The city streets were alive, but the shadows moved differently now. Not just criminals, merchants, and guards—Rayon could sense a new pulse. Strong, sharp, dangerous.
He had been listening. Watching. Pulling small threads here and there. And now, it was time to expand the web.
Rayon found them in places the city forgot: abandoned fighting rings, broken-down warehouses, back alleys where survival wasn't optional.
The first was Drevan, a scarred man who could break doors with his bare hands and outfight most of the city's thugs.
"You want my loyalty?" Drevan sneered. "I don't fight for kings or merchants."
"You fight for yourself," Rayon replied calmly, Hollow Strings brushing the air around them. "And for survival. The Hunters want to wipe out people like us. I offer a chance to fight back—and thrive."
Drevan's eyes narrowed. Then he grinned. "Finally. Someone worth following."
The second was Lyra, a rogue assassin whose blades were faster than lightning and whose mind never forgot a face. "I've lost too much to these Hunters," she said, eyes cold. "If you're serious, I'm in."
One by one, a small squad formed. Each was strong, each had reason to hate the Hunters, and each had skills that would feed Rayon's growing web.
It was during a night patrol that Rayon first felt it—the unnatural calm, the absence of minor city noises, the weight of someone who didn't belong.
From the shadows stepped a man in black armor, mask covering half his face, sword glinting faintly under the moonlight. The air around him was tense, like a wire about to snap.
"You shouldn't be here," the Hunter said, voice cold, precise. "I can feel your threads. They are dangerous, yes—but dangerous things die quickly."
Rayon's hollow eyes narrowed. "I was going to ask you the same thing. And yet here you are."
The Hunter tilted his head, studying Rayon like one studies a new puzzle. "You're… different. Forsaken, yes? Hollow Strings… clever. But you're in my city now. And I do not forgive trespassers."
Rayon let his strings flicker lazily around him, almost bored. "Then you'll forgive me when you're nothing but another broken puppet. But let's see if you're worth my time first."
The Hunter lunged with blinding speed, sword slicing through the air. Rayon's strings reacted instantly, guiding his movement, countering with kicks and elbow strikes, knocking the Hunter off balance.
The clash wasn't just brute force—it was a duel of perception, reflexes, and manipulation. Rayon tested the Hunter's patterns, nudging, baiting, pulling strings where he could.
The Hunter was strong, precise, a trained killer. But Rayon was unpredictable, weaving his Hollow Strings into every strike and dodge, turning each movement into both attack and trap.
By the end of the alley, the Hunter was breathing hard, his mask cracked, his stance shaky—but alive. Rayon stood over him, strings flicking faintly.
"You see?" Rayon whispered, almost kindly. "You underestimate the gutter-born."
The Hunter's eyes glinted with a mix of respect and rage. "This isn't over."
Rayon smirked. "Good. Because neither is this city."