Mazikeen strode towards the heavy brass doors and swung them open without bothering to knock. The cloaked guards standing on either side didn't try to stop her, either. They knew he was expecting her.

Mazikeen's fingers curled over the hilt of her dagger, which was attached to a secure, black belt strapped tightly around her petite waist.

Her thigh-high boots – made with the highest quality leather, tough and resistant in almost all weather – were soundless on the smooth marble as she silently weaved and blended with the shadows cast by the towering pillars within the capacious throne room.

She heard his voice before she saw him on the throne, his hushed whispers directed towards two of his followers standing beside him but echoing and bouncing off the pillars and walls into a mesh of incoherencies. The seat's gold embroidery gave the impression that it was glowing against the stark red leather material.

Mazikeen barely paid any mind to the dozens of cloaked figures standing silently at attention in a horseshoe shape around the throne. Today was an important day. It was The Choosing, and Mazikeen was to play a huge part in the selection process. It was safe to say that nobody seemed to have forgotten that fact either, for they quickly sidestepped away and allowed her into the middle of the semi-ring they had formed.

The air seemed to grow colder as she slowed her pace, stopping just a few metres away from the throne. The room seemed spellbound, locked in a trance due to some foreboding and tense silence. The only faint trace of sound came from Adiran's treasured fountain, just out of sight from her peripheral vision, hidden behind one of the larger pillars in the throne room. There were no windows, which meant no sunlight, and the hall suddenly reminded her of the peculiar dream she had been having. Darkness. Free-falling. An endless tumble towards death, it felt like.

"My lord," she said after a while had passed and he had yet to acknowledge her.

He nodded slightly, and she straightened, lifting her chin to match his steady expression.

His green eyes were catlike – both suspicious and watchful and nerve-wracking to gaze at for too long. Mazikeen often wondered if he could see right through a person's very soul - if that ability were even possible.

She had never seen the man in any other garments that weren't either black or red, and today was certainly no exception. Although his black clothing alone would no doubt be useful in situations where he'd want to bypass undetected, his magnanimous, dark cape was a clear indicator that he wanted the room's attention to be drawn to him and him alone. Still, his cloak hid the most important aspects of him – fooling the naivest into thinking his small build was an easy target.

Mazikeen knew better though. Beneath those misleading garments was barely a man but a skilled, ferocious beast with unsuspecting muscle and agility. Although his dark, chiselled hair was flecked with grey, he moved as nimbly as a cat. His age was hard to guess – his mocha-coloured skin hiding most wrinkle lines and aged flaws, but Mazikeen always suspected him to be in his forties, perhaps fifties, at most.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Adiran broke the silence, still maintaining eye contact, his gaze calm and calculative as he watched Mazikeen's every inhale, every exhale, every twitch.

Despite Adiran being the only man in the world she feared, he was - ironically enough - also the only man she respected, and she'd rather slit her wrists than demonstrate any signs of weakness to him. So, uncomfortable as he made the situation, Mazikeen dared not move or even glance at her surroundings until his dismissal.

His lips parted into a satisfied smirk, and he waved at the two followers by his side with a careless gesture. They immediately returned to their posts in the semi-circle's outer rims, standing just a little away from the rest of the initiates, despite the clear difference in their ranks.

Initiates always wore grey cloaks. Second-grade followers wore a desert-sand brown coloured cloak instead.

"Mazikeen, my little demon-slayer. My protegee. My Right Hand." His eyes flitted almost inconspicuously around the circle as he scanned the sea of new faces. Mazikeen could feel the tension rising in the room, the people's stares at her back, at the katana sword she kept strapped there. She knew Adiran was saying this more to instil fear rather than to compliment her, but Mazikeen couldn't help but swell with pride at hearing her lord regard her so highly.

"I think," he said, the faintest of smiles still evident on his face. "These initiates have stood here long enough. It's time they understand the true meaning of becoming a part of the Assassin League, don't you?"

Mazikeen felt her lips tug upwards into a small smile as she continued to hold Adiran's gaze beneath lowered eyelashes.

He gestured towards the room and Mazikeen turned to face the half-circle of possible future assassins. She instantly visualised the weapons on her, determining which ones she would use on this group. She had one dagger strapped to her hip, the katana sword on her back, the golden whip on her right hip, and another small dagger hidden inside her boot, strapped to her thigh. An electrifying thrill ran through her core as she fingered the dagger at her hip. She took a bet on herself - she'd be able to take down these two dozen initiates with one dagger alone.

"Now, now, Mazikeen," Adiran clicked his tongue. "They're only new. Let's even out the odds a little, shall we?"

Mazikeen didn't hesitate as she placed all her weapons on the ground, beside her - dagger included. Her lord was right. She didn't even need a weapon against these amateurs.

She held up her hands to demonstrate she was free of weapons. The room still appeared tense. It was clear they had all heard of her before. She supposed that being the protegee of Caedus's most infamous assassin came with some high expectations. Ones which she never failed to meet.

"Good. One against twenty-four. Sound fair?" Adiran posed the question in a manner that implied he didn't much care if anyone thought otherwise. What Adiran said, went, and to argue with him would be reminiscent of announcing your own execution.

Still, Mazikeen couldn't help but notice some had started to relax at this news. This was the part where they realised they could all go up against her at once. Everyone knew Mazikeen was good, but to oppose two dozen assassins-in-training, weapon-less? No one was that good.

And every single year this happened, those who underestimated Mazikeen found themselves sorely mistaken.

The twenty-four possible future assassins all stepped into an offending position, most of them clearly feeling more confident than they had moments before after glancing a few more times at the weapons Mazikeen had left on the ground.

One girl with auburn hair glanced between Mazikeen and the weapons sceptically, and to assure her, Mazikeen stepped further away from her weapons, giving the girl a tight-lipped smirk. Convinced that Mazikeen wouldn't make a last-minute leap for her weapons, the girl's shoulders relaxed, and she eyed Mazikeen with new-found confidence.

Mazikeen scanned each assassin, beginning to assess each one based on height, weight and physical build. She eyed each weapon chosen by her competitors. Axes, maces, short swords, daggers.

Mazikeen's smile widened. Amateur assassins holding those kinds of weapons with only three-months training prior? She could already think of twelve different ways she could kill them with her bare hands. But adding their own weapons into the mix? This gave her countless options.

As she suspected, the first who dared to step towards her was a big, burly man with an axe. He swung it in a way that made her shudder - not in fear, but in disgust. He was holding the weapon completely wrong, and as it turned out, his aim was atrocious.

Mazikeen swiftly side-stepped his weak attempt at striking her temple before launching herself towards him. Slippery as a snake, she was behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight dead-lock. Caught by surprise, he froze. In fifteen seconds, he was asleep.

She could have let go of him then and there. She could feel his limp body slumping against her small build. But there was no point keeping someone as uncoordinated as him. Adiran would have no use for him.

In thirty seconds, he was dead. She let his body slump to the floor in a heap.

The biggest man having been taken down in less than a minute, the rest of the room seemed momentarily frozen in time. Then, realising that their best chance was by fighting somewhat 'together', they all attacked at once.

Finally, Mazikeen thought in satisfaction. I might actually be able to work up a bit of a sweat now.

The next two to approach her were two sword-wielders. Big mistake. Mazikeen saw her opening opportunity the moment both had decided to go for a head swing, and she swiftly crouched to the ground, ready on her haunches to shoot back up the moment the deed was done.

Mazikeen barely registered the blood spill as both men missed her and spliced each other instead. By far, not the smartest, but Mazikeen had to admit both had magnificent swinging arms. Such a shame they had both managed to slice each other's heads clean off their necks. Their bodies only stood erect for a moment before dropping like sacks to the cold floor, blood spilling onto the smooth, white marble.

Mazikeen didn't have time to acknowledge the rolling heads as another three charged towards her, and she was up on her toes again. This time, her opponents were two girls and a boy, all three perhaps only a few years her junior.

One of the girls held a mace in a firm grip, while the other girl had two daggers in each of her hands.

Mazikeen raised an eyebrow. Two sets of daggers? More weapons didn't necessarily mean the person was better equipped or prepared for a fight. If anything, if this girl's dagger work wasn't impeccable, then she was pretty much signing her death wish.

The boy held up his short-sword and waited patiently. Mazikeen lifted an eyebrow. This guy was good. She didn't have to fight him to know that. She could tell simply by the way he was at ease with his stance and weapon.

The girl with the two daggers let out a grunt as she threw one of her daggers with deadly accuracy. Unfortunately for her, the girl's swinging arm was just a tad slow for Mazikeen's level of expertise.

Mazikeen caught the hilt of the dagger in mid-air, its point inches from her own forehead. Without blinking, Mazikeen turned the dagger and threw it back, lightning fast. It struck the girl's solar-plexus and she staggered backwards, clutching her lower stomach and dropping the rest of her daggers to the floor. The other girl with the mace used that moment of distraction to strike Mazikeen's ribcage.

Mazikeen stepped out of the way, but the weapon still managed to graze her. Nevertheless, Adiran's protegee barely winced. Instead, she focused her attention on the boy, who was swinging his sword towards her head now. She ducked backwards, watching the sword right above her face, splicing the air with one, clean cut that would have easily and effectively sliced her head open.

Impressive, Mazikeen thought. Then, mid-duck, she reached up and grabbed the hilt of the sword, surprising the boy. Her iron-like grip was crushing his hand and he let out a cry as she felt his bones cracking one finger at a time beneath her deadly hold.

She released him only when she spotted the girl's mace swinging towards her through her peripheral vision. It struck the boy instead as he untimely chose to double-over at that moment, clutching his hand. Noticing the change in target, the girl tried to reign back, but the mace was already swinging full in motion, and it smacked the back of his head with a sickly thump. The impact wasn't serious enough to instantly kill him, but it was certainly enough to knock him out cold, and Mazikeen was certain the boy would be left with a concussion, at the very least.

The girl faltered only for a moment when she watched the boy's body drop to the ground like a dead weight.

A moment too long. Adiran cared not for those who were hesitant. There was no room for it in the Assassin League. No guilt. No mercy.

The girl had to go.

Mazikeen shot towards her and grabbed the girl's mace arm, twisting hard so that she let out a shriek. She was about to finish the girl off when Mazikeen noted two more competitors behind her, one axe-wielder, another holding a short-sword.

The girl's grip on the mace now loose in her current, trapped position, Mazikeen was able to easily swipe it from her, and she smiled gleefully despite herself as she felt the familiar weight of the weapon in her possession. Before the man with the sword had a chance to strike, Mazikeen swung the mace at his sword-hand, effectively breaking it, her confirmation being that satisfying sound of bones crunching, followed by her victim's anguished scream.

Mazikeen then launched into a backwards kick, striking the unsuspecting axe-wielder behind her with a powerful blow to the chest that sent him flying backwards, the impact reverberating through her calf muscles. She simultaneously used the man's torso as a launchpad, twisting her hips around so that she could use enough memento to bring her mace down hard enough into a nice, clean sweep. The mace hit the sword-man square in the temples, his mouth wide open, one hand still clutching his broken one in obvious pain, his ongoing scream suddenly coming to a choking halt.

Dead in an instant.

Mazikeen dropped her weapon beside his lifeless body, just as the girl who previously owned the mace wrapped her good arm around the assassin's neck from behind.

Big mistake. Mazikeen lifted the weightless girl easily over her head and slammed her into the ground in front of her feet. The girl let out a ghastly gasp for air, her good arm still reaching out pathetically.

Mazikeen paused briefly. Perhaps she had been wrong about the girl. She was hesitant and a little clumsy in her skill work, but even when she was knocked out breathless, the girl appeared to have a fire in her, like she was prepared to fight for every last, dying breath.

Mazikeen left her there and turned towards the remaining eighteen competitors.

Sixteen. Ten. Four.

In less than six minutes, two competitors remained. One girl, one boy.

The boy trembled frighteningly under Mazikeen's glare. He attempted a weak charge towards her using his axe, slipped on someone's blood, and managed to fall on his own weapon, impaling his own head.

Pathetic, Mazikeen thought in disgust. Did he learn nothing in those three months he had to prepare for this day?

One competitor left.

It was the girl with the auburn hair who had initially cast her a suspicious look. Mazikeen turned her gaze towards the redhead, eyeing her chosen weapon - a single dagger.

Mazikeen smiled thinly. She liked this one.

The girl took one careful step towards the assassin, then two, and three. She lashed out towards Mazikeen, who prepared to side-step her, but the girl seemed to already be aware of Mazikeen's tricks.

The lash-out was a feint, and just as Mazikeen stepped to the left, she felt the dagger tear at her the skin-tight material of her black shirt, slicing the surface of her stomach, just above her ribcage.

Mazikeen hid her surprise. The girl had managed to make her bleed. Now that was impressive.

Feeling over-confident now, the girl struck out again and again, and Mazikeen swiftly stepped back, timing her reaction and attack times. The girl paused two seconds between each strike.

Mazikeen eagerly took her opportunity at the girl's next attack. She counted one and a half seconds, and just before the girl was about to pull back for another stab, Mazikeen grabbed the girl's wrist with one hand while placing her left palm on the girl's elbow. The girl instantly released her dagger as Mazikeen snapped her arm back while driving the girl's body into the floor. She could easily have finished her off then and there, but she had already made her decision when she observed the girl's cautious steps and calculating gaze. She was worthy enough to stay.

"Six, is it, this year?" Adiran's voice carried a hint of amusement.

Mazikeen glanced fleetingly at the pool of bodies surrounding her. Some alive, most of them dead. All unconscious, or near-to. Three girls, three boys. Those were the ones who remained, the ones who had succeeded in earning a place in the Assassin League. The six included: the boy with the impressive short-sword hand; the hesitant but determined girl with the mace; the fairly strong axe-wielder who had received a mighty kick to his chest; another axe-wielder who, while he might have been utterly useless with his chosen weapon, had surprising speed and agility; a girl with decent short-sword skills and more than adequate reflexes; and finally, the redheaded, suspecting girl - the patient, observant one with the single dagger.

Adiran stood from his seat, his black cape flowing magnificently behind him as he strode towards Mazikeen. His two followers in the brown cloaks had not moved since he had waved them both away, and both wore blank expressions as they eyed the bloodbath before them. Mazikeen secretly hoped they would spread the word to the rest of the league. Not only had she managed to kill and maim two dozen potential assassins in under a quarter of an hour, but she had done it without her own weapons, and Adiran had publicly allured to her skilful talent - the highest form of honour, coming from the Assassin Lord himself. If Adiran's followers weren't scared of her before, they should be now.

"An improvement from our four, last year."

Mazikeen only nodded her head in acknowledgement. She knew numbers didn't really matter all that much to Adiran. It was about who had enough potential to make the cut or not. What was the point of having worthless assassins in his league? He would not tolerate uselessness or laziness. There was no time to waste with weak, worthless beings, is what he always said.

"You're sure of these six?" Adiran's green eyes met her cold gaze once again.

"Yes." There was no time for uncertainty. Every now and again, misjudgements had been made during the selection process, but the worthless ones were always weeded out of the league, one way or another. This year, however, Mazikeen was confident she had selected appropriately, and that with some vigorous training, Adiran would be pleased with the end results.

"Come with me," he beckoned, and she followed silently after the lord assassin, careful to step over the unmoving bodies beneath them, avoiding the pools of blood so as not to leave bloodied footsteps in her wake – no one around this castle needed reminding who she was, what she was capable of. Mazikeen bent, swiftly picking up her beloved daggers, precious katana, and her priceless whip that she had left on the marble floor, before falling back into step with her lord. He signalled to his other followers, waving a hand behind him, and they instantly set to work.

Mazikeen remembered when she was a second-grade assassin. Those two would now oversee not only cleaning up the mess she had left but also gathering the surviving assassins-in-training and leading them to the healers of their league. Adiran usually gave the newbies a week to heal from any wounds inflicted upon them. After that, they were expected to obey the training schedule set up and follow through with every activity, no matter the weather or how sick they may get in the colder seasons. The first year of assassin-hood was always the toughest, in Mazikeen's opinion. But it was what determined who would make it into the league, and who just simply didn't have the capacity for it. Process of elimination. Her favourite method.

"Do you know why you've been chosen as my protegee, Mazikeen?" They were walking past the pillars, back towards the entrance.

"To serve you. To serve the league," Mazikeen answered automatically.

"No, no," he tutted. "Why specifically you?"

Mazikeen remained silent.

"Only you have the strength to do what needs to be done, Mazikeen. You and you alone can complete this mission I am about to give you. Everything I've taught you, Mazikeen... it will all make sense, soon."

Mazikeen suspected that the followers who had been posted outside the door as guards had heard their approaching footsteps or voices, for the doors opened just as they stepped up to the brass entrance. Adiran was the first to step out into the hallway, and the two followers standing on either side nodded their heads in polite acknowledgement as the two passed them. Mazikeen heard the doors shut quietly behind them.

The walls in the hallway were carved with drawings of the Ancient Ones, as well as the previous assassin lords, and other morbid, dreary paintings encapsulating the Great War. History shaped the present, Adiran always said. It was engraved into each being, much like these walls.

"Why now, my lord?" Mazikeen finally asked, when she saw he was going to say no more.

"Timing is everything," he replied, shifting his head to face her. "You needed to build your strength not just in body, but in mindset as well. What you must do is no easy feat. And I needed to ensure you have no inkling of weakness anywhere in here," he pointed at her temple, "and here". He moved his finger to indicate her heart.

He slowed to a stop and Mazikeen paused beside him as he lay one large, calloused hand on her shoulder.

"It's only a matter of time until that girl, Iris as she is so called on her planet, is brought here, to our world. She should be your easiest target. She'll be completely ignorant of our ways, of the people of Caedus and how things work around here. But..." the air seemed to shift uneasily between them, and Adiran looked at her with hard, piercing eyes. "Are you willing to kill your own blood for the league?"

Mazikeen's lips twitched into a small, cynical smile. "Blood means nothing over bond, my lord. And my liege is to you and only you. Once I find her, I assure you, I will not hesitate."

The assassin lord kept his gaze transfixed on hers, noting her hard, brown eyes that stared unfalteringly into his. Peculiar, yellow rings surrounded her pupils, and they flashed at him with unspoken bravado.

"Iris is your sister," he said warily, his words breezy yet distinct. "You say this now, but perhaps your family ties might render you..."

"No," Mazikeen snapped ferociously, her eyes brightening in anger. She tugged at her dark cloak to reveal her collar bone. A black mark decorated her skin. Two straight lines intersected like an 'X', and above that were three vertical, wavy lines, representing the symbol of fire.

"The only tie," she spat. "Is this damned thing. And I promise you, it means nothing to me. Less than nothing."

She had tried scorching the mark off several times, skinning it off, even changing the ink mark. But each method was to no avail. The flames had only seared a part of her skin, not the mark. The skin around the tattoo was as tough as nails, no matter which blade she tried. It was as if the black ink was completely impenetrable, and each inked pen snapped whenever she tried to cover the symbol it or change the markings.

"You cannot deny your birthmark," Adiran said plainly. "You are Agnimitra Caedusis, rightful heir of Caedus and princess to the Ignisians."

Mazikeen recoiled at her birth name, gripping the dagger at her hip with hot fury. "I am not. I will not answer to that name, ever. I would rather slice my throat and burn myself alive."

Adiran looked at her beneath lowered brows, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He was testing her. He wanted to see what her response would be. And by the looks of it, his smile said it all: she was ready.

"So, when the time comes..." Adiran began.

"I'll kill her," Mazikeen finished sharply, releasing her grip on the dagger's hilt. The corners of her lips tugged upwards into a cunning smirk as she met his cat-like gaze. "And I'll bring you her head as a prize."