The city of Kaelith was restless. Beneath its sprawling skyline, power shifted like sand in the wind, carried by whispers, deals, and shadows. Marcus walked its streets, his steps unhurried, yet his presence commanding. To the average passerby, he was just another man blending into the crowd. But those who looked closer—truly looked—would notice the sharpness in his gaze, the confidence in his stride. He was a predator in a city of prey.
Tonight, Marcus wasn't wandering aimlessly. His brief encounter in the alley the night before had left him unsettled. The shadow on the rooftops hadn't been random. Someone had been watching, perhaps even testing him. And Marcus hated being tested.
He entered a small café tucked into the corner of a quiet street. Its warm lighting and soft hum of conversation created an illusion of calm, but Marcus knew better. This place wasn't just a café; it was an information hub, frequented by those who lived in the margins of society. Thieves, spies, mercenaries—they all passed through here, trading secrets for coin or favors.
Marcus approached the counter and nodded at the barista, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek. "The usual," Marcus said, sliding a few coins across the counter.
The barista nodded, disappearing into the back. A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming cup of coffee and a folded piece of paper tucked underneath the saucer. Marcus took his drink and settled into a corner booth, unfolding the paper with practiced ease.
The note was short but clear: "The Black Crescent is stirring. Watch the eastern docks."
Marcus frowned. The Black Crescent—a notorious syndicate rumored to control much of the city's underworld. They rarely operated openly, preferring to pull strings from behind the scenes. If they were stirring, it meant something big was about to happen.
He folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, his mind racing. The docks weren't far, but he'd need to approach carefully. The Black Crescent didn't take kindly to uninvited guests.
As he left the café, Marcus felt the familiar hum again, the one that had haunted him in the alley. His eyes scanned the rooftops, the alleys, even the windows above. Nothing. Whoever was watching him was good—too good.
---
The docks were a different world at night. Crates and shipping containers formed a labyrinth of shadows, and the salty air carried the faint sound of waves crashing against the pier. Marcus moved silently, his senses heightened. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he trusted his instincts to guide him.
And then he saw them. A group of men huddled near a cargo ship, their voices low but urgent. Marcus crept closer, keeping to the shadows. From his vantage point, he could make out fragments of their conversation.
"…shipment arrives tomorrow… too dangerous to delay…"
"…the artifact must be secured. If anyone finds out…"
Marcus's eyes narrowed. Artifact? That was a word that always carried weight in Kaelith, especially in the world of the Black Crescent. Whatever they were smuggling, it wasn't ordinary contraband.
Suddenly, one of the men stiffened, his hand reaching for a weapon. "Who's there?" he barked, his eyes scanning the darkness.
Marcus cursed inwardly. He had been careful, but even he wasn't infallible. As the men spread out, their weapons drawn, Marcus knew he had two choices: retreat or confront. And Marcus didn't retreat.
Stepping out of the shadows, Marcus raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, gentlemen," he said, his tone light. "I'm just here for a stroll."
The leader of the group, a burly man with a scarred face, sneered. "Wrong place for a stroll, friend. I'd suggest you leave before things get… unpleasant."
Marcus smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Unpleasant? For whom?"
The tension snapped like a taut wire. The men lunged at Marcus, weapons gleaming in the moonlight. But Marcus was ready. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, as he dodged and countered with brutal efficiency. A knife slash turned into a disarmed opponent. A wild swing ended with its wielder on the ground, gasping for air.
The leader was the last to fall. Marcus grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against a container. "What artifact?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
The man's eyes darted around, searching for an escape. "I… I don't know! We just handle the shipments!"
Marcus tightened his grip. "Who does know?"
"Please! Don't kill me!" the man begged. "It's delivered to the Whispering Tower. That's all I know!"
Marcus let the man drop, his mind already racing. The Whispering Tower was a place of legends, a forgotten ruin said to hold secrets no man should uncover. If the Black Crescent was connected to it, then Marcus had stumbled onto something far bigger than he'd anticipated.
As he turned to leave, Marcus felt the hum again. This time, he didn't ignore it. He spun around just in time to see a shadow slip away, faster than his eyes could track. A chill ran down his spine.
Someone—or something—was following him. And they were getting closer.