Kyraseth Nythlarian

Kyraseth Nythlarian has been killing for six months straight. She's so tired.

Her orders came from Silus of the Rift. Eliminate organizational infrastructure. The people who make kingdoms function.

A Khymian sheriff coordinating militia responses to Palifala's time magic. When he stepped outside his office to smoke, she struck from the shadows. He died with the smoke still curling from his pipe.

A Ferexian supply officer managing food and munitions for Brave the Bull's task force. Kyraseth slipped inside his tent, drove her blade through his throat, and slipped away as he bled out over his ledgers.

The Lyverian trade guild master was harder. Bodyguards, locked doors, schedules that shifted daily. She caught him during a private meeting on the third floor with shutters open for air. Scaled the building, slipped through, killed him and his guest, dropped to the street before his guards kicked the door in.

The Gloridax logistics coordinator tried running when he spotted her in the supply depot. Her hand shook as she threw her blade. It took him through the spine anyway. Six months without rest means her body is failing in ways training can't compensate for.

Now she's in the Shimmering Coasts, hunting a Belurocian engineer. He's cautious and paranoid, never alone and never predictable. Her vision blurs at the edges and her blade feels twice its weight. She's made small mistakes. A footfall too heavy, a shadow cast wrong. The engineer hasn't noticed, but his guards are getting suspicious.

Tonight, he steps outside for air.

Kyraseth moves on instinct. Her longsword slides into his back and tears through the front of his shirt before he can turn. He collapses. She stands over him, breathing hard.

More names on her list. When Silus makes his move, he'll find Praetoria's defenders hollowed out from within.

She sheathes her blade and disappears into the darkness. She'll rest when Silus tells her to rest.