The night wind blew harsher than usual, carrying a cold that seeped quietly into every corner of the city.
In a narrow alley, a man was found lying motionless. His body pale, drained of blood, his face peaceful— as if merely asleep.
It wasn't the first time. The city was used to it. This was not an isolated death, but one of many.
And no one was foolish enough to seek the truth.
---
Far from the noise of the world, in a place unmarked by any map, the organization known as Zephyr gathered.
A vast, empty chamber. Figures sat in a circle, their identities swallowed by shadow.
A woman with a cold, merciless aura tapped her finger on the table.
"Hmph… you've heard of the death, haven't you?"
A man lounging in the corner smirked, his legs thrown carelessly on the table.
"Tch. Why should I care? It's none of my business."
Another leaned forward, eyes gleaming like a gambler before a wager.
"Heh. I'd only be interested if the killer was me."
Meanwhile, a gentle woman lowered her gaze. Her voice was soft, yet carried weight.
"We can't just ignore it. He was still human…"
The muscular man among them said nothing. His silence pressed heavier than words.
Three seats remained empty. Three members of Zephyr were absent that night.
The conversation slowly shifted. Away from the killings, toward something far greater—
A topic no outsider could ever comprehend.
The world was too busy with what lay before their eyes,
while Zephyr spoke of matters that reached far beyond mortal understanding.
---
In the heart of the city, an old park bench stood resilient against time.
There, a man sat casually, tossing a grape into the air and catching it with his mouth.
No one knew who he was, or where he came from—
but the world instinctively understood he was not ordinary.
"Hah… entertaining," he murmured, eyes narrowing with amusement.
Suddenly, the wind died.
Fallen leaves froze midair, refusing to touch the ground.
Time itself seemed reluctant to move forward.
And in that moment—he vanished.
Not like someone fleeing, but as if swallowed whole by a shadow that erased his existence.
All that lingered was the faint scent of grapes… and an unease in the air.
---
Morning arrived.
The mist dissolved, sunlight spilling through gaps between buildings.
The market slowly awoke—vendors raising stalls, bread ovens breathing warmth, children chasing each other through the streets.
Among them walked a young man, unremarkable at first glance.
Simple clothes, light steps, nothing that should stand out.
Yet there was something—something in the rhythm of his movements, like a melody out of tune with the world.
Xal'vor.
He stopped at a bread stall. The vendor offered him a warm loaf, still steaming.
"Care to try, sir?"
Xal'vor took a bite, chewing slowly. "Hmm… good," he said softly, then walked on as though he'd never paused.
From another stall, an old woman selling vegetables watched him, her eyes narrowing.
"Good morning, sir," she greeted cautiously.
Xal'vor smiled faintly. "Morning."
He continued until he reached a modest coffeehouse. Inside, warmth and chatter filled the air.
Choosing a quiet corner, he ordered a simple black coffee.
Sip by sip, he let the bitterness rest on his tongue, his gaze fixed on the window.
"This… is the peace I've been searching for," he whispered.
The cup emptied. He rose, leaving coins more than enough on the table, and stepped outside once more.
The city bustled. Children laughed. Merchants bartered. The world spun on in its fragile peace.
Then, as the wind surged again—swift and sharp—
Xal'vor vanished, as sudden as the gale itself.
To Be Continued.