Nightfall cloaked the outskirts of the Great Forest, and the bustling market had quieted to a murmur. The once-vibrant streets were now dimly lit by scattered lanterns, casting long shadows over the alleyways. Rook moved through the darkness like a ghost, slipping between pools of light with ease. His movements felt smoother than usual, his senses sharper. The Cola he'd drunk earlier lingered on his tongue, but it was more than just the taste that stayed with him.
There was something different about the drink—something in how it had made his body feel. His muscles were relaxed but alert, his reflexes on edge, and his mind was sharper than ever before. It was strange, to say the least.
Of course, for anyone from Evan's world, the explanation would've been simple: caffeine. But in Rook's world? Well, caffeine was practically black magic.
The rogue smirked to himself as he approached the warehouse of Fenlow, a local fence. Rook had dealt with Fenlow before, selling stolen goods and rare trinkets, but tonight wasn't about trade. He wanted to test this newfound energy and see just how far he could push it. If the drink could really heighten his senses like this, he had to know its limits.
He crouched at the side of the warehouse, peering through a crack in the wall. Inside, Fenlow was hunched over a table, counting coins while two armed mercenaries leaned against the wall. Standard low-level thugs, likely hired to protect the stolen loot on display. But Rook wasn't here for the treasure. He was here for the thrill.
And maybe, just maybe, the caffeine rush was pushing him to take risks he wouldn't normally take. But Rook didn't know what caffeine was. To him, this was pure power.
He inhaled deeply, feeling that strange energy still coursing through his veins. His heart beat faster, but not out of fear—it was something else. He could feel every sound, every movement. He could even sense the faint shift of air as one of the mercenaries scratched his arm. It was almost as if the world had slowed down around him, giving him time to process everything.
Rook slipped around to the back of the warehouse, where a lone guard stood at the door. The man looked half-asleep, his head nodding forward as he fought to stay awake. Perfect.
Rook's grin widened. Time to see if this drink had really made him faster.
With a sudden burst of speed, he darted from the shadows, his dagger flashing as he pressed it lightly against the guard's throat before the man could even blink. The guard froze, his eyes widening in fear as he felt the cold steel.
"Make a sound, and I'll slit your throat," Rook whispered, his voice low and calm. The guard's lips trembled, but no words came out.
Rook could feel the adrenaline coursing through him—or maybe that was just the Cola. Either way, he was moving faster, his body more responsive than usual. Normally, he'd be a little more cautious, but tonight? Tonight he felt invincible.
With a flick of his wrist, Rook knocked the guard out cold, lowering him to the ground without a sound. It was almost too easy. His senses were still on fire—every shift of the wind, every creak of the wood beneath his boots was amplified, like his body had been tuned to perfection.
He slipped inside the warehouse, ducking behind a stack of crates. Fenlow was still talking to the mercenaries, haggling over the price of a large, glowing gem sitting on the table between them.
"Twenty silver coins?" Fenlow scoffed. "This thing's worth at least fifty, and you know it."
Rook's heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn't out of nervousness. The pulse of energy—no, caffeine—surged through him, making everything feel too intense, too real. His mind raced as he watched the men. He could anticipate their every move, every slight shift in posture. It wasn't just his reflexes anymore—it was like he could predict what they were going to do next.
One of the mercenaries reached for his belt, and Rook already knew he was going for his pouch. Fenlow leaned forward, and Rook could tell he was about to slam his fist on the table in frustration. Everything was laid out in front of him like a map. Clear. Predictable.
Rook felt the pulse again, a strange, almost vibrating sensation that spread through his body. The energy wasn't fading—it was growing stronger. And not in a good way. His muscles tensed, his vision flickered, and for a moment, the world seemed to warp around him. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the crates.
His heart was racing now, almost too fast. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing, but the pulse kept growing, threatening to overwhelm him. The heightened awareness that had felt so exhilarating just moments ago was becoming suffocating. His limbs trembled slightly, his grip on the dagger tightening.
This isn't good.
Rook forced himself to focus, pulling back from the edge of panic. He couldn't let the rush control him. Not now. Not when he was surrounded by armed men. He slipped back into the shadows, his breathing shallow as he fought to regain control of his body.
The pulse finally began to subside, but the warning signs were still there. The drink—whatever it really was—had given him incredible reflexes and heightened senses, but it wasn't without its cost. His body was being pushed to its limits, and he knew he couldn't afford to push any harder.
He slid out of the warehouse and back into the cool night air, feeling the tension drain from his muscles. As he made his way down the alley, he let out a long breath, still processing what had just happened.
The Cola had been more than just refreshing—it had turned him into something faster, more precise, almost superhuman. But it wasn't just magic. It wasn't some ancient elixir. It was a simple drink with a powerful kick.
As Rook disappeared into the shadows, the empty can still tucked into his cloak, one thought lingered in his mind.
What would happen if I tried it again?