Inside the house—
Aldric chuckled, leaning back again.
"Or maybe he's just going sightseeing, hehe."
Lyriana raised a brow.
Aldric swirled the last of his drink. "He hasn't seen much of the world. Always lived in that oversized castle. Trees everywhere. Endless forest. No cities. No noise."
He tilted his head toward the door.
"But I don't know… it feels like he's going to rob someone."
The cultist stared. "You say that like you're proud."
"I am," Aldric replied smoothly.
Vaelith said nothing.
Her red eyes remained fixed forward.
—
Outside.
Evening settled fully.
Soft orange streetlights flickered to life, casting a warm glow across cobbled paths and shop windows. The air carried faint laughter, quiet conversation, and the distant click of doors closing for the night.
Draven walked calmly through it all.
Unhurried.
He unwrapped the pastry and took a bite.
"…Mm."
It was good.
Not extraordinary.
But good.
The cloak shifted near his neck—
A small movement.
The cat pushed its head out from within the folds, eyes half-lidded yet alert.
Draven glanced down.
Without stopping, he tore off a piece of pastry and held it up.
The cat sniffed once.
Then ate it neatly from his fingers.
Draven continued eating as he moved through the crowd, blending easily among the townsfolk. No one paid more than a passing glance.
A quiet stranger in a cloak.
He opened the drink and took a slow sip.
Cool.
Sweet.
Carbonated.
He passed a group talking outside a shop. A couple arguing softly near a doorway. A child tugging at her mother's sleeve.
Just another figure in the evening crowd.
He finished the drink.
Without breaking stride, he lowered the bottle and tilted his head slightly toward his shoulder.
A subtle shift beneath the cloak—
The slime rested there, barely visible.
Draven dropped the empty bottle onto it.
The slime absorbed it without resistance.
A faint, satisfied sound followed.
"Glurp."
Draven kept walking as if nothing unusual had happened.
The cat retreated deeper into the cloak.
Streetlights hummed overhead.
Shadows stretched long across the pavement.
His steps remained steady.
Uncertain destination.
Clear intention.
Somewhere behind him—
Night deepened.
And ahead—
The town waited.
Draven blurred—
Then vanished from the street.
One moment he was beneath the warm glow of the lamps.
The next—
He was above them.
A shadow crossing rooftops.
Silent.
Weightless.
His cloak barely stirred as he moved from tile to tile, boots landing without a sound. The town stretched below in quiet layers of light and shadow.
His thoughts sharpened.
*The female knight…*
The one he crossed at the border.
It wasn't obvious.
She hadn't shown recognition openly.
But her eyes—
She had seen his face.
She might have guessed.
And if she guessed—
She would act.
Perhaps she assumed he would seek shelter in the nearest town. A logical decision. She might already be investigating.
Watching.
Waiting.
Draven's gaze swept the streets below as he leapt another gap.
If she was here—
There would be signs.
Increased patrols.
Subtle disruptions.
Then—
A sound.
Faint.
Almost swallowed by the hum of the town.
Crying.
Draven's eyes flicked downward.
He didn't slow.
Crying was common in human settlements.
Children cried.
Adults cried.
It wasn't his concern.
He prepared to leap again—
But something caught his attention.
A detail.
A movement.
He stopped mid-transition.
Landed softly on the roof's ridge and crouched low, cloak folding around him like shadow.
His eyes fixed below.
The alley was darker than the street behind it.
A single lantern flickered weakly against the brick wall.
The crying wasn't a child.
It was a woman.
Yellow hair matted with sweat and blood, her back slammed against the wall as a man held her by the throat. Blood poured from her mouth, running down her chin, soaking into the front of her dress.
The man's eyes glowed red.
His mouth was stained.
Fresh.
Raw.
A chunk of flesh was missing from the woman's shoulder near her neck. Torn skin hung ragged, blood flowing freely.
He licked his lips slowly, savoring it.
A low, distorted chuckle escaped him.
"I couldn't hold myself back," he muttered, voice thick and uneven. "I was hungry… and you taste so good."
The woman weakly pushed at him, barely conscious.
Above—
On the rooftop—
Draven watched.
His gaze sharpened.
"A ghoul."
His voice cut cleanly through the alley.
Calm.
Flat.
But it carried.
The man froze.
Draven continued, still crouched, cloak draped like shadow.
"I thought there was only one of you."
A faint shift of wind brushed his hood aside just enough—
Crimson eyes glowed beneath the fabric.
"And yet," Draven went on, "that doesn't seem to be the case."
The ghoul slowly lifted his head.
He looked up.
And saw him.
A hooded figure perched above like a specter.
Red eyes staring down.
And just beside them—
From within the darkness—
Another pair of eyes.
Purple.
Unblinking.
The ghoul's lips curled back, exposing bloodied teeth.
Draven tilted his head faintly.
"So either," he said evenly, "you're very confident…"
A pause.
"…or you're a fucking moron driven purely by instinct to do something this stupid."
The ghoul tightened his grip on the woman.
His red eyes flared brighter.
The alley seemed to constrict under the weight of the standoff.
The woman whimpered.
Blood dripped onto the cobblestones.
Draven remained crouched.
Still.
Balanced.
Watching.
Waiting.
The night held its breath.