The room hummed with nervous energy, the air thick with the scent of old money and hushed whispers. Shadow, now seated at the back, a dark figure against the ornate backdrop, raised a gloved hand. No flourish or any hesitation. Just a single, decisive gesture that silenced the rising bids. Other bidders, seasoned veterans of the auction circuit, visibly bristled. One, a portly man with a monocle, glared at her with open animosity. A few others seemed to recognize the shadow of the organization she represented, their faces paling slightly. The auctioneer, his voice a practiced baritone, announced her as the winner. "...Lot 37, sold to the representative of…the Obsidian Circle."
Shadow inclined her head, a minimal movement that conveyed both respect for the process and a firm claim to the prize. *Don't let them see you sweat,* her master's voice echoed in her mind. A sliver of doubt gnawed at her. What was so important about this seemingly insignificant trinket? She quickly suppressed the thought, focusing on the task at hand. Her heart hammered a steady rhythm against her ribs, but her face remained an impassive mask.
Shadow approached the collection table with purpose. A uniformed attendant presented the artifact – a small, obsidian box etched with indecipherable symbols. It felt cold to the touch, almost unnaturally so. A faint hum seemed to vibrate against her fingertips. She cradled it carefully, a strange sense of reverence washing over her. *Foolish. It's just an object,* she chided herself. Still, a nagging feeling persisted. She glanced around, her eyes scanning the room. The exits, the remaining attendees, the staff. Nothing seemed out of place, but her instincts screamed danger.
Meanwhile, Edwin, lingering near the back, watched with mounting concern. He slipped into the thinning crowd, trying to make himself less noticeable. From his vantage point, Shadow looked almost…vulnerable. The way she held the box, like it was something precious. He clenched his fist, torn between caution and a desperate need to intervene.
Edwin hesitated, his mind a battlefield of conflicting impulses. *how do I meet up with her,*. He knew of Shadow's strength *if I make the wrong move I will have pay with my life*
He took a tentative step forward, then stopped, his hand instinctively reaching for the worn hilt of the small knife he always carried. It was a pathetic defense against someone like Shadow, but it offered a sliver of comfort. There was no use thinking about it *I might as well follow her I will think of something I can`t let this opportunity slip by*
The prickling sensation on the back of Shadow's neck intensified. She subtly shifted her weight, letting her cloak fall slightly forward, concealing the obsidian box. The hallway was dimly lit, casting long, distorted shadows. The only sound was the distant murmur of the departing crowd and the low hum of the building's ventilation system. She stopped abruptly, her senses on high alert. Something was definitely off.
With a lightning-fast motion, Shadow spun around, her hand instinctively reaching for the concealed blade beneath her cloak. Edwin froze, caught completely off guard. His eyes widened in panic as Shadow materialized from the shadows, blocking his path. She moved with a speed that defied his understanding, a predator cornering its prey. "You're a persistent little rat," she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. *This is a complication I don't need.*
Before Shadow could fully assess the situation, a figure stepped between them, blocking her line of sight. The newcomer was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in the nondescript uniform of a knight. "Step down," he said, his voice surprisingly calm and measured. His eyes flickered between Shadow and Edwin, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Edwin. Something about his demeanor felt off, a hidden tension beneath the surface. His hand hovered near the holstered weapon at his hip. *Why is he here?* Second Commander of the Knights of House Velloran Calen Vos.
"So the presence I sensed earlier... that was you."
He gave no reply.
Shadow tilted her head."A Velloran knight meddling in gutter affairs. That's rare. I don't recall ever crossing House Velloran. So why are you really here?"
The knight didn't move. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.
The air crackled with unspoken tension. Shadow watched the knight's hand, gauging the distance to his sword. Velloran Knights were renowned for their speed and precision. She couldn't afford to underestimate him.
"Still not talking, huh?" Shadow's voice was low, almost a purr. "Let's skip the pleasantries then. You're clearly not here to admire the local architecture."
She shifted her weight, planting her feet a little wider. The alley was narrow, favoring close-quarters combat. An advantage she intended to exploit.
With a suddenness that belied his stillness, the knight moved. The metallic whisper of steel sliding from its sheath filled the alley. He lunged, a blur of polished plate and deadly intent.
Shadow reacted instantly. Years spent scraping by in the underbelly of the city had honed her instincts. She ducked under the arc of his blade, the cold steel whistling past her ear. She pivoted, bringing her own weapon – a wickedly curved dagger – up in a swift counter-attack.
The dagger met resistance, glancing off the knight's vambrace. He didn't flinch. His movement was relentless, a storm of steel aimed to overwhelm her. Shadow danced back, avoiding a thrust that would have pierced her heart.
"Impressive reflexes," the knight finally spoke, his voice surprisingly deep and resonant, echoing in the confined space. "But reflexes alone won't save you."
He pressed his attack, driving her back into the grimy brick wall. Shadow used the wall for leverage, twisting to avoid another blow. She felt the cold brick against her back, the rough surface scraping against her leather armor.
She saw an opening. The knight's stance was slightly off-balance, the alley's uneven cobblestones working against him. Shadow kicked out, aiming for his knee joint.
The knight stumbled, his forward momentum checked. He grunted, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Shadow used the momentary advantage to create distance.
"You fight dirty," he accused, his voice tight with frustration.
"Survival's a dirty business, Velloran," Shadow retorted, circling him warily. "Especially in this part of town."
She spat on the ground, a gesture of defiance. The fight had just begun. The alley reeked of stale ale and something metallic... blood. But whose, she couldn't yet be sure. The knight raised his sword again, its polished surface reflecting the weak light filtering from the street above. This time, she knew, he wouldn't underestimate her.