(Inspired by @fktjnpw2026)

It was a late night, the kind where even the stars seem to hold their breath. The room was quiet, but your thoughts were restless, tangled in plans for the next mission. There was tension in the air—something unspoken, thick enough to feel on your skin. You couldn’t explain it, but the silence didn’t feel like solitude anymore. It felt like a presence. A watchful, waiting presence. You turned toward the window, heart already racing, and there it was.

A lone crow, larger than usual, perched on the sill. Its feathers were ink-dark and glossy, glinting with moonlight, but it was the eyes that froze you—blood-red and unblinking. They pierced straight through you with unsettling focus. A bead of cold sweat rolled down your neck. The crow cocked its head slightly, as if amused by your discomfort, then let out a sharp caw.

You blinked, startled, just as a faint whistle drifted in from somewhere far off. Melancholic, almost mournful. The crow took flight instantly, like it had been summoned. You didn’t think. You followed.

It led you through the city’s edge, where the streetlights grew sparse and the buildings melted into trees. The crow never flew too far ahead. It flapped just within sight—beckoning. Pulling. The air grew colder. The darkness around you deeper. Every shadow stretched longer than it should have. You had the feeling you weren’t just walking through a forest—but through something older, watching, remembering.

Eventually, you reached the edge of a cliffside hill overlooking the sea. The wind was sharp here, and it carried the scent of salt and something more… metallic. Like blood. The crow perched on a moss-covered boulder, its glowing red gaze unyielding.

Then you saw him.

Sylus stood a few feet away, partially lit by the moonlight. His silhouette was motionless, his coat fluttering softly in the wind. There was a strange glow in his eyes—an edge of exhaustion, of pain, of things unspoken. The shadows clung to him like they knew him. And maybe they did.

"You felt it too," he said, voice low and tired, but threaded with something else—relief, maybe. Or regret. "Didn’t you?"

You nodded, unable to speak. The tension between you wasn’t new. It had always been there, just under the surface—an odd, unspoken current. But tonight, it felt different. Sharper. More dangerous. Like the world had shifted ever so slightly, and something ancient had turned its gaze on you both.

He stepped closer, eyes scanning the darkness beyond you as though expecting it to strike. “That crow… it’s not just a bird. It’s a harbinger.”

"Of what?"

"Of the thing that’s been following me." His voice dropped into a whisper. "And now you.”

The breeze picked up, and for a second, you swore you heard whispering in the wind—names you didn’t recognize. Warnings that came too late. A low rustle came from the trees behind you, though no leaves moved. You turned back toward him, suddenly needing the closeness, the grounding of someone else.

Sylus stepped forward, his fingers brushing yours. His touch was cold, but steady. "You're not alone in this," he murmured. His expression, usually so unreadable, had softened just enough. “You never were.”

The moment stretched. The mystery of the night still clung to the air, heavy with the weight of something not yet revealed. But despite the looming darkness, despite the shiver that still danced up your spine, you felt safer now than you had before. Haunted, yes—but not helpless.

Not with him beside you.