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Esryn Vanguard had to die.

Those words were not uttered in Mevolent's fortress, but rather, within the confines of Eachan Meritorious' office. A shameful order, whispered to Guild in the dead of night.

Esryn Vanguard had to die. It didn't matter how or where, but he had to be dead before the peace talks were finalized. His words carried too much weight. His gentle, loving nature had charmed one too many people, blinding them with hope for peace.

Peace that very well could be; not even Guild and his gaggle of spies and murderers could prove there was anything beneath Mevolent's detached agreement to the peace talks. No nefarious plans, no malicious intent to strike once weapons were laid down. But it couldn't be disproven, either. Conflict wasn't guaranteed, if they let peace talks go ahead. But could they truly risk it? Could they give Mevolent the room he needed to machinate in the shadows? They could be handing him the perfect opportunity, for all they knew. In the face of uncertainty, Meritorious had made a decision.

Thurid Guild already had blood on his hands. The blood of both foe and friend, of his own troops. His orders had been the death knell of many a soul already, what would be one more? One more to fan the flames of war towards the right path. One more so that one day, sorcerers will be able to lay down their weapons. Hopefully for good, this time.

Meritorious wasn't picky. As long as the job was done, as long as it had the intended effect. But Guild knew better, had known better since he'd first proposed the Exigency Programme to the grand mage. A lesser target would have been disposed off in some dark corner, struck through the heart. Simple, quick and with effective results. But someone like Esryn Vanguard, who had stepped onto a stage and bared his heart to so many? It wouldn't be enough. No, Vanguard had to be a martyr. The face of what happens when you trust the word of a man like Mevolent. Guild would turn him into the poster boy of tragedy, of a life taken too soon by a group so cruel they couldn't let them roam free. Esryn Vanguard's death would be on stage, as most of his life had been.

Peace talks progressed with Meritorious breathing down Guild's neck. But a death like Vanguard's couldn't be rushed. It had to happen by the right means, at the right time and place.

The means weren't too hard to obtain. Though incomplete, Guild had a list of killers who obeyed Mevolent's orders. Any one of them could be easily accused, but the right one had to be picked for it to stick. The Diablerie were a no go; they were far too infamous. There were others, of course, but all of them were accounted for by both Mevolent and the Sanctuaries. It had to be someone who couldn't prove they hadn't been there to do it. Someone like Dreylan Scarab, whose whereabouts had been unknown for well over a year now. His involvement wouldn't be hard to fake either. It was a simple matter of infiltrating his old quarters, and obtaining the right items from the arsenal left behind.

It was decided then. A poisoned arrow would be Vanguard's end.

What Guild needed now were the hands that would carry the execution through. He had many assassins of his own, many of them capable archers. Choosing one wasn't as simple as drawing straws, however. No one but himself, the grand mage and the perpetrator could know of this. He needed someone loyal to a fault. Someone who wouldn't be affected by potential precautions taken to ensure the event remained peaceful. Teleporters were out of the question, on account of those precautions. The Programme's last tunneler wasn't a better option, on account that they would leave evidence behind and had little skill in archery. No, what Guild needed was a ghost. A mage who would never be seen, one that didn't exist beyond the confines of the Exigency Programme's safe houses and camps. Guild made his decision.

"Esryn Vanguard has to die." Guild said. "We cannot trust Mevolent's word."

There was no need for justification. Not with Magpie Murray. Born and bred to kill, with no family and no home to go back to. Most importantly, with no one to tell the truth to. Guild's secret weapon, the ghost who would carry out this heinous task.

"When the final date and location is set, you're to arrive two days prior and prepare. I trust you'll know when to strike. If anything goes awry, you know what to do."

Find somewhere quiet and die, he meant. Murray's very existence was unknown to the world. As long as it made good use of the invisible sigil etched onto his neck, there would be no assassin to find.

"Yes, sir. It will be done."

"And Murray..? Speak of this to no one. This dies with us."

There was no answer, but Guild knew. No one would ever know. Loyalty and duty had been bred into the mage, just like killing had been.

Esryn Vanguard would be dead in two weeks. The date had been set, the location chosen. An old church, sitting in a no man's land between the opposing sides' territories. Though abandoned, it was a grand venue. Big enough to welcome the swathes of war-worn sorcerers longing for a better, tranquil world. But there would be no peace after that day, not until Mevolent and his forces were squashed.

Magpie arrived to the church two days prior, an unassuming murder of crows slipping through the steeple's narrow window. It made its home in the rafters, all the way across the altar that would serve as Vanguard's stage. Curtain's had been put up in various places to hide the religious iconography of mortals. Magpie watched as signum linguists belonging to both armies carved sigils into the walls. Wards to prevent teleporters from slipping in, to prevent magic from being used to enact violence. Useless wards that did nothing to someone like itself. Like tunnelers, swarm shapeshifters were immune to magic-binding sigils. They were too few and far between to warrant any real concern.

Magpie spent those forty eight hours inhuman and keenly aware of the fact that it would be changed further when it turned back. It didn't matter, it had to be done. Esryn Vanguard had to die.

In the late afternoon, two days after its arrival, sorcerers began to fill into the church. Some sat on the old pews, but many stood, not trusting the half rotten wood to hold their weight. As the sun crawled down the horizon, the crowd grew in its size. The hushed conversation rippling through the crowd finally quieted, when Mevolent made his appearance. Tall and imposing, his helmet had been replaced by a veil— he was here to listen, not to fight. Whether or not the intent was genuine, no one would ever know. Not after tonight. Various grand mages followed. Meritorious was among them, shadowed by Guild. And finally, once everyone had gathered, Esryn Vanguard made his entrance. He was flanked by four guards, two from Mevolent's forces, two from the Sanctuaries.

Vanguard looked almost holy, in the evening light. Dying rays of sunlight turned his blond hair to a mop of woven gold, and his expression was serene and warm. If only he knew he was heading straight to the altar of martyrdom.

Magpie's bow weighed heavy on its back. It became keenly aware of the quiver at its hip, of the singular arrow resting within it. The mental image came to it, then. The mass of bodies turning into a sea of flailing, kicking and clawing limbs. Esryn Vanguard, a dying heap on the altar, the gentle life bleeding out of him. Magpie felt a twinge of something within, something it'd never felt before. It had killed more people than it could count, in the one and half century it'd been alive. Killing came as easy as breathing to it, and yet… And yet it had never killed someone who wouldn't fight back, given the chance. It'd spent its life targeting soldiers, lieutenants and various miscreants. Never someone so gentle and full of love for every living being he encountered. But the order had been given. Esryn Vanguard had to die, Magpie reminded itself.

The crowd below fell into silence as Vanguard ascended the few steps to the altar. He turned to face them, and smiled. "Thank you for joining me today, it is an honour to have reached the hearts of so many."

Magpie held its breath as the speech continued.

"Today, we gather as one people with one dream; peace. As we have learned over the years, peace is not easy to achieve. Peace takes effort and time, the willingness to change. And I see that willingness in each and every one of you today. We are all here with the hope for a better world, for ourselves and for those who will come after us. I know that many of you still feel that dream to be nothing but wishful thinking. But I know, and of this I am certain, that we can make that dream become reality. Just as we've gathered here today, still wary and fatigued, I believe we can one day come together as neighbours, as friends even. It will not be an easy road, I'm aware of this as well. It will be a difficult process, it will be tense. There may be times where you question why we put our weapons down. But through this process, you will find joy. Knowledge and experiences you may have never come across, had we never assembled here today. We will all find what we seek at the end of this road; a better world."

Magpie took its bow in hand, notched the arrow. Breathe in, breathe out. One arrow. One chance. Magpie drew the string of its bow. Breathe in.

"But I haven't asked you to come together today merely to serenade you with sweet words." Esryn Vanguard looked up then. Whether or not he saw it, Magpie would never know. Did he know? Did he know that this would be the end? Vanguard kept talking. "Today, I put forth to you a peace treat—"

Breathe out.

Magpie didn't know if its earlier vision came true. As soon as the arrow was let loose, it leaped from its perch. Forcing its body, along with the bow into a singular, small feathered one, it zipped through the shadows. As it ascended through the steeple and out the narrow window, it heard the unmistakable sound of hell breaking loose within the church. Its aim had stayed true. Some sick part of it wanted to slip back inside. To see if it had been right, if the gathering had turned into a stormy ocean of violent limbs. Did Vanguard look holy, still? Crumpled on the altar, haloed by a growing pool of his own blood? Magpie's stomach turned. It shook its head clear, and took off as soon as the stragglers outside rushed in to see what the chaos was about.

Esryn Vanguard was dead.

A bitter taste filled Guild's mouth. He watched as Vanguard reached for the arrow lodged in his throat, then collapsed. If Guild had to guess, the man had died before he even hit the ground. Pandemonium burst all around him. First came shouts, then came the violent clashing of hands and feet against bodies. Plain clothed Exigency mages were already rushing for him and Meritorious, ready to pull them out of the church. Before they could, Guild whispered beneath the cacophony.

"I hope it was worth it, grand mage."

There was hardly any room to navigate towards the exit, though cleavers had come to make an attempt at controlling the crowd. It was too late; sorcerers lay dead or dying, either crushed or beaten to death. The damage had been done. Esryn Vanguard was dead. Any tangible end to the war had died with him, pooling in the blood spreading on the chancel.

Above the crowd, Mevolent roared as he swept away a handful of sorcerers with nothing more than a swipe of his arm. "Enough!"

Somehow, it was all it took. The room stilled, and the crowd grew quiet. The stench of sweat and blood would be enough to make anyone nauseated, but that wasn't why Guild's stomach was doing somersaults in his abdomen.

"You!" Came Bisahalani's voice, high and reedy with anger. "You did this! We should have known that this was nothing more than a charade!"

Mevolent's tone came out eerily even. "I gave no order for Vanguard's death, grand mage. Why would I deny my people what they so desperately want?"

Meritorious began to step forward. Guild wanted to strangle the man. Speaking now wouldn't absolve them of scrutiny, it would only serve to draw attention to them. After everything he'd done, after he'd further bloodied his own hands and the hands of his mages, this is the thanks he was going to get? A foolish misstep that could prove disastrous? There was nothing he could do, and so Guild swallowed down the venom he so desperately wanted to spit out.

"Perhaps it would be best to call an investigation, then. Overseen by an impartial party, of course." Meritorious called out. It didn't ease the boiling pot of emotions raging in Guild's mind.

An oppressive silence fell over the room. Sorcerers from both sides waited with bated breath. No one could tell whether Mevolent would acquiesce, or if he would simply declare war again right then and there. Guild hoped for the latter. Careful precautions had been taken, but there was always a chance that they would fail if an investigation was conducted. War would mean casualties within this room, possibly including himself and the grand mages. But it would be for the best. If this were to come to light, Ireland would never recover. The Irish Sanctuary would be abolished, and the others would undoubtedly squabble over who had claim to a cradle of magic. Yes, war would be for the best.

"Very well. But know this; if none of my men lay claim to the killing blow and you dare accuse one of them, I will plunge us all into a war from which you will never recover."

Mevolent left. A trail of bloodied and bruised sorcerers followed suit after him, thankfully thinning out the crowd. Guild could breathe again, but he didn't stay for the ensuing argument. He wasn't a grand mage, after all, not even an elder. Just a very hated man with too much blood on his hands. On his way out, he found the nearest elemental to light his pipe. Being outside didn't shield him from the shouting within the church, though. He listened while he smoked. Accusations were thrown around— first at him specifically, of course, then the Americans, who then accused the British Sanctuary. He listened to Meritorious carefully trying to call for peace. Ironic, really. It was enough to make Guild want to scream. But Meritorious was right; arguing among themselves would achieve nothing.

An hour later and still fuming, he climbed into a carriage with Meritorious. Guild's personal one, of course. With hidden sigils wall to ceiling to ensure no one could listen in. A necessity right now, because Guild had a lot to say.

"With all due respect," he started through gritted teeth, "that was foolish. I understand that silence would not have absolved us either, but drawing unnecessary attention? They will not think us less guilty."

Meritorious must have lost his patience during the earlier argument, because an especially bitter look came over his face.

"What would you have had me do, Guild? Stand still and wait for Mevolent to cut us all down? Are you so eager to martyr yourself?"

"I know there were no good answers to this problem. I know. But an investigation—"

"We have known each other for centuries. You are not an unintelligent man, I know that you have taken great precaution to ensure this investigation will not lead to our doom."

Guild had. But keeping the Exigency Programme's operations in the shadows took a certain kind of paranoia, one that couldn't be easily tamed. Yes, he'd taken great care to frame Scarab. The arrow, the poison had been from his abandoned arsenal. Murray had remained invisible the whole time, and disappeared without a trace once the deed was done. But what if that wasn't enough? What if there was something he hadn't thought of? Or Murray wasn't the ghost he'd hoped for? No. No, if someone had seen it, he would have known by now— there would be dead crows littering the ground around the church. Or a ghastly, fizzling puddle of gore in the grass. There was another problem, of course. Dreylan Scarab. Guild allowed himself to quiet his concerns on that front. If Scarab was with someone reputable enough to vouch for his innocence, they would know where he was. And seeing as he was still missing, well…

The remainder of the carriage ride was silent. Guild stewed in his feelings and doubts.

Had he done the right thing?

The thoughts chased after him as he returned to camp. Exigency mages clad in black uniforms greeted him with nods as he walked. He didn't respond, trapped in his own head. Guild knew the grim truth; there were no good solutions. Every path forward had been filled with too many variables to account for, too much of it relying on incredibly unstable alliances and people they couldn't fully trust. At least now, they had a clear path forward. Either framing Scarab would work, and they'd be plunged into further conflict… Or Guild would be presented as the culprit, as though he'd acted against orders he'd never been given. At least then, whatever happened next would no longer concern him. Some part of him selfishly longed for it, for relief from his atrocious duties. But knowing his luck, there would be no relief.

Regardless of what came out of it, the future ahead was grim.

For the second time that night, Guild allowed himself to smoke. By the time he was entering his tent and slipping off his coat, he could almost pretend it helped soothe his frayed nerves.

"Sir—"

"Good lord!" Guild nearly chucked his coat straight at the figure perched on a nearby crate. "Murray, you cannot keep doing this."

"My apologies, sir."

Guild sighed and set his coat aside. This was nothing new to him. It wasn't unique to Murray, either— both Click and Selwyn also had the nasty habit of startling him. Somehow, he never got used to it, even after years of being surrounded by people who moved like shadows. At least this time, it knocked him right out of his own head.

A conversation was necessary, at this point. But Guild allowed himself to retrieve the wine he kept for headache-inducing days. It wouldn't be enough, but it would have to do. As he poured himself a glass, he listened to the sound of talons clicking against wood. Murray was staring at him. Not necessarily odd behaviour on its own, but for Murray? Something was bothering it. Guild briefly thought of offering it some wine before deciding against it. It would be far too personal. To offer Murray a connection now would be cruel. After all, it would have to be disposed of eventually to ensure the truth of today's events never came out. Guild couldn't help but wonder if it knew that. If it did, the assassin seemed to have come to terms with the idea.

After downing half the glass, Guild finally spoke. "Vanguard is dead."

"I thought that might be the case."

"No one saw you?"

"No. I waited on the steeple until there was no one outside to see me leave." There was a pause. "He may have seen me."

"Vanguard?"

"Yes."

It didn't matter, not really. Vanguard was dead, and the odds of him truly having seen Murray through the darkness were close to zero. But Guild wasn't blind to the waver in that usually flat tone. He waited for whatever it was Murray really wanted to say. It came quickly enough.

"May I… May I make a request, sir?"

"I cannot promise I'll grant it, but go ahead."

"I'd like to ask that my memories not be removed." Murray's voice cracked for a moment, before it collected itself. "If that's at all possible."

Guild had no intention to do so. While the Exigency Programme had several sensitives at its disposal, they weren't exactly a dime a dozen. To have a sensitive root through the assassin's mind would mean implicating someone else. And to ensure the investigation uncovered nothing at all, that sensitive would have to be killed— another headache-inducing complication Guild had no desire to deal with. Besides, Dreylan Scarab would have to be dealt with eventually. It would be far simpler to have Murray take care of that as well, then dispose of it too.

The request didn't come from a place of practicality, however. From Guild's perspective, it was a barely concealed statement; I don't deserve to forget what I did. Though he often behaved as though he was above it, Guild was no stranger to the sort of mental self-flagellation Murray wished to inflict upon itself. But that alone was concerning— it was new behaviour Guild had never seen from him. Murray had always been cold, efficient and his behaviour had never once indicated the presence of any guilt. The mage suddenly developing a conscience… Or perhaps,it hadn't. That glint in its eyes, the odd shuffling— it wasn't guilt, was it? It was something worse; enjoyment. Guild swallowed thickly. Another, perhaps much more concerning issue to keep track off.

"That, I can allow. I had no intentions to— it's best if this is kept only between us and the grand mage." Guild waved a hand dismissively. "Secrecy aside, we'll have to deal with Scarab at a later time. I'll need you for that as well."

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course. You're dismissed." Guild was finally alone, with only his thoughts for company.

Guild was a bad man. He was aware many thought him oblivious to it, on account of him being selfish enough to enjoy the luxuries his position brought him. They thought he must think the ends justify the means, because he refused to be meek and repentant in the face of his actions. But he knew. Oh, he knew— he'd come to terms with the sort of man he was a long time ago. No matter how bitter he felt about it. Or how bad the taste left in his mouth was. Because people like him would always be needed. Because wars weren't won by good people.

He downed his half empty wine glass. There was no time to wallow.

Esryn Vanguard was dead. A single death, a small drop in an ocean of thousands. But that small drop was enough to cause catastrophic ripples. Many of which would be Guild's responsibility to fix. He had to prepare, both himself and his mages. There were operations to be set into motion, plans to be made and complications to deal with. All of them equally migraine inducing.