Aren walked forward into the chaos.
Not through it, not around it, directly into the center of it, his shadow armor dense and close against his body, ancient Devourer in his right hand, the bridge shaking beneath the combined weight of everything happening on it. Around him his shadows fought and died and reformed and fought again, and through all of it he walked with the particular deliberateness of someone who had already decided where he was going and was simply in the process of getting there.
His aura bled outward with every step, dark and heavy, the kind of presence that made the guards nearest to him register something wrong before they could articulate what it was.
The first one who got close found out immediately.
