The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light reflecting off the polished obsidian walls of the Velrunian Castle. The castle was a monolith of grandeur, its spires stabbing into the heavens like accusatory fingers. Large banners adorned with the king's emblem—a golden lion devouring a serpent—draped over the towers. The air was cold, laced with the faint scent of dew and steel.
Agent X stood poised atop a nearby oak, his silhouette merging with the shadows. His lean frame was cloaked in black leather, snug but flexible, designed for both mobility and concealment. His heels, striking crimson stiletto boots, gleamed faintly. To an outsider, they might seem impractical, but to him, they were tools of precision. Each step balanced and calculated, each movement intentional.
