Sitting at the farthest corner of a local pub, Ryiah stared outside melancholically. It'd been six months since she dared to do the unthinkable, killing High Priest of the most powerful church in Southern Stansaint Kyrre.

Ever since she has been dodging assassins, looking over her shoulder and changing scenery almost weekly. Although she had said she was ready to die for what she had done, Ryiah still didn´t want to die like a dog in a gutter.

Not like Griffin had died. Never to see it coming. Coughing blood on a muddy road. Not as much as a decent funeral.

Nothing.

Ryiah had to bury him to unnamed grave into a forest, she knew, a forest she would never step her foot again.

They erased Griffin from history's books as if someone had snapped their fingers. The only one who remembered he ever existed was Ryiah. No one else.

No. Ryiah didn´t want that to happen to her.

She wanted to look her killer in the eye; she wanted a warrior's death. Not an impossible request for the years she had given for the guild. They owned her that much.

But those sons of bitches were after Ryiah, and they didn´t want to grand Ryiah´s wish. So, she settled on the game of cat and mouse for the time being.

“Did you heard? That man who died six months ago, what's his name again? Ah, Father Aelric,”

“What about him?”

An ongoing conversation on the neighbouring table earned Ryiah to shift her gaze from the window to the pair of men, settling discreetly to watch and listen to their conversation.

“There are whispers he was merely the scapegoat for the actual culprit,” the elderly, somewhat overweight man, way over his sixties, leaned closer, smiling knowingly as he looked at his fellow man, who frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“Seriously Damian, sometimes I wonder if those ears of yours are just for decorations on your head. I heard the reason they killed him was that he ordered the execution of an assassin who they had no use for anymore,”

“So?”

“But he wasn´t the one who gave the order in the first place! He merely passed it on,”

The slender man, not much over fifty years old, stared at his friend, an idiotic expression on his stubble covered face.

Ryiah´s eyes narrowed, straightening herself on her seat leaning on the elbows gritting her teeth. Had she done a rookie mistake?

“But doesn´t that make him the person who gave the order?” Damian tilted his head, confused, earning his friend to sigh, frustrated.

“No, because he didn´t create the order, it came from a higher level, Aelric merely read the order they gave him,”

“Ooh!” Damian´s face lit up when he finally understood what his friend tried to explain. But then it dropped again, as Damian´s brows knitted together.

“But why the killer didn't know that?”

“I´m starting to think you don´t have a brain,” the man grunted, taking a big gulp from his pint.

“Oi! Don´t insult me, Cedric!”

“It isn´t an insult when it is the truth,”

Ryiah emptied her drink before standing up, not paying much attention to those two anymore. She had heard enough. Heading out, Ryiah halted as soon as the door closed behind her, chills running through her spine. The streets of Carran were quiet, a very few people dared stroll outside as the light of day was fading. The night was a dangerous time in this city, and Ryiah knew that.

Looking around, she didn´t see anything out of ordinary, but the feeling of being watched wouldn't go away. Senses on high alert, Ryiah started walking down the esplanade toward the subway, glancing at her surroundings now and then.

It was late evening; the sun had set two hours ago, a chilly breeze making her hair dance around her face, but Ryiah ignored it. She was sure they had followed her.

Turning around the corner she suddenly felt a sting in her neck causing her to jolt and reach to her neck to pull a dart seeing familiar-looking tail on it. Grunting Ryiah shook her head trying to find her baring leaning on the tile wall on her right desperate to keep moving when a foul-smelling hood was covering her entire head earning her to gag, but because the drug in her system, she wasn´t able to defend herself and before she knew it, everything went dark.

Unfamiliar voices echoed around her, as Ryiah slowly was coming to her senses. Groaning, she tried to touch her head, but something prevented her from moving. Ryiah´s heart started beating faster as she discovered she was tied up and blood coursed through her veins, a rush of adrenaline pumping through her body, allowing her to focus. Reaching her senses further Ryiah felt heavy chains on her wrists, it lifted her arms upright, above her head and every time she yanked her arms, an eery clank followed her movements.

Ryiah was sitting on cool ground, damp, a heavily earthy scent filling her nose, almost causing her to sneeze.

Mould.

That smell helped her to determine where she was.

Underground, no doubt.

Under her hands, when Ryiah twisted them to touch the wall behind her, the surface was rugged, slightly moist. Maybe an old dungeon or even catacomb, which a very few knew about. But who was behind this capture, wasn´t easy to find out. She assumed whoever it was, wanted to keep their identity hidden for the time being.

“Fucking outstanding,” she muttered, heaving a sigh, slumping against the wall.

Cloth blocked her vision, but she could hear what was going on around her. Turning her head slightly on the left, she heard muffled voices coming from the other side, a key turning in the lock and when the door opened, it let a moaning sound, as the rusty hinges struggled to cooperate.

Lifting her chin, Ryiah heard two persons enter the space she was being held. Footsteps came nearer, then she heard a stool being placed in front of her. The odour of musk invaded her nose and Ryiah strongly blew air out of her lungs through her nose and turned her head away from the person to prevent smelling that again. It was so strong, Ryiah could not hold back a gag.

A chuckle came from the doorway. Turning her head, she concentrated on that person's voice when they murmured something Ryiah could not quite hear irritating her.

Sucking in air, she could smell the scent of the person who stayed near the doorway, as the air carried it toward her. This scent wasn´t unpleasant, it was rather deep, somewhat spicy and Ryiah´s nostrils flared a moment, no doubt her pupils dilating. Smelling the hints of cinnamon and myrrh, resurfaced some old memories making her shiver.

Griffin's scent.

But he was dead. Ryiah knew it because she was the one who watched him die. She was the one who buried him into unnamed woods four years ago.

So, how was it possible for her to smell his scent?

“So, the pretty face is awake. Good,” a croaky voice made Ryiah grimace. The voice she hated. Picturing in her mind, the person looked like a middle-aged, overweighted man, with rotten teeth, a gruff beard, and ruffled hair which has not seen a comb in years.

That image fitted nicely with the odour she kept smelling.

“You have cost a lot of trouble by killing Father Aelric,” a low, honeyed voice came a little further away from the person who was sitting in front of her.

That voice matched with the pleasant scent that kept invading her nose through the musky smell and she smirked.

“Do you expect an apology from me?” she chuckled.

“No. We know you have too rough manners and proud to do such a thing,” the voice replied, amused. Footsteps showed whoever this person was, walked closer, and ushered the other man from the stool.

Gritting her teeth, Ryiah nearly snarled. Already insulting. No need to pretend to be kind-hearted then. She was glad about it. To reveal their true colours always made things easier, much simpler.

“Let's take that cloth off of your face. I like to look a person into their eyes while I´m talking, they reveal so much,” the man hummed, reaching forward and pulled the cloth off.

Blinking a few times trying to readjust her eyes to the sudden brightness Ryiah grunted shaking her head. The man waited patiently for her to see properly before addressing her again.

Looking around, she noticed her suspicions were correct. She was underground dungeons, shackled into a wall like an animal. Then she shifted her narrowed gaze onto the man before her.

The man was wearing garments of High Priest.

“Pffft, I should have known. A holy man…” Ryiah spat the last words like they were a curse.

“Watch your mouth filth! He is the honourable High Priest, Father Silverius,” the man behind the priest growled, pointing at her with his chubby finger.

“Honorable?” Ryiah laughed, tossing her head back, her laughter echoing in the dungeon.

“There isn´t anything honourable what they do,” Ryiah snarled lowering her head, glaring at Silverius under her lashes.

“You little…”

“Calm down, Bernand,” Father Silverius lifted his hand to silence the man who was seething with anger, while Ryiah looked as calm as the sea before a storm, her blazing glare showed anger as she kept watching Bernand.

“Let's all behave civilized,”

Snorting Ryiah shifted her gaze to Silverius.

“It's a little late for that, don´t you think?” she sneered, lifting herself upright watching him narrowing his eyes lightly. Crossing his legs, Father Silverius sat firmly on the stool, looking almost regal.

“What do you mean?” Father Silverius asked, tilting his head, wary of her now.

“Don´t act like you don´t know. Besides capturing me and shackling me here like an animal, you have quite the double life. You keep secrets and lie to the people to make yourself look good,” Ryiah´s glacial tone of a voice earned both men's full focus.

“That goes against our religion and duty toward the people. As High Priest of this country it is my responsibility to educate and teach our citizens about virtue and forgiveness,” Silverius lectured, but Ryiah laughed humorously.

“Tsk. I'm sorry, but your story isn't adding up. I think your religion is a lie to keep my mouth shut and do what I´m told as long as I am useful to your church,”

“Stop insulting him! He is the most righteous man in our community!” Bernand barked, but Father Silverius gave him a glare that quieted him quickly.

“Yes, that is the biggest lie, I agree. I am just surprised you have not thrown me to the wolves yet, as I thought you were one yourself,”

“You sit there like angry God, lecturing me of civilized manners, being just, how you teach people to be good. But, in the shadows, you use us to do your dirty work and as soon as we don´t have any further use to you, you order your henchmen to get rid of us,” Ryiah spoke tautly, fisting her hands. Her heart drummed heavily in her chest as emotions threatened to take over.

Father Silverius watched her, the unfriendly expression on his face, grinding his teeth but forced himself to be silent, and calm, but the twitch of the nerve on the corner of his eye betrayed him. And that didn´t go unnoticed by Ryiah.

“My dear, you're not so innocent as you claim to be,” she hummed, waiting. Ryiah could see his demeanour was getting tighter because his self-control was cracking.

“You holy men read between the lines and don't stick to the scriptures. You only follow rules if others follow with you. That doesn't sound too holy, it sounds to me, you are only playing the victim. And the best part? For fooling Heaven's gates, you don´t have to change. You are no saint, Father Silverius,”

“Enough!”

Father Silverius bellowed, jumping to his feet, anger flashing through his greenish eyes, making Ryiah smirk smugly. She had hit the nerve, finally.

“Tell me, Father Silverius, how many sins have you committed?” Ryiah purred, a smirk irritating Silverius, who stepped forward, rage flashing in his eyes.

“You are going to hell,” he snarled, leaning down.

Ryiah´s smirk grew deeper. Glancing at Father Silverius, a low chuckle echoed in the room.

“Oh, Father, I am already there,”

Ryiah´s smug expression died suddenly and before Silverius or Bernand could react, she tensed her muscles, grasped the chains to support her weight as Ryiah lifted her lower body wrapping her legs around Father Silverius´s neck squeezing as hard as she could.

A startled shout came out of Silverius as his eyes bulged out of their sockets. Gripping Ryiah´s knees he tried to escape from her grip but she was too strong.

“Bernand,” Silverius grunted, his breathing starting to wheeze, the harder Ryiah pressed her thighs around his neck.

“Coming!”

Bernand rushed to action after the first shock faded, he couldn´t believe the assassin would do a stunt that stupid or reckless.

Taking the rod that was hanging on his hip, Bernand hit Ryiah´s temple as hard as he could. Ryiah yelped out of the sudden pain, her vision going dark and the grip over Father Silverius loosened enough for him to rip free from her hold.

Wobbling backwards, Silverius held his throat, bending over catching his breath, Silverius glared at her.

“You will regret that,” his voice ominous, anger visible in his eyes, pupils dilated so much the green iris was growing thin.

Half unconscious, Ryiah merely chuckled manically, wetting her lips.

“No, I will not,” she sneered before another hit on the head silenced her, and Ryiah's entire body went limp.

Bernand scoffed raking his hair sniffing turning around looking at Father Silverius rectifying his clothes, smoothing his hair back, and gathering himself.

Leering at Ryiah´s unconscious form, he then elegantly turned on his heels, glancing at Bernad over his shoulder.

“Make an example of her,” Father Silverius scorned before opening the dungeon's door and stepping out onto the cool corridor.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Bernand bowed respectfully, watching Father walking out, his footsteps echoing in the stone staircase.