The sun was just setting over Elandor, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples as its last rays slipped through the narrow window of the shared quarters.
The room was bathed in a warm, fading glow, the candles unlit for now, their wicks waiting for full dark.
Shadows stretched long across the stone floor, but there was still enough light to see clearly.
Byung moved like a shadow among the bushes outside, his small goblin frame slipping past with ease. The security had loosened—just one guard now, stationed lazily at the front door, his head nodding as he tried his best to stay awake.
It was easier than Byung had expected. No patrols, no watchful eyes scanning the walls in the dying day.
He hoisted Murkfang over his shoulder without a grunt.
The injured goblin was light, his body frail from days of hiding and starvation, but Byung's wiry muscles handled the weight with no difficulty.
He glanced around once more, ears twitching for any sign of movement.
