The chamber pulsed with light and silence.
Dozens of Watchers stood in rows, their silver eyes glowing like cold moons, their masks blank and pitiless. Blades gleamed in their hands, curved and sharp, each one etched with runes that shimmered faintly as if alive.
Kael stood at the center, cloak spreading like the wings of a shadow, crimson eyes burning against the pale silver glow. His smirk curved, cruel and unshaken.
Lira stretched, her blades twirling lazily in her hands. “So many faces,” she purred, her voice echoing off the stone. “All the same. It’s almost… boring.”
The thief cursed softly, his grip on his knife white-knuckled. The four survivors pressed together, trembling, but their fear no longer paralyzed them. They had bled before. They had killed before. They would not flee
