A group of nearly twenty figures, draped entirely in black, moved swiftly and silently under the cloak of twilight. Their footsteps were featherlight, their movements choreographed like shadows across stone.
No one chased them, yet the tension in their bodies said otherwise; they couldn't afford to be chased.
At the head of the formation, the leader repeatedly checked inside the folds of his cloak, his fingers brushing against a hidden object with a reverence that bordered on obsession.
"This… this changes everything."
He gnashed his teeth as the memory of the battle flashed in his mind. It was a catastrophic conflict that had nearly reduced the city to rubble. A war that should never have happened, well, it was a war, they should've won but lost, and yet, in its aftermath, it had given him a chance.
A chance he couldn't waste.
They pushed forward into the outskirts, away from prying eyes and into deeper concealment, until the silence broke.
Thud.
A body dropped.
