CUTTING THE SHADOW
472 Words
Night fell over Franclis like a black cloth.
In a narrow room near the city hall, the old man sat alone. His wrinkled hand held a cup of tea that had long gone cold.
His face was calm.
His thoughts were not.
That boy saw too much.
The West Tower was meant to be a grave.
Not a source of questions.
He summoned three people.
Not through the front door.
They came from shadow.
Dark cloaks.
No emblems.
No footsteps.
“He took something from the tower,” the old man said. “It must not reach anyone else.”
“Order?”
“Cut him.”
No further words were needed.
Nox felt them before he saw them.
The air shifted.
Astra trembled faintly, like skin touched by needles.
He stopped in a stone alley.
An oil lamp on the wall swayed.
Three shapes separated from the darkness.
Short blades.
Thin wire.
One with a compact bow.
“Whose order?” Nox asked.
No answer.
They moved together.
The first rushed in low.
Assassin’s step.
Nox did not retreat.
He stepped forward.
Muay Thai.
Elbow rising.
Astra hardened bone.
Impact.
The skull did not shatter.
But the man dropped like an empty sack.
The second came from the side with wire.
Nox turned.
Tai Chi.
Circular motion.
He caught the wrist, followed the force, and redirected it.
The wire missed.
The attacker flew into the wall.
Nox did not chase.
The third had already fired.
An arrow flew.
Nox tilted his head.
The arrow buried itself in stone.
He walked forward.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Sistema.
Body relaxed.
Breath calm.
When the attacker drew a knife, Nox entered close range.
Not a punch.
A press.
He struck the collarbone.
The shoulder joint dropped.
The knife fell.
One push to the throat.
The man fell to his knees, choking on his own breath.
It ended in seconds.
No screams.
No pursuit.
Only three bodies on the ground.
Nox stood in the alley.
He looked at his hands.
Not blood.
But pattern.
Every movement felt more efficient.
Muay Thai gave power.
Tai Chi gave flow.
Sistema gave distance and calm.
And Astra bound them all.
He searched one body.
Inside the cloak, he found a small seal.
The same mark as on his payment pouch.
“So it was you,” he murmured.
He was not angry.
Only… done.
Back at the inn, Nox packed.
Metal plate.
Coin pouch.
Simple sword.
He did not wait for dawn.
Franclis was too close to secrets.
And secrets always had teeth.
Before leaving the gate, he paused.
Looked back at the distant tower.
“The world is wide,” he said softly. “And I won’t die in one city.”
He walked away.
The name Nox would remain in Franclis.
But his body would not.
- Writer
