The city of Ebonveil was a graveyard of forgotten ruins and whispered regrets.
Under the dying light of the moon, shadows draped every crumbling wall and broken spire like funeral shrouds.
High above the deserted alleys, the Watcher crouched among the ruins of a collapsed bell tower, his body as still as a statue.
Below, moving carefully through the crooked streets, was Elias.
He was the reason the Watcher was here.
Weeks ago, Elias had entrusted him with a mission.
A private thread spun quietly in the dark, entrusted only to that person — the Watcher.
He had obeyed without question.
He had hunted.
He had found.
And now Elias was here, following the trail the Watcher had uncovered.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned — until he noticed her.
From the ruined framework of an abandoned tea house, nearly swallowed by ivy and decay, the Watcher's trained eyes caught the faintest flicker of movement.
A figure.
Small. Agile.
A presence cloaked in stealth, her spiritual essence carefully muffled against detection.
A female stalker.
She moved like a ghost, her body melting into the shadows as she tracked Elias with almost supernatural patience.
Her movements were refined. Calculated.
Whoever she was, she was no ordinary spy.
The Watcher's lips thinned beneath his mask.
Had he been even slightly less vigilant, she might have slipped past his notice entirely.
But now he saw her.
And he understood immediately — this was no coincidence.
Someone had sent her.
Yet he did not move to capture her.
Not yet.
Instead, he let her continue.
Follow Elias.
Deeper.
Further.
Let her step into the trap herself.
The Watcher remained a shadow among shadows, keeping pace above the rooftops as Elias approached the target—the rusted, ancient gate at the far edge of the slums.
The air around the gate trembled with dormant power.
Long-forgotten sigils lay buried beneath layers of rust and grime, their faded outlines whispering of seals and bindings far older than the city itself.
Elias paused before the gate.
The Watcher tensed, ready for anything.
The female spy, emboldened by Elias's hesitation, crept closer from her perch, keeping just within cover.
Every fiber of her being focused on Elias, she failed to notice the true threat stalking her.
The gate groaned open under Elias's touch, releasing a slow, heavy exhalation of stale, ancient air.
A crack in the world.
And Elias stepped inside.
Without hesitation, the girl moved to follow, slipping through the opening just before the old metal scraped shut again.
The Watcher was a heartbeat behind her.
Inside, the air was different.
Thicker.
Older.
As if time itself hung heavy and still.
Ancient stone corridors sprawled beyond the gate, broken only by pools of dim, pale light leaking from cracks in the ceiling far above.
The walls were covered in worn inscriptions, barely legible—forgotten by history, but not yet erased.
And deep within these corridors… something stirred.
Elias moved forward, following the invisible thread of fate that guided him.
He paid no mind to the faint scuffle of a second set of footsteps behind him.
He already knew he was being followed.
The Watcher, however, was another story.
Invisible to both of them, he melted from shadow to shadow, never allowing his presence to touch the heavy air.
The female spy's breathing quickened.
Sweat beaded at her brow.
Even her refined stealth techniques were faltering now under the oppressive weight of the place.
And in that moment, she lowered her guard.
A fatal mistake.
Like a viper uncoiling from the gloom, the Watcher struck.
He descended upon her with terrifying precision—
One hand sealing her mouth to cut off any cry—
The other latching onto her wrist, wrenching it behind her back and twisting until she gasped against his palm.
She struggled, wild with fear, but the Watcher's grip was unbreakable.
His knee pressed into the back of her legs, forcing her to her knees without a sound.
She had been so careful. So skilled.
But it was not enough.
Not here.
Not against him.
The girl twisted violently, trying to drive an elbow into his ribs, but he anticipated it easily.
A sharp pressure to her shoulder joint immobilized her completely, pain locking her body into submission.
Her hood fell back during the struggle, revealing her face—
Young. Sharp-eyed.
A face not yet hardened by cruelty, but etched with fierce, stubborn determination.
No insignia. No markings.
A freelancer? A pawn of some greater hand?
Questions burned behind the Watcher's cold gaze.
But before he could begin his interrogation—
—from deeper within the ruins came Elias's voice.
"Teacher, this is Elias."
The Watcher froze.
The air changed immediately, a current of spiritual force surging through the forgotten corridors.
The stones themselves seemed to shudder, dust raining from the ceiling in thin, trembling streams.
The awakening had begun.
He had no choice.
With quick, ruthless efficiency, he struck a precise blow to the side of the girl's neck.
She sagged in his arms, unconscious, her struggles ending with a soft, defeated sigh.
Without a sound, the Watcher lifted her easily and concealed her behind a half-collapsed pillar, using scraps of fallen debris to shield her from sight.
He crouched low beside her limp form, blending into the ruin.
His eyes never left Elias, who now moved deeper into the ancient halls, reaching toward the legacy that had waited for him across endless years.
The Watcher said nothing.
He would not interfere.
Not yet.
But he remained ready.
Waiting.
Waiting for the moment Elias would need him again.
Waiting to uncover who had sent this girl…
…and what hidden hand dared to place pieces on a board already crowded with unseen players.
Beneath the ruined city, in the forgotten places where only dust and memory dwelled, the Watcher sharpened his vigilance like a blade.
The night was not yet done.
And the true game was only beginning.