Under the shroud of night, Fedlimid moved like a whisper through the winding streets of Varem, his form wrapped in a thick cloak of dark magicules. The city, with its many shadows and twisting alleys, was his hunting ground, and the cover of darkness made him weightless, untethered.
Each step was effortless, his body cutting through the still night air like a blade.
He ran with ease, his strides long and silent, his heartbeat steady, his breath cool against the midnight breeze. There was an intoxicating lightness in the way he moved, a sensation of slipping just beyond the grasp of the world itself. Here, where the lamplight failed and the roads emptied, he was untouchable.
No prying eyes. No rules.
His presence went unnoticed, swallowed by the dark, yet his senses stretched far and wide. He could hear the murmur of distant voices, the shift of weary guards at their posts, and the rustle of cloth as a late-night thief disappeared into a gap between buildings.
