The night air turned icy with tension as the circle of would-be predators dissolved into panic.
The hooded men shifted their weight, their boots scraping the dirt road, their eyes darting to the treeline as if the forest itself might swallow them whole.
The oppressive silence that followed Vonjo's devouring of the shadows was louder than any battle cry, and in that silence, fear bloomed like a virus.
"You… y-you idiot!" one of the assassins snarled, rounding on the tax collector. His voice cracked, and his hands trembled as he gripped his dagger. "You said he was just some spoiled rich brat! You said he only looked confident!"
