An Assassin's Awakening

Something heavy and fuzzy tickled Kaelan’s skin. A pleasing warmth he should not have been feeling, not after everything he’d done. Every assassin knew what awaited them in the afterlife, and it was far from comforting. Yet, all he felt was at peace.

His heavy eyelids struggled open in search of confirmation.

Kaelan didn’t expect to awake at all, but if he did, he imagined waking in a dark prison cell with heavy shackles that dug into his wrists. Instead, he found himself on a bed of straw, with a thick wool blanket over him. A simple lantern sconce on the stone wall helped illuminate the space, but a small, ground-level window did most of the heavy lifting. The beginnings of a sunny day awaited outside.

He sat up with fluttering eyes. His head spun, while a sweet, nutty scent lingered from above.

Quiet whispers and rummaging came past the foot of the bed.

For a moment, his mind drifted. The whispers reminded him of another cellar. Another group of children. He noticed movement, two kids were messing with his stuff again, one reaching for his daggers. They didn’t know any better. Growing up in the streets didn’t teach you manners, but it did teach Kaelan how to survive.

“Careful,” Kaelan said. The child froze. “You’ll cut yourself.”

But the two kids didn’t laugh and run away like the little troublemakers usually would. Of course not. He was not back there anymore. There was no back there anymore.

A sharp pain at his side grounded him. A phantom pain. The injury should’ve been fatal, yet under the bandages, only a small scar remained. Kaelan rubbed his eyes. Past the foot of the bed were a pair of Maria’s children, not street kids.

They stepped back with stiff expressions. “Sorry,” one said. A curly headed girl with a missing front tooth. The other, a little boy with a thick brow, almost tripped over his own two feet.

Kaelan wasn’t sure what to make of all this. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The space was lined with stacked dusty wooden boxes, and in the corner, a rack of old clothes. They were tattered and beyond saving; even the best seamstress in the kingdom would have had trouble with them. At the far end, wooden stairs led up to a door, where a smidge of natural light spilled in through the small gap underneath.

And at that moment, the door swung open. It was a familiar face. Leo, as Kaelan had overheard days prior. The eldest of the undeveloped heartbeats.

“Maria said no one is supposed to come down here.” Leo’s voice was stern. He glared at Kaelan while the two little ones ran back up the creaky stairs.

“Sorry, big brother, Leo.”

Leo flicked his gaze at Kaelan’s belongings. At his daggers. “Maria should've taken them…” he muttered. “Who cares of it its ‘not polite to take other’s stuff without asking.’” Leo mocked quietly.

“We were just looking,” the little girl added.

“Yeah, well, it’s not safe.”

Kaelan observed. The boy kept his distance. “Breakfast is ready. Maria said you should go.”

“You’re letting me eat?”

Ridiculous. What a foolish woman, that one.

“Unfortunately,” Leo said. “Don’t leave her waiting.” He left the door opened a crack.

***

Kaelan forced his legs to move, each step up the narrow wooden stairs felt like a climb up the face of a cliff. Those two kids made it look easy.

He failed the job. He had no reason to be here. In fact, it was only a matter of time before another came in his stead, maybe the assassin he fought off, once recovered. It didn’t matter. His own head would no doubt be part of the equation, so the sooner he could leave, the better.

He pressed his palm against the rough, cold grain of the stone wall to steady himself as the world began to tilt. If he hurried, he could be out of the village before the sun fully cleared the ridge.

The wooden door creaked open into the pantry corridor where the hallway seemed to stretch and shimmer. Up ahead, that buttery, nutty lingering scent was strongest. He just had to get past it among a chatter of children. Should’ve been easy for an assassin, but the simple pine floorboards felt like they were made of water.

He traversed the deep hall without pause, finally reaching its end with a door leading out. He tried to keep that presence out of his mind. He felt it when he passed by the opening into the dining hall. It was the same presence that had snuck up on him the night prior.

Hopefully, she didn’t notice.

As he reached for the knob to leave this place for good, his hand slipped from the wall, and he stumbled. A metallic clack of his weapons hitting against the door rang out.

"You won't get far," a steady voice said.

Kaelan jerked his head up. Maria stood at the end of the short passage. She held a stack of wooden bowls and an expression not of fear or suspicion, but of the mild disapproval one might show a toddler who had climbed out of bed with a fever.

"I know what I'm capable of." Kaelan’s voice rang raspy.

"Do you now?" Maria stepped closer. "Yet, your body disagrees."

Kaelan straightened his back. "You healed me."

“I did.”

Such a simple response.

There was something else he needed to ask, but the right words wouldn’t come out. "I saw the light. The wound is gone."

"The wound is healed, your body still needs time," she explained simply. "Healing magic does not replace the blood you lost or the exhaustion in your bones.”

Kaelan clicked his tongue. “How long?”

“With the amount of trauma you suffered, about two weeks should do.”

Kaelan narrowed his eyes. He finally forced the words out. “But why would you—?”

“Come,” Maria interrupted with a warm smile. “Let’s eat breakfast.”

"Why are you telling me this? You aren’t going to ask why I tried to kill you?” Kaelan’s voice grew ever agitated.

"I was planning to," she replied calmly, tilting her head. "But after breakfast. It’s hard to have a serious conversation on an empty stomach. Now, come eat. Leo will complain that the porridge is getting cold."

She turned back toward the dining area, leaving him without choice. She had a disarming smile, but one that also somehow subtly made him fear what would come if he didn’t comply.

“Maybe this is a prison…”

***

Kaelan sat rigidly at the end of the long pine table. His eyes instinctively mapped the room—one door to the kitchen, two windows too small for a quick exit, and a heavy oak main entrance.

His daggers were missing, replaced by a wooden spoon that felt absurdly light in his hand, but that was strangely hard to keep grasped.

Maria was adamant to not carry them around the children. He had no reason to refuse, but if she’d found out one of the children nearly played with the sharp blades, who knew what would've happened. Wait, would it be a blessing in disguise? Maybe he’d be thrown out?

But Kaelan recognized the truth of his body. He really wouldn’t have made it far. Whoever was to come for his head would’ve had an easy time. Still, to heal him? To house him? Was she truly that naive? There was a strange innocence about her, and an even stranger presence she exerted at times. But naivete wasn’t quite the impression he truly got from her.

Kaelan shook his head. That woman is an enigma. He watched Maria finally sitting down and slapping on jam onto a slice of bread. Everyone else was already half-finished with their breakfast.

The chapel’s dining hall was a chaos of sound: the clatter of ceramic bowls, the high-pitched giggles of children, and Mother Martha’s stern but loving voice telling the kids to leave their plates empty. And of course, Leo’s glare.

“Are you a bad guy?” The question came from a toddler with a face smeared with jam.

Kaelan looked at the boy, then at the steaming bowl of porridge before him. “Maybe,” he finally replied with a mischievous grin.

Maria’s deceiving smile made it obvious he’d given the wrong answer.

He cleared his throat. "I'm a traveler."

"He’s a guest," Maria added. She leaned over and uncovered a basket with small, honey-glazed pastries. "And because we have a guest, we shall also have dessert for breakfast."

The room erupted. No further questions. 

Kaelan scoffed with a sarcastic grin. What a deceitful little nun.

“We should have scary looking men as guests more often!” a child cried out.

The grim tension Kaelan tried to maintain shattered under the weight of sheer, sugary joy. He watched Maria as she moved. She served every child their long-awaited pastry, checked Leo’s collar, and refilled Mother Martha’s tea without hesitation; much to her frustrated sighs.

"Maria," Mother Martha said sharply. "Your bowl is getting cold."

Maria blinked, looking at the empty space in front of her. "Oh. I forgot," she said with a small, embarrassed chuckle.

Kaelan’s grip weakly tightened on his spoon. This was the woman the High Inquisitor feared? A woman who healed fatal wounds but forgot to feed herself?

As the children finished and were ushered away by Mother Martha for their lessons, the dining hall fell into a heavy silence. Maria began stacking the wooden bowls.

Kaelan remained glued to his flimsy wooden chair.

"Why did you heal me?" he finally asked clearly. The question was a blade, meant to cut through the domestic warmth. "You should have let me die… Why am I still here?"

Maria didn't stop stacking the bowls. "Because you were hurt," she said simply. “And you need to recover if you want to leave.”

"That is not a reason. Not in this world."

“...” She remained silent.

“I tried to kill you.”

“...I’m aware.”

His voice cracked ever so slightly. When was the last time that happened? “Then why?”

Maria finally looked at him. She leaned against the table. “I don’t know.”

Silence filled the space between them.

“I don’t… really know, but… I saw something. And it was enough.” Her amber eyes were unflinching. “You stopped the other one. The one with the sickle and no life in his eyes.” She dropped her gaze. “He was going for the children. You protected them. It’s more than enough of a reason to. At least for me…”

Kaelan remained without word. His body had acted on instinct then. He’d long thought such feelings had vanished. This place was the worst. It preyed on buried sentiments that he’d rather forget for good. After so long, he was sure he had. But now…? He wished this place had been a mad mage’s tower instead.

“A fluke,” Kaelan said. “...Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn't change what I am.”

“Even so, it also doesn’t change the fact.” Maria gave a subtle smile. “And maybe it also means you are not only that.”

“A foolish notion.” Kaelan said, though his expression wasn’t too convincing. “And you are to trust an assassin under your roof for two weeks?”

“Regardless of if I fully trust you or not, I doubt you’d be able to do much in your condition.”

She wasn’t wrong. The longer he’d been up and about, the more Kaelan had come to realize how hard it was to even clutch a spoon, let alone wield a dagger.

“Besides,” she said, setting the stacked bowls down for a moment before continuing. “If you were to try anything—” a subtle, golden pressure seeped into the air—“especially with the children...” Kaelan’s assassin instincts made him take a step back. “...you may come to learn that I’m not as helpless as I may seem.”

A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. After a brief silence, the pressure vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by Maria’s usual gentle smile.

Kaelan cleared his throat. “I’ve no need for that. The job was a failure, so no reason for me to be here remains. In fact, the sooner I’m out of here, the better.”

“Good, then you’ve best rest up. You can leave as soon as you’re fit.”

Her deceiving, gentle smile remained unchanging. After bringing a tray for the rest of the dishes, she paused halfway toward the kitchen.

“Can I ask who sent you? Why me?” Her back remained turned.

“It’s best you don’t…”

“Alright. Then… Was someone forcing you?”

Kaelan looked at the grain of the wood. He didn't answer. He expected her to push further. Maybe use that strange pressure again. But she remained still, accepting his silence as an answer.

“You’re not angry?”

She shook her head. “A bit disappointed, I guess,” she muttered.

He would’ve preferred the anger. Kaelan sat in the silence while Maria disappeared into the kitchen. That word, “disappointed.” It almost stung worse than the fatal wound she had erased from his flesh.

Here, he wasn't trapped by the stone walls of the chapel, but by the unyielding kindness of the woman he tried to kill.