The forest clearing was bathed in the cool, spectral glow of the crescent moon. The sound of the waterfall, a ceaseless, rhythmic roar, was the only natural noise.
Beside the churning pool, Armin—clean-shaven, his lean frame resting cross-legged, the handsome angularity of his face lending him a youthful air despite the long strands of grey hair tied back into a neat bun, opened his eyes abruptly.
The reflection of the moonlight on the polished surface of the longsword across his lap vanished as his deep concentration was broken.
A twig snapped behind him.
He didn't turn immediately, but a second later, a figure emerged from the dense shadows of the trees.
It was a creature of unsettling design: skin the colour of dark, rich mahogany, heavily crisscrossed with numerous red, spiraling tattoos that seemed to pulse in the moonlight. His hair, green and stiff like sharp, spiked blades, raked backward from his forehead.
