The city never truly slept. Even past midnight, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly in the cobbled alleys, a reminder that some lives thrived in darkness.
Shadow walked silently, cloak drawn, heading back from another late hunt. The trio had retired earlier, yet he felt restless. Too restless.
And then, it came again—the faint prickle at the back of his neck.
Turning into a narrow street, he stopped. Nailed to the wooden wall ahead was a dagger, its blade pinning a folded piece of parchment.
His hand reached for it cautiously, gauntlets faintly humming. He unfolded it, eyes narrowing at the simple message:
"You are not unseen."
The handwriting was sharp, precise. Almost taunting.
Shadow's lips curved in a humorless smirk. So they've decided to play games.
---
The next morning, the trio convinced him to join an extermination quest in the southern sector—nothing too dangerous, just a pack of horned wolves that had been harassing traders.
It should have been routine.
But the moment they reached the outskirts of the forest, Shadow noticed it immediately. The wolves moved differently. Larger, more coordinated, their eyes glowing faintly red as though stirred by something unnatural.
"This… isn't right," Lena muttered, raising her bow.
"Stay sharp," Shadow ordered, stepping forward as the gauntlets flared, blades extending from his wrists.
The pack descended in perfect formation. No wild charges, no reckless lunges—they flanked, surrounded, striking in unison. The trio fought desperately, Ryn and Sera pressed back-to-back while Lena's arrows cut through the air with precision.
Shadow dove into the fray, gauntlets shifting between blade and tonfa as he carved through the wolves with ruthless efficiency. Blood sprayed across the grass, each strike measured, each dodge razor-sharp.
Yet with every wolf he cut down, another replaced it. Their movements were too deliberate, too controlled. It wasn't natural. Someone was orchestrating this.
His instincts pulled his gaze upward. And there—high above, crouched on a thick tree branch—the cloaked silhouette watched. Not moving. Not interfering. Just observing, as though the fight below was nothing more than theater.
Shadow's jaw tightened. He struck harder, faster, forcing his body to its limits. He wanted the watcher to see it—his adaptability, his ruthlessness, the way he never faltered.
Minutes stretched like hours until at last the final wolf fell, its body collapsing with a dull thud into the dirt. The forest went silent except for heavy breathing.
"That was way too organized for beasts," Sera muttered, wiping blood from her cheek.
"Doesn't matter. We survived," Ryn said, forcing a grin, though his shoulders sagged with exhaustion.
Shadow's eyes never left the treetops. The figure was gone.
But the message was clear:
He was being judged.
And the next test would not be so simple.