As he tried to piece the little bits of information he had, a strange figure suddenly appeared beside him and tapped him on the shoulder,"you seem lost" he said with a smiling without warmth,"I noticed you were wandering around, are you looking for somewhere or something in particular?", the man asked.
Faelan froze the moment he felt a tap on his shoulder, the truth settled in slowly. He'd never seen the man, yet the man had seen him all along.
Faelan's heart jumped into his throat. He turned slowly, forcing himself to appear calm, though every nerve in his body screamed to run. The man was taller than most, with a lean, slim build that somehow made him blend into the crowd yet still radiate quiet authority. His eyes—dark, sharp, almost predatory—assessed Faelan with unsettling precision.
"You… No... I'm just taking a look around" Faelan managed, his voice shaky despite his efforts to sound steady.
The man's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It's gotten pretty late to be looking around don't you think?" He gestured slightly toward the emptying square, his movements smooth, almost rehearsed.
Faelan swallowed, realizing how exposed he was. "I… I'm just… I have messages to deliver," he said quickly, hoping the excuse would suffice.
The man's eyes flicked to the practically empty satchel at Faelan's side, then back up. "Messenger, yes… but messengers notice things. That's what makes them useful—or dangerous." He took a step closer, and Faelan instinctively took one back. The movement wasn't aggressive, but every inch carried weight, an unspoken warning.
"And what about you?" Faelan asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "Why are you here?"
The man's expression darkened slightly, the warmth gone entirely. "I suppose you can say I'm headed from work." His tone was casual, almost conversational."You'd best head home, night's can be dangerous especially for a young lad"
Before Faelan could respond, the man stepped back into the crowd, melting seamlessly among the townsfolk as if he had never been there at all. The memory of the tap on his shoulder lingered like a phantom. Faelan exhaled shakily.
From his encounter with the strange man Faelan knew that he wasn't as careful as he had hoped to be, with the broad shouldered man he was following out of sight he headed to the messenger's dorm.
The walk to the dorm felt longer than it should have.
Every sound—a footstep, a door creaking open, a laugh carried by the wind—made Faelan glance over his shoulder. He knew how easily someone could trail him without being seen.
He kept his pace steady, resisting the urge to rush. Rushing drew eyes.
The dorm came into view, squat and weathered, its lanterns already lit. Relief washed over him, thin and fragile.
Faelan climbed the stairs quietly and slipped into his room, bolting the door behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, breathing hard, listening. Nothing. No footsteps. No voices outside.
"So much for subtle,"he muttered under his breath.
Some time passed but he struggled to sleep, it was late at night, the dim streetlights were on outside in the now quiet town,he was lying on his when heard a creaking coming from his window,he thought it was wind until a foot hit the floor THUD. Before he knew it, the man from earlier stood beside his bed, a twisted silver dagger glistening in his hand. Their eyes met. With almost no time to think. The man struck. Faelan twisted aside, the blade slicing air where he had been.
The man moved with unnerving precision, every motion controlled and deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. The silver dagger glinted in the dim light, catching the flicker of the streetlamp outside.
Faelan scrambled to his feet, blood pounding in his ears. He grabbed a sturdy chair from the corner and swung it just as the man lunged again. The dagger clanged against the wood redirecting the chair, sending it to the floor with a sharp BANG, splinters scattering across the floor.
"You shouldn't have stayed, " the man said, voice low but eerily calm, each word measured, deliberate. "So careless," his eyes didn't waver from Faelan, scanning, calculating.
Faelan ducked under another swing, rolling across the floor to get behind the bed. Faelan's mind raced—he had no weapons, no armor, only instinct, and sheer adrenaline.
The intruder circled him like a shadow, dagger poised, every step silent despite the chaos. Faelan tried to gauge his patterns, the angle of the strikes, the weight of the man's body—but each lunge and sidestep was perfectly timed, precise, leaving little margin for error.
He could feel sweat stinging his eyes, lungs burning, but he forced himself to stay calm. One wrong move and it would be over. One thought going through his mind gave him hope: he had survived worse.
Faelan's hand swept across the floor, brushing against pieces of wood from the broken chair.
The intruder lunged again, dagger arcing toward him—THUMP THUMP THUMP."Are you okay in there, I heard a loud sound," a voice spoke from the other side of the door.
The assassin froze mid swing which gave Faelan an opening, he threw the wooden pieces at the assassin's face, which made him wince in pain.
Faelan bolted toward the window, kicking it open, letting the cool night air hit his face. He leapt out, rolling onto the cobblestone below, the silver dagger missing him by inches as it sank into the wooden frame.
The intruder didn't follow immediately, just watching from the broken window, annoyed, eyes dark, calculating.
Faelan's lungs burned, each step pounding against the uneven cobblestones as he darted through the streets, Niri clinging to his shoulder. The town seemed strangely silent now, the earlier hum of merchants and traders replaced by an almost oppressive stillness. Every corner, every shadow made him flinch; his eyes scanned constantly, anticipating the glint of silver dagger or a flash of movement.
He turned down a narrow alley, hoping to lose whoever had been stalking him, but his mind raced faster than his legs. How did he get in so easily? How had he tracked me so precisely? The questions clawed at him as much as the fear.
A few blocks later, he reached the outskirts of town. Relief washed over him, but it was brief. He slowed his pace, ears straining for any sign of pursuit.
Then he saw it—a faint shadow moving along the rooftops, silent, deliberate. Faelan froze, realizing the man wasn't just skilled on the ground.
Faelan ducked behind a wagon, heart hammering, trying to think. He couldn't outrun someone like that indefinitely. He needed a plan, even if it was only to survive the night. His eyes swept the nearby terrain—an abandoned storage shed, a stack of crates, a shallow ditch. Anything that could buy him time.
The shadow shifted again, descending from the rooftops toward the street.
As the man stepped into the street, his silver dagger caught the pale moonlight.
Faelan bolted down the dirt road, keeping low and weaving between carts and abandoned barrels. Every sense was on high alert—he could hear the faintest footfalls echoing behind him, feel the subtle shift of air as the man adjusted his pursuit.
He ducked into the storage shed, pressing his back against the wall and listening. Outside, the sound of movement slowed, deliberate. The intruder wasn't rushing—he was patient, calculating, waiting for the right moment.
Faelan's mind raced. The shed had a narrow side door that should lead him to a town gate. If he could reach it without being seen, he could put a significant distance between himself and the man. He crouched low, inching toward the door.
A shadow passed across the cracked windowpane of the shed. Faelan froze. The man's figure appeared outside, just enough to see the glint of the silver dagger catching the dim light. Faelan waited, counting silently—one, two… then sprinted.
He burst through the side door, dirt kicking up behind him, and ran toward the outskirts. Behind him, the man's movement was smooth, almost effortless, following without haste.
Faelan ducked behind a low stone wall near the edge of the town, hoping to use it as cover. He held his breath, straining to listen. The pursuit hadn't stopped. Footsteps approached—slow, precise, never faltering.
He realized he couldn't stay exposed for long. Ahead, the dirt road split, leading into a series of overgrown paths that could provide him temporary concealment. He bolted toward the denser underbrush, pushing through brambles and uneven ground, hoping the tangle of paths would slow the man down.
Every step forward was painful, his muscles screaming, but adrenaline kept him moving. Behind him, faintly, he heard the scrape of dagger on stone—a reminder that this hunt was far from over.
"You should have just kept your nose clean", said the man,"now I've gotta make sure you can never get it filthy again... Did you think that sounded weird, nevermind You're the only one that heard it, it won't matter if it was weird when you're dead," he said casually like he was in control of the situation
The words barely left the man's mouth before he moved.
Not ran—launched.
Faelan twisted on instinct, the impact grazing him instead of crushing straight through. The dagger hissed past his ribs, close enough that he felt the cold kiss of metal. He stumbled, boots skidding on loose dirt, barely keeping his balance as the man landed with inhuman grace and turned immediately for another strike.
Too fast.
Too calm.
Faelan ducked as the blade came down, felt wind tear past his hair, then slammed his shoulder forward. It wasn't a clean hit—more desperation than technique—but it bought him half a second. He grabbed a fistful of dust and flung it straight at the man's face.
The man hissed, more annoyed than hurt.
That was all Faelan needed.
He ran.
Not blindly—angled. Toward uneven ground, broken stone, anywhere speed would mean less than footing.
Behind him, footsteps followed again—still measured, still unhurried, like the man knew this would end eventually. "Is throwing stuff at people's faces all you know how to do."
Faelan vaulted a fallen fence, rolled, came up limping hard now. His lungs burned. His vision tunneled. He could feel it—one mistake and the dagger would be in his back.
Ahead, he spotted the town's edge: the gate ahead was unfamiliar it wasn't the same one he used when he entered Maulec but it was his best bet out of his current situation.