came next.