Dawn over the city was gray and cold.
Randel stood at the window of the inn, watching the first rays of sunlight pierce the smoke rising from morning cookfires. Below, the market was already bustling — merchants shouting, horses neighing, and somewhere steel clanged as the beastfolk began their training.
He hadn’t slept that night.
Thoughts churned in his head like stones in a sack. The Reaper at the gates. The red lenses. The metallic voice that could have belonged to anyone.
“You see what you want to see.”
Perhaps. But it was the only thread he had left.
“My lord,” Erhard entered without knocking. “The men are ready.”
“Understood,” Randel turned away from the window. “What did we learn yesterday?”
“The city lives for war,” the captain said, spreading a map across the table. “Kaelan was a former slave. He escaped the quarries and started a rebellion. They say he broke his own chains and led the others. He gathered runaways and outcasts, and later the beastfolk joined him. In short — the rumors vary.”
“And the Reaper?”
“The Reaper came later,” Erhard lowered his voice. “After word of the uprising had spread across the steppe. They say he appeared at the gates of Caelan’s camp with a group of beastfolk. He told them he had heard about him and wanted to offer his services.”
“So the Reaper came to Kaelan, not the other way around?”
“That’s what they say,” Erhard nodded. “Since then they’ve been inseparable. Kaelan is the face, the Reaper is the shadow. One speaks, the other acts.”
Randel fell silent, thinking.
She had heard about the uprising. About the man who had shattered his chains in the quarries. And she had come to see for herself. She had come with the detachment she managed to gather. She had come as an equal — not to beg, but to offer.
It sounded exactly like her.
“Today we go to Kaelan,” he said. “The entire detachment. We are mercenaries looking for work. I want to see this so-called leader Kaelan for myself.”
Kaelan received them in a former merchant’s house.
The interior was spartan — a rough wooden table, maps pinned to the walls, weapons stacked in the corner. No luxuries. The master of this place did not strive for comfort; he was a warrior, not a ruler.
Randel entered with commanding presence.
But it was not Kaelan who captured his attention.
To the right of the leader, slightly behind him, stood the Reaper.
Black armor, black cloak, helmet with glowing red lenses. Motionless as a statue. He did not sit at the table — he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring through the walls into nothingness.
“Mercenaries,” Kaelan studied Randel carefully. “I’ve heard about your arrival.”
“And what have you heard?” Randel remained standing, even though Kaelan gestured to a seat.
“That you have fine armor and poor manners. That you passed Thor without drawing your sword. That my Reaper let you into the city, though he usually lets no one suspicious through.”
“So I made an impression.”
“Or you are exactly who he was waiting for,” Kaelan smirked. “Who are you really?”
“I am a mercenary,” Randel shrugged. “Looking for work. I heard you need swords here.”
“Swords are always needed,” Kaelan leaned back in his chair. “But my warriors don’t trust outsiders. Especially those who hide Aichenwald steel under their cloaks.”
“Good armor is the mark of a good mercenary,” Randel didn’t blink.
“Or the mark of someone who isn’t a mercenary at all,” Kaelan smiled thinly. “I was a slave. I learned to read men. A slave looks at the floor. A soldier looks his commander in the eye. And a master… a master looks at everything as if it already belongs to him.”
He leaned forward.
“You look like a master. At my city. At my warriors. At my Reaper.”
Randel held his gaze without flinching.
“I look like a man searching for answers,” he said. “That is my trade.”
“What answers?”
“I’m looking for a woman,” Randel spoke calmly, but his voice grew quieter. “She disappeared some time ago. I believe she may have come here.”
Kaelan’s expression didn’t change. But his fingers, resting on the table, slowly curled into a tight fist.
“There are many women here,” he replied. “Refugees, merchants, warriors’ wives. Which one is yours?”
“The one who wears black,” Randel said, looking not at Kaelan, but straight at the Reaper. “The one who never removes her mask. The one who appears out of nowhere and changes the course of battle.”
The Reaper didn’t move. The red lenses stared straight ahead.
Kaelan smirked.
“You’re looking for a woman,” he said, “yet you’re staring at my Reaper. You think there’s a woman under that armor?”
“I think some things cannot be explained by coincidence.”
“And what things would those be?”
“Black armor. A helmet that is never removed. Appearing out of nowhere. The ability to win battles where others lose.”
Kaelan laughed loudly and genuinely.
“Did you hear that, Reaper?” He turned to the black figure. “This mercenary is looking for a woman and thinks it’s you.”
The Reaper remained silent.
“Will you say anything at all?” Randel asked, staring into the red lenses.
Silence.
“He doesn’t speak to strangers,” Kaelan said. “That’s my job — to talk. His job is to act.”
“Or to hide,” Randel didn’t look away from the helmet. “You can stay silent. You can stand aside. But I saw you freeze when I spoke her name at the gates. You know that name. You know her.”
The Reaper didn’t stir.
“Reaper,” Kaelan’s voice grew harder. “Answer him.”
Silence.
“I said answer him!” Kaelan raised his voice.
“There is nothing to answer,” the Reaper’s voice rang out, metallic and empty. “I do not know this woman.”
“You’re lying,” Randel took a step forward.
“Mercenary,” Kaelan stood up. “I understand you’re looking for someone. I understand your pain. But my Reaper is a man. He saved my life. He saved the lives of my people. He married the daughter of the Forest Clan chieftain, and she carries his child under her heart. Are you saying that this… is a woman?”
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Randel froze.
A child.
He looked at the black armor, at the helmet, at the crossed arms. Nothing. No clue. No hint.
“I want to see his face,” Randel said.
“No,” Kaelan shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because his face is his secret. He has the right to keep it. Even from me. Even from you.”
“I’ll pay,” Randel didn’t back down.
“There is no coin for that,” Kaelan smirked. “I was a slave. I know the value of freedom. My people do not sell their own.”
Randel looked at the Reaper. The red lenses stared straight through him.
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “I will come every day. I will ask questions. I will watch. Sooner or later you will grow tired of staying silent.”
“Or you will grow tired of searching,” Kaelan shrugged. “That is your right. But if you lay a hand on my Reaper — I will crush you myself. And I won’t care how many swords you have.”
Randel nodded.
“Agreed,” he said.
He turned and walked out without looking back.
When the door closed, Kaelan sank back into his chair.
“He won’t leave,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”
The Reaper remained silent.
“You should have told him,” Kaelan looked at the black figure. “Or told me earlier who you really are. I looked like a fool when he spoke about a woman and I kept insisting you were a man.”
“You handled it well,” the Reaper’s voice was quiet. Tired.
“I handled it,” Kaelan nodded. “But what now? He will come every day. He will watch. He will ask questions. Sooner or later he will start to doubt. And then he will find a way to check.”
“I know.”
“And what will you do?”
The Reaper was silent for a long time.
“I don’t know,” he said at last.
Kaelan looked at his sister. At the black armor that hid her from the entire world. At the helmet behind which she hid even from herself.
“You love him,” Kaelan said. It wasn’t a question.
“It doesn’t matter,” the Reaper turned toward the door. “We have more important concerns. The Khan is gathering an army.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m doing what I must,” the Reaper headed for the door. “As always.”
He walked out.
Kaelan remained alone. He stared at the closed door, and in his eyes was a pain he showed to no one.
That evening, Randel gathered the knights.
“Kaelan knows who I am,” he said. “That much is clear. He is protecting the Reaper. Too fiercely. Too convincingly.”
“Perhaps it really is a man?” Falk asked.
“Perhaps,” Randel didn’t argue. “But I want to be sure.”
“How?” Erhard asked. “If they don’t let outsiders near, don’t show his face, and don’t speak about his past…”
“We’ll find a way,” Randel said, looking out the window. “I will attend their training sessions. Watch. Listen. Wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“A mistake,” Randel smirked. “Or a sign.”
Night fell over the city quickly.
Amanda stood on the wall, gazing out into the steppe. The wind tugged at her black cloak, but she felt no cold — only the heavy weight in her chest that had not left since the moment she saw him at the gates.
He was here.
He was looking for her.
He would not leave.
She knew it with the same certainty that the sun would rise tomorrow. Randel was not the kind of man who gave up. He would come every day. Watch. Wait. Search for a crack in her armor.
And she… she could feel that crack growing wider with every second he was near.
“You’ve been standing here for an hour,” Mia’s voice came from behind her. “I was waiting for you in the tent.”
Amanda didn’t turn.
“I can’t,” she said. “My thoughts won’t settle.”
Mia walked up and stood beside her. Tall, graceful, with a wolf’s fluid movement in every step. Her eyes glowed amber in the darkness.
“Is it because of that mercenary?” she asked.
“What makes you think that?”
“I saw the way you looked at him from a distance,” Mia smirked. “How you froze when he started speaking.”
Amanda stayed silent.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Mia took her hand. “I’m not demanding the truth. I just want to know… is this dangerous for us? For you?”
“I don’t know,” Amanda’s voice was hollow. Metallic. “He’s searching. He’ll find out. Or he won’t. I don’t care.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
Yes, Amanda wanted to say. More afraid than of the Khan’s army. More afraid than of death. Because he alone could destroy everything she had built. Because he alone knew who she truly was. Because when he looked at her… she forgot who she had become. He looked at his woman.
“I’m not afraid of anyone,” she said instead.
Mia looked at her for a long moment, intently. There was something in her eyes Amanda couldn’t quite read — jealousy? Suspicion? Or simply worry for the one she considered her husband?
“You’re strange tonight,” Mia said. “Quieter than usual. More… distant.”
“It’s the war,” Amanda replied curtly.
“It’s not just the war,” Mia stepped closer. “You’re trembling. I can feel it.”
“The wind is cold.”
“The Reaper doesn’t feel the cold,” Mia smirked. “You told me that yourself.”
She moved right up to her, placing her hands on Amanda’s shoulders — over the cold black armor.
“Look at me,” she said.
Amanda turned. The red lenses met amber eyes.
“I don’t know what’s going on inside your head,” Mia said softly. “I don’t know who you really are or what you’re running from.”
“Mia…”
“Let me finish,” Mia pressed a finger against the place on the helmet where lips should have been. “I don’t know any of that. But I know one thing: you saved me. You saved my people. You became my husband. And I love you. Not for your face. Not for your name. For who you are.”
Amanda froze.
Something churned violently in her chest. For quite some time now she had been the Reaper — cold, faceless, impenetrable.
Amanda didn’t finish the thought.
From the corner of her eye, through the narrow red lenses, she caught a movement.
At the window of the inn.
Randel was standing there.
He was watching them.
Amanda could see his face clearly — the distance wasn’t great.
And something clicked inside her head.
“He wants to see my face? He wants to know who I am? Fine. I’ll show him. But not the way he expects.”
“Mia,” she said.
“What?”
“Do you want to see my face?”
Mia froze.
“You… will allow it?”
“Not the whole face,” Amanda raised her hands to her helmet. “Just the lips. So you’ll know… what I feel.”
She slowly lifted the helmet.
Only up to her lips. Just enough for the cold night air to touch her skin. Just enough for Mia to see what no one else had seen — not even Kaelan, not even those who considered themselves close.
Mia stared, breathless.
“You…” she whispered. “You allowed…”
“Don’t say anything,” Amanda looked at her, pain burning in her eyes behind the red lenses — pain Mia could not see. “Just… accept it.”
She leaned in and kissed Mia.
Gently. Slowly. The way one kisses someone dear. Someone needed. Someone who is here.
But this was not just a kiss.
It was a shot.
She could feel Randel’s gaze. She could feel him watching — watching the black armored figure kissing a woman. She could feel his certainty crumbling.
“Look,” she told him silently. “Look and understand. I am not the one you’re looking for. I cannot be her. I am the Reaper. I am a man. I am a stranger. Leave me. I will return if I survive.”
Mia returned the kiss, unaware she was kissing a woman instead of her husband.
Her arms wrapped around Amanda’s neck, fingers clutching the edge of the helmet. She pressed herself close with a passion she had never shown before — perhaps because for the first time she felt her husband was truly opening up to her. Or perhaps because she feared it would never happen again.
They broke apart.
Mia was smiling. Her eyes were shining.
“I love you,” she said. “Even without seeing your face again. Even without knowing your name. I love you, Reaper.”
Amanda lowered the helmet.
“Let’s go to the tent,” she said in her metallic voice. “It’s cold.”
She took Mia by the hand and led her toward the stairs without looking back.
Not once.
At the inn window, Randel couldn’t breathe.
He had seen everything.
How the Reaper lifted the helmet — just enough to reveal the lips. How the woman beside him froze, then smiled. How they kissed.
How the Reaper kissed a woman.
His fingers dug into the windowsill so hard the wood cracked.
“She’s not her,” the thought slammed through his mind. “The Reaper is a man. He has a wife. He’s kissing her. In front of everyone. On the wall.”
Logic screamed: you were wrong. Kaelan told the truth. The Reaper cannot be Amanda.
But deeper inside, where logic had no place, something else was screaming.
She knew you were watching.
She did it on purpose.
She wanted you to see.
“My lord?” Erhard’s voice came from the darkness of the room. “Did you see?”
Randel didn’t answer.
He kept staring at the wall where the black figure had vanished into the night, leading the woman away. The woman who called the Reaper her husband. The woman who loved him without knowing the truth.
Or did she?
“No,” he thought. “She doesn’t know. No one knows. Except Kaelan. And maybe me.”
But certainty was gone.
For the first time in a year, he wasn’t sure.
“My lord,” Erhard stepped closer. “Your hand…”
Randel looked down. Blood was dripping from his fingers — he had shattered the windowsill, and splinters had driven into his skin.
“It’s nothing,” he pulled his hands away from the wood. “It’s nothing.”
“What did you see?”
Randel was silent for a moment.
“I saw the Reaper kiss his wife,” he said. “On the wall. In front of everyone.”
Erhard frowned.
“And what does that mean?”
“It means either I’ve been wrong this entire year,” Randel stared at his bloodied fingers, “or she’s playing her role better than I thought. I don’t know a fucking thing anymore!”
“Do you still believe the Reaper is her?”
Randel didn’t answer.
He stared into the darkness where the black figure had disappeared. In his mind, the scene played over and over again. The Reaper lifting the helmet. Leaning toward the woman. Their lips meeting.
And one detail that refused to let him go.
The Reaper had lifted the helmet only after looking toward the inn.
He had known he was being watched.
He had done it on purpose.
“She wants me to doubt,” Randel said quietly. “She wants me to back off. My clever little girl, ha!”
“Or she wants to prove that you’re wrong,” Erhard noted.
“Or that,” Randel gave a crooked, bitter smirk. “But why show it right now? Right when I arrived? Right when I started asking questions?”
Erhard stayed silent.
“If I were a man hiding my face and my secret,” Randel continued, “I would do everything possible to avoid drawing attention. I wouldn’t kiss my wife in front of the whole city. I wouldn’t give anyone reason for gossip.”
“And what did the Reaper do?”
“The Reaper did everything so that I would see it,” Randel turned to the captain. “He waited until I approached the window. He made sure I was watching. And only then did he lift the helmet.”
“That’s…” Erhard frowned. “That’s strange.”
“It’s desperate,” Randel corrected him. “It’s a desperate attempt to make me doubt at any cost. To make me retreat. To make me leave.”
“And will you retreat?”
Randel looked down at his hands. The blood had already dried, and splinters still jutted from his skin. He began pulling them out one by one, without flinching.
“No,” he said. “Now I know for certain.”
“Know what?”
“That she’s afraid,” Randel pulled out the last splinter. “That she doesn’t want me to learn the truth. That she’s willing to do anything to make me go away. And that… that proves I’m right.”
He stepped closer to the window.
“Tomorrow we go to Kaelan,” he said. “We’ll tell him we’re ready to fight. We’ll stay close. We’ll watch. We’ll wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For the moment when she gets tired of being the Reaper,” Randel looked at the wall where the black figure had stood just moments ago, “and wants to become herself again.”