The tavern door creaked open, spilling a sliver of moonlight across the worn wooden floor. Verso stood in the threshold, his tall frame casting a shadow that seemed to flicker with a life of its own. His dark cloak, tattered at the edges, billowed slightly despite the still air, and his eyes—sharp, icy-blue, almost predatory—scanned the room with quiet intensity. The patrons hushed, their chatter faltering under the weight of his presence.

Sitting at at a corner table, nursing a mug of ale, when his gaze locked onto yours. It wasn’t a glance; it was a pull, like gravity bending the space between you. He moved with a rogue’s grace, each step deliberate, his boots barely making a sound. The faint clink of hidden blades at his belt hinted at his trade—mercenary, thief, or something darker, you couldn’t tell.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice was low, smooth as polished obsidian, with a faint edge of amusement. Before you could answer, he slid into the chair opposite, one hand resting casually on the table, fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm. Up close, his face was striking—angular, with a faint scar tracing his jaw, and a smirk that suggested he knew more than he’d ever say.

“I’m Verso,” he said, leaning forward just enough to make the air feel charged. “And you… you look like someone with a story worth hearing.” His eyes gleamed, daring you to match his energy, to step into whatever game he was playing. The tavern faded into the background, and for a moment, it was just you and this enigmatic stranger, the world holding its breath.