Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd like wind moving through dry grass, low, constant, and carrying the same repeated words.

Talks of the strange monsters that had begun appearing in the city.

No one denied it anymore.

The eerie vanishings, the strange thuds in the alleys at night, that unnerving sensation of eyes on you even in the open daylight, it had slipped past the stage of rumor, settling instead as an unspoken fact everyone accepted.

The Lord had not silenced these whispers. Liam had his own plans for this issue.

Perhaps a way to let it blend in and to be treated as "common"

Elias had embraced them.

His words had been clear when he addressed the city, this was no isolated problem.

The phenomenon was global.

The world itself was shifting.

The difference, he’d claimed, was that they here were ready.

And for those whose fear still gnawed, the assurance came swift: the Shadow Knights would stand between the people and whatever came.

Always.

Back to the scene.

The knight approached now, heavy steps dull beneath the noise of the street.

She stopped in front of the hooded man. Her gauntleted hand extended, unhurried.

The man hesitated only long enough for it to be noticed before he clasped it in a steady shake.

“We meet again, Miss Holy Knight.”

The helm tilted, the faintest curve of a smirk hidden somewhere in the shadows of the visor. “Quite secretive of you. Not even saying my name?”

“There could be ears,” the man replied evenly, tugging his hood lower over his brow, “and eyes.”

Her fingers loosened from the handshake with a soft scrape of metal against leather.

Then, with a flick of her hand, the air between them shimmered, just slightly.

The space around them thickened, folding into a soundless bubble invisible to anyone without the strength to break it.

The noise of the market dulled into nothing.

To an outsider, they had vanished.

“Better?” she asked dryly. “Sir Kalen? Or was it Kelen?”

“Both are the same,” Kelen said, brushing his hood back.

His sharp features caught the light as his gaze slid briefly past her shoulder, scanning the street before returning to her.

He shifted his weight, his stance casual but watchful. “The armor. Is it fixed?”

“They are,” she answered with a small nod, crossing her arms over her chestplate.

The gesture made the overlapping plates give a low, muted chime. “But I am curious about the modifications you wanted.”

Kelen simply extended his hand. “No need for you to know why.”

“That’s a problem…” Iris muttered, though her voice lacked true bite.

She didn’t press.

Instead, she slid her hand into her cloak, the folds shifting over the bulk of her armor.

From behind her, she drew a small storage bag.

“A particular place to keep it,” Kelen remarked, tilting his head faintly.

She gave a shrug that set her shoulder plate humming with a short metallic rattle, dulled by the soundproof air.

Kelen took the bag, unfastening the seal with a thumb.

His eyes scanned the contents, expression unmoving, before he looked back up, straight into the shadowed visor hiding her stare.

“As promised,” he said, “I’ll start hunting the raksasas in the main city alleys more often.”

“Understood. I’ll pass it to the Saint after this…” Iris shifted her weight as if to turn away, but paused. “Though I wonder…”

Kelen glanced sideways at her. “What is it?”

The plates of her armor shifted with a groan as she squared herself toward him.

Beneath the helm, her gaze narrowed. “Why did you refuse to join the Holy Knights? Our purpose is the same, isn’t it?”

“The same?” Kelen’s brow twitched.

He leaned back slightly, almost scoffing without the sound.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, held hers through the visor.

His fingers tapped once against the leather bag, then tightened around it.

When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but it cut clean. “Your goal is to protect the people.”

He let the pause stretch before finishing. “…My goal is to hunt and slaughter. An endless slaughter. I want my name alone to bring them fear.”

“I see…” Her words were quiet, but not empty. “This path… aren’t you afraid of losing yourself in the process?”

The leather creaked in his grip. “I’ve lost enough. I don’t fear something so minor.”

“Understandable.” She adjusted her stance, one last glance passing over him like a measuring weight. “But if you ever lose yourself, if you harm the innocent in your pursuit…” Her voice sharpened, each word deliberate. “I will personally execute you. And hang your head from my blade.”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

The moment she turned, the barrier dissolved, and the muffled hum of the city bled back into the space between them.

Kelen watched her go until the metal glint of her armor blended into the crowd and vanished like smoke in wind.

“She’s not her old self anymore…” he murmured, slipping one hand into his pocket. “She’s changed more than I have.”

Turning, he stepped back into the current of the main street, following it until he reached a familiar doorfront, the local pharmacist’s shop.

There was no need for knocking, it was a shop, after all. And the owner knew him well.

The wooden door swung inward with a muted creak, letting in the faint chime of the hanging glass above it.

The air inside was warmer, carrying a blend of dried herbs, old paper, and faint metal tang from something brewing in the back.

Behind the counter, a thin boy straightened from a stool, a familiar grin lifting the corners of his mouth. “It’s you again, Guest.”

“Hello, Zed…” Kelen replied with a small nod, his voice low.

The hem of his cloak swayed gently as he stepped inside, the shop’s muted lamplight slipping over the worn folds of fabric.

He moved toward the shelves at an unhurried pace, boots whispering against the wooden floorboards.

“The things I asked for before…” His hand reached for a glass bottle, lifting it from its place with slow care.

Tilting it side to side, he watched the liquid within shift under the dim light, its greenish hue catching faint glints as it moved.

From the corner of his eye, he sent Zed a brief glance. “I wonder how the progress is.”

“It’s ready,” Zed answered without the slightest shift in his casual tone, as though their vague exchange were perfectly ordinary.

“Here…”

He bent down behind the counter, movements brisk but unhurried, and after a few seconds, straightened again.

In his hand was a soft black envelope, its surface smooth, sealed at the center with a strange spherical chop pressed deep into the paper.

Zed set it down on the counter and gave it a small push toward the other side.

The motion was quiet.

Kelen approached, still holding the glass bottle in his left hand.

The faint glow of the herb inside cast a pale green tint over his fingers.

His tall frame drew a shadow across the counter, looming over the boy, though Zed’s smile didn’t falter.

The fringe of hair hanging over his brow kept his eyes hidden.

“My master said this one is a very tricky one…” Zed’s voice was light, almost conversational.

Kelen’s gloved fingers closed over the envelope.

“And hopefully, Guest,” Zed continued, that smile stretching by the smallest degree, “you can do what needs to be done. But Master also said to be careful. This one is… very dangerous.”

“I see…” Kelen broke the seal with a steady thumb, sliding the paper free in one smooth motion.

His gaze traced the lines briefly, expression unreadable, before the sheet crumbled into strange ash without fire.

The black flakes drifted down, dissolving before they reached the counter.

Neither of them reacted to the phenomenon. It was treated as just another part of the business.

After scanning the contents, Kelen’s eyelids lowered in a slow blink, sealing away his gaze for a moment as if to give the words time to settle.

His chest rose once, fell, then his breathing eased into an even rhythm.

When he opened his eyes again, there was no sign of surprise, only the cool weight of understanding.

“I see…” His voice was low, measured. “What a troublesome one.”

“Indeed.” Zed’s smile stretched, that faintly unsettling curve that never reached the shadowed eyes beneath his fringe. “I hope you will succeed. My master is awaiting your news…”

“Understood.” Kelen didn’t linger.

His fingers released the edge of the counter, the faint creak of wood sounding beneath his hand as he stepped away.

The soft jingle of the shop’s glass chime marked his exit, the sound fading behind him.

Outside, the murmur of the main street swallowed him whole, boots scuffing against worn stone, vendors calling over the din, the distant clatter of a carriage wheel over a loose cobble.

He let the hood of his cloak fall a little lower over his face, moving in the flow of bodies without urgency.

Today’s purpose was already decided.

His gaze slid to the side, past the swaying fabric of merchant stalls, past the idle chatter and weaving pedestrians.

“Safyein… was it?” he murmured under his bre

ath.

The smell of dried herbs from the shop still clung faintly to his cloak.

For a heartbeat, it lingered in his thoughts, until the air in his mind seemed to shift, growing heavier.

Snap.