A Shadow in the Night
The air was heavy with silence.
Eryndor moved swiftly through the narrow streets, his footsteps barely making a sound. The village was quiet, most of its inhabitants fast asleep. Yet, even in this stillness, he felt it—an invisible weight pressing against him.
He wasn't alone.
The sensation from earlier in the alley had never left him. If anything, it had only grown stronger.
His grip tightened around the dagger at his waist. He wasn't sure if it would be enough, but the cold steel in his hand gave him a sense of control.
Then—movement.
A flicker of shadow. A whisper of air.
Eryndor reacted on instinct.
He spun to the side just as a blade cut through the darkness, slicing the empty space where his throat had been.
A second attack came immediately after.
Eryndor barely managed to raise his dagger, catching the strike in time. The force behind it sent a sharp vibration through his arm, his bones rattling from the impact.
A hooded figure stood before him, their face obscured. Their stance was low, precise—a trained killer.
Cold eyes locked onto him. No hesitation. No mercy.
This wasn't a warning.
They were here to kill him.
---
The Battle for Survival
Eryndor barely had time to breathe before the assassin struck again.
They moved like a shadow, fluid and relentless. A curved blade flashed toward his ribs—too fast.
He twisted at the last second, but the weapon grazed his side, cutting through fabric and skin.
Pain flared, sharp and hot. He staggered back, his breathing uneven.
The assassin didn't stop.
A dagger came from the left. Eryndor barely ducked in time, feeling the cold rush of air as the blade narrowly missed his face.
He was outmatched.
The realization hit him like a stone. The assassin was faster, more skilled, and completely in control of the fight.
If this keeps up, I'm dead.
---
Something Awakens
Time seemed to slow.
Eryndor's pulse thundered in his ears, but his mind became unnaturally sharp. His body, once sluggish, now felt lighter.
He could see it—the way the assassin shifted their weight before striking. The slight twitch of their fingers before they moved.
And without thinking, he reacted.
The assassin lunged, their blade aimed straight for his heart.
Eryndor sidestepped at the last moment, his movements smooth—too smooth. His body moved with an instinct he didn't recognize, as if he had done this a thousand times before.
His dagger lashed out.
For the first time, the assassin hesitated.
The hesitation was brief, but it was enough. The assassin leaped back, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had appeared.
The fight was over.
But Eryndor knew—this wasn't a victory.
It was just the beginning.
---
A Growing Mystery
He stood there, his breath ragged, his dagger still trembling in his grasp. Blood dripped from his side, but he barely noticed.
What just happened?
That feeling—**that power—**it was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
And then there was the assassin.
Who sent them? Why was he being hunted?
One thing was certain.
Whoever was after him wouldn't stop here.
And next time—he might not be so lucky.