The first full dawn in the capital of Terminus brought no relief of light, but rather a dense, grayish clarity that seemed to weigh upon the inhabitants' shoulders like a leaden cloak.
Kai stood before the small, splintered window of the inn, watching the violet mist crawl through the alleys like a silent predator seeking unsuspecting prey. The air in the room was thick, permeated by a pungent smell of old wood, brine, and something deeper that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the city.
Kai adjusted the straps of his leather chestpiece, feeling the cold metal against his skin. His senses, sharpened by years of survival and combat, were already working at full capacity, filtering the sounds of the waking city, the rhythmic pace of the Silence patrols on the main street, the screech of rusted pulleys at the docks, and the distant, almost inaudible murmur of stevedores gathering in nearby taverns in the vain hope of seeing a single ship depart.
