Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a good day to be paw-deep in blood, or so Dahrassa told herself. A better day would have involved less of the stench—rot, damp fur, and whatever it was Reachmen ate—but ambition rarely smelled sweet. Her mother would’ve called it a disgrace, a low point for a daughter who’d always failed to meet expectations. But her mother wasn’t here.

Her mother, soft-pawed and silken, hadn’t trained in the dark corners of the world, honing spells that didn’t sparkle but twisted. She hadn’t dreamed of shadow-cloaked assassins and the deadly elegance of Naryu Virian. No, her mother would have settled for mediocrity, and Dahrassa had left mediocrity behind along with her family’s disapproving glares.

The cavern reeked of death and damp. Her amber eyes fixed on the object of her mission: a heart, shriveled and grey, its once-vibrant red flesh now a patchwork of rot. The original heart of Briarheart Chieftain Iazi Ducdew. It was the key to freeing the Morag Tong from the ghost of its own making, a vengeful spirit who haunted the guild like a curse.

"Retrieve it, purify it, and be done with him." That was the mission. The words had been spoken by a sneering assassin whose amusement at her expense had burned brighter than the candlelight in the guild hall. The Morag Tong thought her a joke. Even Naryu’s agreement to partner with her hadn’t stopped their smirking.

But Dahrassa wasn’t a joke. She was the punchline waiting to be delivered.

Her whiskers twitched. The heart pulsed faintly, a reminder of the magic binding it to its former body. Briarhearts were creations of Hagraven magic—spirit, body, and heart, fused into unholy life. Removing the heart could break the curse, but desecrating one came with risks. Risks she was already neck-deep in.

A sound echoed through the cavern, the unmistakable scrape of talons on stone. Her fur bristled as she caught the scent: old feathers and bile. A Hagraven. No wonder the heart had been left untouched.

"This is a problem," she muttered, ears flattening.

Dahrassa’s magic wasn’t for fighting. She had trained in illusions, spells to deceive and confuse, but against a creature like this, they’d be little more than flickering shadows. Running wasn’t an option either—not without the heart.

Her gaze flicked back to the heart. No hands. She couldn’t carry it. A spell might transport her but not the heart. Her tail lashed nervously. She could leave it and fail the mission. She could go back to being the joke they all thought she was.

"No," she growled. Ambition wouldn’t let her.

Her throat tightened as she made her decision. She would carry it—inside. The thought made her stomach churn, but the approaching screech of the Hagraven silenced her hesitation.

She lunged, sinking her teeth into the cold flesh of the heart. It tasted of decay and magic, and her body rebelled, a shudder rippling through her frame. She gagged but held firm, her mind already summoning the teleportation spell. The heart throbbed faintly as if in protest, but she wove the spell tightly around herself.

The teleportation was rushed, her concentration broken by the rancid taste in her mouth. She miscalculated. Instead of a smooth landing, she was flung out of the spell like a tangled ball of yarn, crashing into the damp grass outside the cave.

A shadow loomed over her before she could untangle herself, and a dagger whizzed past her head, embedding itself in the dirt beside her.

“Clumsy,” Naryu’s voice drawled, equal parts amusement and disdain.

Dahrassa spat the heart onto the ground, gasping as the taste lingered on her tongue. “Ugh,” she coughed, pawing at her muzzle. “I got it, didn’t I?”

Naryu’s dark eyes flicked to the heart, then back to Dahrassa. “Creative.” She crouched, inspecting the organ with the practiced detachment of someone used to such horrors.

As Naryu worked to purify the heart, Dahrassa’s body trembled. The faint warmth from the heart spread through her, a tingling that didn’t fade even after she spat it out. Her paws twitched involuntarily, and her tail lashed in agitation.

“It’s done,” Naryu said, rising gracefully. She offered no praise, only a glance that might have held the faintest glimmer of approval. “Let’s go.”

They returned to the hideout, and the spirit of Iazi Ducdew was gone, his torment ended. The Morag Tong welcomed Dahrassa into their ranks, citing her cunning and dedication.

But Dahrassa barely heard their words. Her body betrayed her—her paws tingled, her ears twitched, and her eyes, once honey-bright, now bore dark flecks that shimmered in the moonlight.

That night, in her dreams, a voice whispered. It promised power, whispered secrets, and spoke of the hunt. Hircine’s voice.

When Dahrassa woke, the taste of the Briarheart lingered, not unpleasant but tantalizing. The hunger stirred deep within her.

"Just once more," she thought.

And she smiled.