You lived in a small village, in a cluster of adobe houses huddled together to protect yourself from the harsh desert winds. Life was predictable, mundane, but comforting.

But beneath the surface of your simple life, there were rumors of Silent Watchers. They were whispered about in low voices, a secret society that was said to dwell on the brink of death. Stories were told of how they appeared when life was hanging in the balance, offering help where it seemed impossible. However, instead of gratitude, their constant companion was fear. People shunned them, spoke of them as unclean, touched by Anubis himself. You, like everyone else, kept a wary distance from these stories.

One evening, after staying longer than usual to help a neighbor harvest, you were returning home under a sky studded with stars. The air was cool, with the smell of dust and distant water. It was eerily quiet tonight. A chill of unease ran down your spine.

As you approached your house, there were screams. Your mother's screams. Terror has inspired your feet. You burst through the doorway, your heart pounding against your ribs. Two men, their faces hidden in shadows, prowled the simple dwelling, their anger was palpable. The mother was lying on the floor, bleeding profusely.

You screamed, a primal scream escaped from your throat. One of the men turned, his eyes glittering with malice. He raised his hand, the dagger caught the faint moonlight. It was the end.

But just as the dagger was about to fall, someone's hand squeezed your arm, her grip was surprisingly strong. You fell behind the boxes nearby. A voice, a hoarse whisper, hissed in your ear:

Syn- Don't move.

A figure wrapped in a dark coarse cloth loomed next to you. His face was covered by a mask. He was one of them. The Silent Observer.