The grey, rain-washed dawn following Adon’s vigilantism did little to lift the gloom clinging to the Resha Manor. It felt heavier than usual, mirroring the weight of Adon’s newfound resolve. The name whispered in her mind – The Bandaged One – a promise of power, wrapped in shadow and danger. After a solitary, tense breakfast where her father’s presence was a mere ghost at the table, Adon knew her next step wasn't in the city's underbelly, but within the very walls that were meant to protect her.

  Her first destination was Tark’s domain, a labyrinth of arcane clutter tucked away in a disused wing. The air, thick with the scent of old parchment, herbs, and reagents, was illuminated by the cool, steady glow of enchanted crystals and the warmer flicker of oil lamps. Tark, immersed in his research, looked up as she entered.

  "The analysis of the Sivarian Brandy procurement indicates Fitzwilliam remains the optimal conduit," he began, ever focused on their clandestine business.

  "Later, Tark," Adon interrupted, leaning against a shelf groaning under the weight of forbidden lore. "I need information of a different nature. Older. Darker."

  Tark’s scholarly focus sharpened into caution. "Specify."

  "The Bandaged One," Adon stated, the name feeling heavy and dangerous even in the relative security of Tark's sanctuary.

  Tark stiffened, his gaze darting towards the door as if the name itself might seep through the cracks. He pulled Adon closer to the lamplight, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Adon, that path leads to ruin. Pre-pantheon entities… they operate by rules we barely comprehend. The texts are fragmented, warning of unspeakable prices."

  "What do they say?" Adon pressed, ignoring the warning.

  Reluctantly, Tark retrieved a heavy, iron-bound tome from a locked chest. "A patron of secrets," he murmured, tracing brittle script. "A weaver of shadows. Associated with this sigil," he pointed to a faded spiral marking, "and places where the veil thins. 'Beneath the oldest stones,' 'where water meets forgotten prayers.' Oblique warnings. They don't trade in gold, Adon. They trade in…"

  "I understand the concept of cost, Tark," Adon cut him off, memorizing the sigil he copied onto a scrap of parchment. "Some prices are worth paying."

  She left him amidst his books and warnings, the strange symbol feeling cold against her skin. Tark’s knowledge was limited. But there was someone else within these walls who dealt in shadows, someone whose loyalty she had always taken for granted, yet whose past actions now seemed cast in a new, unsettling light.

  Elephant 'Elf' Montray, was the head butler of House Resha for nearly two decades, his imposing Dragonborn figure was a familiar sight, a symbol of the family's strength and security. He had been Altin’s trusted right hand in matters of protection long before Adon arrived. It was Elf who had found her, a fierce scrap of a girl on the streets, and inexplicably advocated for Altin to take her in. A loyal guard, seemingly moved by pity. Or so she'd thought.

  She found Elf late that evening, making his rounds near the seldom-used eastern gate of the manor grounds. Moonlight glinted off his bronze scales as he stood sentinel beneath an ancient oak, the very picture of steadfast loyalty. The air was cool, smelling of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine from the nearby gardens. A loyalty she was about to dissect.

  "Elf," she called softly, stepping out from the shadows of the garden path.

  He turned, his movements economical, precise. His yellow, reptilian eyes fixed on her. "Lady Adon," he rumbled, his voice the familiar sound of stones grinding together. His use of her formal title felt different tonight, less a sign of respect, more a careful placement of distance. "Is something amiss?"

  "That depends," Adon said, stopping a few feet from him. The faint light caught the blonde hair framing her deceptively innocent face. "I need to talk to you. About something… outside your usual duties."

  He remained impassive, watchful. "My duty is to the Resha family, in all matters."

  "Is it?" Adon challenged softly, holding his gaze. "Tell me about The Bandaged One."

  The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. A flicker deep within those ancient eyes, a slight tensing of the powerful muscles beneath his scales. He didn’t feign ignorance.

  "A dangerous name to invoke within these walls, Lady Adon," he replied, his voice lower now, cautious. "Knowledge of such entities is not common. Paying the price they require is even less common. Are you willing to pay an exorbitant cost?

  “Of course,” Adon answered, too quickly.

  Elf let out a low, rumbling sound that might have been a laugh. "Willing. Yes, I suppose you are." He stepped back, grasping his clawed hands behind his back. "You always were ruthless when cornered. Like that business with young Luan. Cleverly done, for a child. Inspired, even."

  Adon stiffened. Elf had never directly acknowledged Luan's death or her involvement before. His subtle suggestion years ago had been just that – subtle.

  "You planted the idea," Adon said, her voice cold. "You told me he'd cast me out."

  "I merely pointed out a potential future," Elf corrected smoothly. "You chose the path to avoid it. Resourceful." He leaned forward again, “Your mothers demise also seemed to come at an opportune time..” Adon felt a chill that didn’t match the warm evening air. What did he know? Had he always known? Or guessed? "How…?"

  "Let's just say," Elf interrupted, with light flickering off his bronze scales, "that some paths are guided. Some potential is recognised early. I didn't pluck you from the gutters on a whim, Sparrow. I saw the spark. The capacity." He paused, letting the implication hang heavy in the air. "And so did my Master."

  Adon's breath caught. "Your… Master?"

  "The one you seek," Elf confirmed, his voice barely a whisper now. "The Bandaged One. I have served Him for longer than you have walked this earth, child. He sees the threads of potential, the points of leverage in the world. He saw yours. My task was simply to place you where that potential might flourish. Or fester."

  Adon stared at him, processing the revelation. Elf, the polite butler who’d seemed like a chance protector, a loyal servant had been an agent all along? Serving this shadowy entity? Placing her with the Reshas, whispering poison in her ear about Luan… it hadn't been random kindness or cynical advice. It had been orchestrated. She was a piece in a game she hadn't even known she was playing. Anger warred with a cold understanding across her face.

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  "All this time," Adon whispered, feeling a strange mix of betrayal and grim understanding. "You served him, from within my father's own house."

  "My loyalty to Altin is genuine," Elf insisted, though his eyes remained cold. "He is a good man, but blind to the darkness gathering. He could not protect this family, this legacy, from what is coming. Only strength can do that. Ruthless strength. The kind my Master offers. The kind you possess. This power is the only way to truly preserve the Resha name." His gaze was intense. "He has been expecting you might seek Him out. Your recent activities, the 'Specter,' show you understand the need for proactive measures."

  Adon processed his twisted logic. Protecting the Resha legacy by binding its heir to a dark entity? Ensuring its survival through means Altin would abhor? It was monstrous, yet… it resonated with her own desperate ambition.

  "Then you can take me to Him," she stated, the decision solidifying amidst the turmoil of revelation.

  Elf nodded slowly, the movement deliberate. "He awaits. But understand, Lady Adon. Entering His presence is not like requesting an audience with a guild master. You make an offering. You strike a bargain. And His bargains are absolute."

  "I understand the nature of bargains, Elf," Adon snapped, her voice hard. "I'm ready."

  "Tonight, then," Elf decided. "The connection is strong. Meet me here when the manor sleeps, two hours past midnight. Come alone. And bring every shred of courage you possess."

  Two hours past midnight, the Resha Manor was tomb-silent. Adon slipped out of her room, dressed in dark, practical clothing, her daggers secure. She met Elf near the eastern gate as planned. He carried a hooded lantern, its light carefully shuttered. He gave her a solemn nod and led the way, not out of the grounds, but towards the oldest section of the manor's foundation, then through a cleverly concealed door hidden behind overgrown ivy, revealing steps leading down into the earth.

  The journey was much the same as she'd imagined from Tark's texts – damp tunnels, the air growing colder, the silence oppressive, broken only by the drip of water and their footsteps. Elf moved with unnerving familiarity through the darkness, his knowledge clearly extending far beyond the manor's official blueprints. This was part of his other life, his service to his shadowed master.

  Finally, they reached the a hidden pivot-stone door. Elf operated the mechanism, revealing the dark opening beyond. "He awaits your petition," Elf murmured, his usual rumbling voice hushed with awe or fear.

  Adon stepped across the threshold into the cold, circular chamber. The oppressive silence, the faint hum, the cracked altar, the unsettling carvings – it was all as Tark's lore and suggested. Elf lit the chamber dimly with his lantern, then retreated towards the entrance, assuming his all too normal posture of waiting subservience.

  Adon walked to the center, near the broken altar. She drew a deep breath, the icy air stinging her lungs, and focused her will, pushing aside the sudden, overwhelming sense of being watched by something ancient and vast.

  "I am Adon Resha," she declared, her voice steady despite the tremor she felt deep inside. "Heir to the Resha name. I seek the power to protect my legacy, to control my destiny, to eliminate my rivals. I seek audience and patronage with The Bandaged One."

  The silence that followed stretched, thick and heavy. Then, the cold intensified. The lantern flame danced wildly. Shadows writhed, coalescing before the altar into a horrifying, indistinct form wrapped in white bandages. The pressure mounted, and a cold voice echoed directly in her mind.

  "The Sparrow, nested within the house she seeks to rule. How fitting. You stand on sacred ground desecrated, child, surrounded by the echoes of your own necessary cruelties. The brother, poisoned by ambition you made your own. The mother, silenced when her suspictions became inconvenient truth. Yes. I know your heart, Adon Resha. I have watched its hardening. Elf has served well, nurturing the seed I saw within you."

  Adon remained still, refusing to show fear. "Elf serves you," she acknowledged. "Now I wish to bargain for myself."

  "Direct. Good." The voice held no warmth, only ancient calculation. "You seek power. To hold what you have? To seize more? To crush your enemies? To remake the world in your image? What do you want from me, Sparrow."

  "I desire control," Adon stated clearly. "Control over my business, over this city's underworld, over my own fate. I need the power to make others bend to my will, to see through deception, to walk in shadows, and to ensure the Resha name inspires fear and respect, not pity."

  "A bold request. Power demands payment. What price do you offer for such dominion, little mortal? Your fleeting loyalty? The tattered remnants of your soul? We have collected countless such things."

  "I offer value," Adon countered, thinking fast. "Secrets. Fischholme thrives on them. I will be your eyes and ears within the Merchant Council, the guilds, the hidden pathways of power. Influence. The Resha name still carries weight. I will wield it for your benefit, undermining your enemies, strengthening your position. Service. Point me to those who challenge the balance you maintain, and I will remove them."

  The entity seemed to consider this, the pressure in the room becoming almost unbearable. "**Secrets. Influence. Service." **The words resonated within her skull. "A tangible offering. Acceptable. You desire mastery over shadow, deception, fear. Very well. A pact can be forged. You shall wield the darkness that coils beneath the surface of the world, and within the hearts of mortals. Illusion shall be your shield, fear your weapon, shadow your cloak. In return... you shall be mine.

  Your secrets will be my secrets. Your influence, my influence. Your blade, my blade. When I command, you will obey instantly, completely. You will deliver unto me a tithe of all hidden knowledge you acquire. You will strike down those I name enemies. Betray me... and your end will be unimaginable. Succeed... and you shall hold the power you crave. Do you accept the terms, Adon Resha?"

  She looked at the terrifying form, then thought of her weak father, the crumbling business, the memory of helplessness on the streets as a child. She could never go back to that feeling. This was the price of control. Her control.

  "I accept," she declared, her voice ringing with conviction in the unnatural stillness.

  A bandage detached itself, flowing across the floor and rising before her. It darted forward, touching the inside of her right wrist. The cold was absolute, soul-deep, stealing her breath. When it retracted, the a sigil remained, etched in faint shadow. A barely perceptible but permanent mark of her bargain, pulsing with a cold, alien energy. Power flooded her senses – chilling, exhilarating, whispering secrets of shadow and fear directly into her mind.

  "It is done." The voice was already receding. "Learn your gifts, Warlock. Serve me well. Elf will provide counsel."

  The shadowy form dissolved. The pressure lessened. The unnatural cold remained, but now it felt… familiar. Part of her. Adon looked where the Bandaged One had stood and on the ground was a necklace with a glowing red gem. Adon approached it and stared, afraid to touch it.

  "A gift," Elf said as he approached, his usual stoicism overlaid with something new – perhaps shared understanding, or the caution of handling a newly empowered, dangerous asset for his Master.

  "I'm sure we will learn it's properties over time. Put it on."

  Adon reached down and scooped up the necklace in her hand. It seemed to hum with a power that resonated with the power from her sigil.

  "You are Marked, Lady Adon."

  "Marked," Adon repeated, looking at the faint sigil on her wrist. She felt the power thrumming beneath it, a dark promise. "And bound."

  "To power," Elf corrected, or perhaps justified. "The only true path to survival for this house." He gestured back towards the entrance. "Come. You must rest before morning."

  They navigated the tunnels back towards the manor, emerging near the eastern gate once more. Elf paused, then gave a slight, formal bow. "My Lady. I return to my duties." He turned, melting back into the shadows of the manor, leaving Adon alone in the pre-dawn gloom.

  She looked at the grand house, her home, her prison, her prize. It looked the same, yet everything was different. Even the guards walking the walls might be serving powers beyond her father's comprehension. She felt the cold mark on her wrist, a secret hidden in plain sight, and the nascent power coiling within her. The Resha legacy would be secured. She would make sure of it, using any means necessary, bound by a pact made in darkness beneath the very foundations of her inheritance. The game had new rules now, and she finally had the power to play to win.