Golden leaves crunched underfoot as two figures strode through the deserted woodlands at the edge of Meraxor, the territory of the Brotherhood of Shadow.
The smaller figure, Vincent Wilder, trailed at the back with his arms crossed over his uniform, a pristine grey tunic with a black symbol of a phoenix nestled inside a flame. His eyes were dark and shaded, and a frown creased his forehead. He kicked aside twigs and stones, trying to keep his nerves under control and maintain the composure that had earned him his role as the leader of his people.
The large, imposing figure that walked beside him made no sound at all, its feet silently padding across the crisp forest floor. It wore no clothes except for a long black cloak with a deep hood that obscured the area where its face should have
