The night hung heavy over the city, thick with tension that seemed to seep from every crack in the stone. The air was unusually silent, as though the world itself was holding its breath for what was about to unfold. Noor's instincts screamed at him—something unseen had already begun.
He had been following the whispers for days now, rumors of a clandestine group moving silently behind the curtain of politics and power. Unlike the blunt violence of street gangs or the pompous display of corrupt officials, these people worked like shadows—clean, quiet, leaving behind no trace except an unease that grew like a splinter in the mind.
Tonight, Noor traced the trail to an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the river. The windows were blacked out, the wooden doors barred, but faint light leaked through the cracks. He pressed himself against the stone wall, listening. Voices carried faintly, low but sharp, like the clicking of daggers being sharpened.
"…our next move must be decisive," one voice hissed. "The council is distracted. The city bleeds for bread, and in the chaos, we can shape its future."
Noor's eyes narrowed. A coup? No—it was something more subtle. They weren't overthrowing power, they were weaving themselves into it, patiently, like spiders waiting for prey.
Crouching lower, he found a weak board near the base of the wall. Carefully, he pried it loose just enough to peer inside. The dim light illuminated seven figures in black cloaks, hoods concealing their faces. But Noor caught something else—their hands bore silver rings engraved with intricate sigils. The same sigils he had seen carved into old ruins far from the city. His heartbeat quickened. This wasn't just politics—it was ancient.
He shifted slightly, but the wood creaked under his weight. One of the cloaked figures froze, their head tilting. "We're not alone," the voice murmured. In an instant, the room's energy shifted, like predators sniffing the air.
Noor held his breath, his body tensing. He knew he had seconds at most. With a sudden burst of movement, he retreated into the shadows, vanishing into the maze of crates stacked along the docks. Behind him, the warehouse doors slammed open, figures spilling out, scanning the night with uncanny precision.
Noor ducked behind a crate, calming his breathing. He had learned long ago that panic was the loudest sound a man could make. The cloaked figures fanned out silently, their steps almost too light for human feet. They weren't soldiers. They were hunters.
For a brief moment, Noor considered retreating entirely. But the silver sigils burned in his memory. Whoever they were, they weren't only plotting against the city's leaders—they were invoking something older, something that should have remained buried.
As he slipped further into the night, Noor realized this wasn't just another mission. He had stepped into a web, and the spiders had already felt his touch.
The real hunt had begun.