Night had fallen over the town, yet it did not sleep. Lanterns flickered along the cobblestones, casting long shadows over buildings worn by decades of sun, wind, and rain. Merchants counted coins, arguing softly over prices, muttering prayers to gods they had long forgotten. Children huddled indoors, chasing dreams of heroes who would never arrive. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe. For now.
I walked through the streets, cheap sword at my side, Voraciel sheathed on my back. Its presence was faint, yet alive, humming softly with warmth. I could feel it in my hands, patient, waiting, responding to intent rather than rage or morality. The whisper pressed at the edges of my mind: "…kill."
Not a command. Not a demand. A suggestion, patient and observing. I ignored it. Observation first. Patience always.
I passed the market square. Empty barrels, overturned crates, and abandoned carts littered the corners—remnants of an earlier day, ordinary debris. Guards patrolled in small groups, chatting idly, more concerned with appearances than vigilance. Merchants haggled, confident in routine. Citizens drifted through the streets, unaware. Ordinary mistakes, everywhere. Observation always pays.
I crouched in a shadowed alley, watching. Three men carried crates toward the town's storage warehouse, unaware that their movements were fully mapped, their vulnerabilities noted. One glanced behind, nervous, yet failed to notice the rhythm of my steps in the shadows. Another adjusted his grip too early, shifting weight onto the wrong leg. Predictable. Mistakes stacked like kindling.
Voraciel hummed faintly in response to my observation. The whisper pressed again: "…kill."
Not yet. Patience. Control. Observation. Intent.
Night deepened. Lanterns cast flickering light over the rooftops, shadows stretching across walls and alleyways. I moved silently, each step measured, footfalls calculated to avoid detection. The three men reached a narrow alley near the warehouse. Guards were distracted, walking too far apart to support each other. Ordinary mistakes. Ordinary people. Predictable.
"…kill—Crimson Tide."
The words left my lips softly, deliberately. Voraciel pulsed beneath my grip, responding instantly. Shadows shifted subtly. A faint ripple of force guided my movements, not chaotic, not uncontrolled, but precise and deliberate. The first man staggered, a subtle wave of energy disrupting balance. His companions froze, hesitation marking them, mistakes multiplying.
I stepped forward, moving as predicted. Not wasted motion, not reckless. Controlled. Efficient. Pure. Bloodlust is power, refined by calculation. The alley was mine. Shadows bent to intent. Voraciel hummed in acknowledgment.
By the time the last man fell unconscious, the alley was silent. My breathing was slow, measured. The sword pulsed faintly against my arm, patient and alive. Observation remains paramount. Patience endures. No one had seen me. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe. For now.
I withdrew to a side street, blending seamlessly with the town's night activity. Lanterns glowed faintly, merchants closed shops, children whispered to each other from windows. Soldiers patrolled, unaware. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe. For now.
The whisper returned, faint and patient: "…kill."
I ignored it. Not yet. Patience comes first. Observation always. Voraciel waits. I had chosen the moment. Controlled the outcome. Survived. That is enough for now.
From a vantage point above the alley, I observed the aftermath. Shadows stretched long in the torchlight, reflecting movement that no ordinary person would notice. Citizens went about their business, oblivious to the recent chaos. Guards murmured among themselves, distracted. Merchants worried about missing goods, unaware that the true threat had passed silently among them. Ordinary mistakes. Ordinary people. Observation pays dividends.
Voraciel pulsed faintly in my hands. The whisper softened, patient. "…wait." Not now. Not yet.
I leaned back against the wall, cheap sword at my side, Voraciel sheathed. Thoughts flowed quietly, considering possibilities. The first town conquered without notice. The whisper patient, watching. Bloodlust grows strongest when intention is pure and controlled. Each movement, each act, deliberate. Each kill, a step toward understanding the power at hand.
I studied the town from above, noting patterns, routes, guard rotations, even the sleeping habits of the people closest to the streets. Knowledge is power. Observation is preparation. Patience sharpens intent. The world is predictable if you look closely enough.
Hours passed. Midnight deepened the shadows. The streets were emptying. Even the guards withdrew into their barracks for inspection and rest. Merchants closed shutters, children huddled in warm beds. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe. For now.
I descended from the rooftop, stepping lightly onto the cobblestones. My cheap sword brushed lightly against my thigh, but it was Voraciel that hummed faintly, alive, patient. "…kill," it whispered softly, almost approvingly. Not now. Not yet.
I moved quietly to the center of town, noting the placement of lanterns, potential escape routes, supply depots, guard rotations. Ordinary people believe safety is guaranteed. Ordinary mistakes make conquest effortless if patience and observation guide your hand.
A blackbird took flight, flapping silently above a rooftop. I watched its path, noting timing and wind currents, mapping patterns in instinct. Every detail is a tool. Every pattern, a path to control. Observation always precedes action.
I returned to my room at the edge of town just before dawn. Bread purchased. Coins counted. Routine maintained. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Invisible. Yet the pulse of intent lingered, sharp and precise. Voraciel had recognized it, the whisper confirming that the blade waited for necessity and intent, not haste or chaos. Bloodlust is awakening. The first technique mastered. Control is everything.
Outside, the town remained asleep. Citizens unaware. Soldiers unaware. Merchants unaware. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe. For now.
I smiled faintly, letting the warmth of the sword seep into my mind. The first step beyond Merrow had been taken. The world had not noticed. The whisper was patient, quiet, watching: "…kill."
Not now. Not yet. Patience. Observation. Calculation. Intent.
The city sleeps, unaware of the shadow walking among them. And I am just beginning.