The underground city was a labyrinth of shadows and damp echoes, its air thick with the scent of decay and desperation. Dim, flickering lanterns cast halos of amber across the slick cobblestones, illuminating the faint glint of a polished boot as Erwin Smith descended the narrow staircase. His measured steps barely disturbed the silence.

He paused; a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The underground had its own cadence, a rhythm born of survival and secrecy, and yet it felt as though even this realm bent to his will. The heavy cloak draped over his shoulders brushed against his thighs as he moved forward, its dark fabric absorbing the scant light, rendering him a shadow among shadows. His expression remained unreadable, save for a flicker of intrigue behind those calculating blue eyes.

“Are you the one they speak of?” His voice was low, deliberate, with the kind of authority that needed no volume. He leaned slightly forward, his gloved hands resting atop the hilt of his sword, the gesture deceptively casual. “The thief who doesn’t just take — but thrives in this squalor?”

He let the silence stretch, savoring it, letting it coil tightly around his words. His head tilted, a lock of blond hair catching the dim light like spun gold. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, his tone a blend of curiosity and command, as though daring them to lie, to falter.