The city was quiet, but the silence was deceptive. Beneath the cobblestones and alleyways, in the hidden corners where only the desperate or the corrupt ventured, Rayon moved like a shadow born from the gutter itself.
Hollow Strings danced across his fingers, subtle, precise, controlling perception without a whisper. He had no hesitation. There was no morality in the eyes of the Forsaken. There was only necessity.
A family of Hunters, known to have hunted Forsakens for generations, had children nearing the age of nineteen. For Rayon, the math was simple: if left unchecked, they would one day rise, stronger, bloodthirsty, and ready to finish what they had started.
Rayon crouched on the rooftop overlooking their estate, analyzing every movement, every guard rotation, every child's nightly routine. Hollow Strings snaked through the shadows, probing, nudging, adjusting.
He whispered to himself softly, almost a lullaby of death:
"They wouldn't hesitate to kill me if they could. They want a war with me. They want the children, the future… all gone. I can't allow that. They must end. For everyone who comes after me, they cannot exist."
By midnight, every precaution had been accounted for. Guards were manipulated to patrol elsewhere. Doors creaked open without sound. Hollow Strings guided movements, perception, and reaction.
Rayon moved like liquid shadow. His footsteps made no noise, his presence no scent. In the estate's inner chambers, he observed the children, sleeping. They were unaware, innocent, yet marked by their lineage.
A whisper of a string, a tug of perception, and a trap activated: each child would pass peacefully… or not at all. Rayon's manipulation of their senses ensured that when it happened, it would appear as an accident, leaving no one to suspect a Forsaken had intervened.
He didn't falter. There was no hesitation. Only the cold, calculated logic of survival—for himself, for his future, and for those who could never fight back.
As he retreated into the shadows, Rayon allowed himself a dark smile. "Mercy is for those who deserve it. Justice is for those who survive it. And survival… is everything."
His recruits watched silently from afar, impressed but uneasy. Drevan muttered, "The kid… he's cold."
Rayon's hollow gaze scanned the horizon. "Cold? Maybe. Effective? Always. Everything I do… it's for the thread. For the web. For the Forsaken who come after me."
By the end of the night, the children were gone—silently, without suspicion. The city's underworld and the Hunter networks would whisper rumors, but none could trace the cause. Rayon had struck, extreme, direct, and unchallenged.
And as he disappeared into the darkness, Hollow Strings flicking faintly across his fingers, one truth was clear: Rayon would go to any length, push any boundary, and cross any line, if it meant ensuring the future he envisioned.
The city slept, unaware. But the threads were tightening, the web was spreading, and a Forsaken's shadow now loomed over every street, alley, and heart that dared oppose him.