It took Leo five more days of rigorous training to master all twenty-five arm replications, by the end of which his control over the [Shapeshift] technique had improved by leaps and bounds.
"I think I’ve finally got the hang of it," he said, rotating his shoulder with a relaxed ease he hadn’t felt all week. "Hopefully, it won’t take me this long to morph the other body parts."
The Twelfth Elder gave a slight nod of approval.
"Once you’ve fully mastered one section, the rest of the body tends to follow more easily. Most parts are simpler in parison... though you will still struggle when it es to the face."
He paused for emphasis.
"That’s the most difficult. But the rest, you should be fine."
The elder’s words weren’t particularly warm, but the subtle note of validation in his tone was enough to reaffirm Leo’s progress.
pared to him, Veyr was still lagging behind slightly, having pleted only eighteen of the twenty-five arm configurations. Still, he had made steady progress of his own, with each day bringing sharper control and clearer understanding of the technique.
"You boys have been training nonstop for a full week," the Twelfth Elder said, finally setting the slate aside. "Tomorrow will be a rest day for you both."
Leo exhaled, relieved at the thought of a brief pause.
"Skyshard, you’re scheduled to return to Juxta for the day..... mander Charles wants you.
And as for you, Veyr... you’ll acpany me to the capital to attend the annual Autumn Festival."
"The moners are excited to celebrate with the new Dragon," he added, his tone softening slightly. "And they’ve prepared a few special events in your honor."
Leo glanced at Veyr, one brow raised.
The younger cousin seemed caught off guard at first, his expression tightening for a moment, clearly unfortable by the idea of attending a public festival where he was the centre of attraction.
However, he soon nodded in acceptance.
"If I finish early at the festival," Veyr asked, "can I e back here to train? I don’t want to fall too far behind cousin."
The Twelfth Elder shrugged.
"If you want to spend your only rest day training, you’re free to do as you please."
—-----------------
(Meanwhile, Planet Vorthas, Capital City, The Merchant District)
Dupravel moved like a shadow through the cobbled lanes of the capital, his pace unhurried, his hood drawn low over his brow.
Having reached the heart of a Cult City, he changed his appearance to mimic that of a mon traveller, with a sun-touched skin, streaks of gray in his beard, and the faint smell of saltwater still clinging to his clothes, despite him having reached shore three days ago.
Every step he took was measured, every glance purposeful.
He passed by fruit stalls, incense vendors, and smithy workshops, absorbing the city’s rhythm, feeling its pulse, gauging how tightly it clung to its routines and how easily it might fracture.
Tomorrow, they said, was the Autumn Day Festival.
And the streets were already stirring with excitement.
"You think they’ll bring the new Dragon through Central Square or down the old canal route?" a woman asked as she leaned across her flower cart to gossip with a neighboring vendor.
"Central Square, for sure," the man replied confidently. "That’s where they’ve built the main stage. It’s tradition, isn’t it? The Dragon greets the twelfth elder from the high steps, then they start the ceremonial dance and fireworks."
Another voice chimed in, a tall guard laughing with his partner at the corner tavern. "The procession starts at the Northern Gate. es down Hawkspire Avenue, cuts across Riverbend Lane, passes Sunsteps Market, and ends at Central Square. Same route as thirty two years ago, when Dragon Noah participated in the Autumn Festival."
Dupravel’s stride didn’t falter, but his ears locked onto that sequence like a vice.
’So it starts at Northern Gate, then Hawkspire, Riverbend, Sunsteps, before finally ending at Central Square.... Got it!’ He thought, as he drifted into a narrow alley as if pulled by curiosity, but once alone, he stepped into the shadows and closed his eyes for a moment, mentally reconstructing the city map he had memorized during his infiltration.
Each named location lit up in his mind like pieces on a chessboard.
Hawkspire Avenue: too broad, too many guards, and too many sightlines.
Riverbend Lane: good corners, narrow angles, but far too crowded with locals and impossible to control.
Sunsteps Market: better. The stairs created elevation. The roofs nearby offered solid angles. And the congestion here, if manipulated properly, could be weaponized.
Dupravel opened his eyes.
That was the spot.
He made his way toward Sunsteps Market with renewed focus, weaving through shortcut alleys and back lanes, until he arrived at the three-tiered stairway plaza overlooking the vendor strip. The place was already being decorated with lanterns and cloth banners.
He studied every detail.
The rooftops of nearby buildings.
The blind spots in patrol movement.
The merchant carts that could conceal traps.
The crowd flow and where it would bottleneck.
The slope of the stairs and how someone might tumble if pushed just right.
He imagined it all and that too from every angle.
Then came the planning.
Step One: Distraction.
He would create chaos at the market entrance. A firework cart tipping over. Or better yet, a small explosion. Harmless enough not to trigger a lockdown, but loud enough to draw guards away from the procession path. That was his opening signal.
Step Two: Crowded Surge.
He would time it just as the procession reached the midpoint of Sunsteps. With the guards’ attention pulled toward the plaza’s edge, the formation around the Dragon would loosen. That would be the precise window he needed to move.
Step Three: The Kill.
He would take the height advantage. One of the awnings, or more preferably, the roof of the spice shop on the eastern stairs. From there, he would have a clean shot at Veyr’s collarbone using a poison-dipped throwing blade. Aimed to disable, not kill immediately. That would buy him enough time to approach the boy himself and finish the job properly.
Step Four: Safe Retreat.
He ruled out a rooftop escape. Too obvious. Instead, he would fall back through the sewer grate near the far fountain, already loosened earlier that day to avoid delays. It would be quick, clean, and untraceable.
He had done this before.
Too many times to count.
Everything was accounted for.
Dupravel crouched near the edge of the spice shop’s roof, now lightly disguised as a visiting clerk. He ran the plan through his mind again, removing variables, identifying weaknesses.
Wind speed.
Guard rotations.
Civilian interference.
Mana detection spells.
He had answers for all of it. He always did.
This wasn’t a reckless murder.
It was an act of surgical retribution.
’If everything goes right, the crowd will scream, the guards will scatter, and by the time they realize what happened, the new Dragon will already be bleeding out in his own parade.
If I pull this off, I will finally have my life back. I will finally have a chance to have my son back. And this time, I will find a way to bring him back, no matter what!’ Dupravel thought, as he let out a resolute sigh.
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