The day ended, and the last of the students filed out of the Hunter's Academy.
Soon, the grounds were silent.
Empty.
Except for a shadow.
It slid silently along the walls, stretching and twisting, moving with unnatural grace. The shadow slithered until it reached the teachers' room, where it took shape — a tall, faceless human silhouette.
It moved straight to one of the desks, opened a drawer, and pulled out a file. Without a sound, it turned and vanished back into the night.
Outside the gates, a black van waited.
The side door slid open, revealing a man in a crisp black suit.
"Did you get the file?" he asked.
The shadow gave a single nod and handed it over.
The man flipped through the pages in silence, his expression unreadable. Then he closed it.
"Shadow," he said, "send a note to our partners inside the academy. Tell them to get ready. Soon… we make our move."
The shadow nodded once more and dissolved into the night.
The man leaned back into the seat, tapping the driver's shoulder. The van began to roll forward. He reached under the seat, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. Smoke curled around him, trailing out of the open window.
His gaze was distant — but his smile was sharp.
"Soon," he murmured, "only the chosen ones will walk this earth. Those forsaken by our god… have no right to walk among us."
The van disappeared into the city lights.
---
From the bushes nearby, Isaac stepped out.
"Just as I expected," he muttered, eyes following the van's fading taillights. "Those bastards are on the move too."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin piece of enchanted paper — a gift, of sorts, from the Trader.
"I really hoped I had more time," he sighed, fingers tightening on the paper. "But it seems I need to awaken… even if I didn't want to use this method."
He ripped it in half.
A swirl of smoke erupted, twisting into the shape of a door. The wood shimmered faintly with runes.
"I hate being indebted to the Trader," he muttered, gripping the knob. Then he opened it and stepped through.
---
The familiar smell of old parchment and smoke greeted him.
The Trader sat at his desk, as always, a book in one hand. The shadows around him coiled lazily, their purple hue shifting like living ink.
He looked up, his smoke-shrouded face tilting slightly.
"Oh my, oh my… what do we have here? Welcome back, dear VIP. What is it you need this time?"
Isaac walked forward, calm and measured.
"Oh, nothing much, Mister Trader. I'm just here to sell… some information."
The Trader chuckled. "Well, well… that does sound interesting. What kind of information, I wonder?"
Isaac's lips curved into a knowing smile.
"The usual kind," he said. "I just happened to hear about a certain cure… for a certain disease… that a certain person has."
The Trader's smoke shifted.
And in that moment, Isaac knew he had his attention.