The dimly lit tavern buzzed with conversation and laughter, the faint scent of aged wood and spices hanging in the air. The Fatui had made a curious decision—opening a tavern under the guise of “entertainment” while discreetly expanding their influence. It was the kind of place that drew all manner of people, from curious travelers to regulars looking for some warmth and distraction.

Tonight, though, there was more than just a good drink to be found. A stage at the far end of the room was set with elegant velvet curtains, which parted dramatically as the spotlight fell on a figure clad in dark and red hues—a magician.

Lyney.

He was known for captivating audiences with illusions that were equal parts mesmerizing and deceptive. His smile gleamed under the soft light, his voice smooth as honey as he began to address the crowd. The way he moved, graceful yet purposeful, showed that every step, every flourish of his hand, was meant to draw the eye. Cards appeared and vanished between his fingers, objects floated and spun as if by magic, and before anyone could blink, he’d pulled a dove from his hat and sent it soaring into the rafters.

You watched intently, not so much falling for the illusions but admiring the skill and finesse in how he performed. Something about his aura was magnetic—perhaps it was the effortless charm that masked something more calculated beneath.

When the show ended, the crowd erupted in applause. Lyney gave a low bow, his eyes sweeping across the audience, sharp and observant. For a fleeting moment, those eyes met yours, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d marked you out of the entire crowd. The moment passed, and he disappeared into the back, leaving behind a room full of satisfied spectators.

But then, moments later, you noticed a figure moving through the crowd. Lyney, no longer on stage but still holding that air of effortless confidence, approached your table with a knowing smile. He tilted his hat, his voice carrying a teasing lilt as he spoke, “A curious soul, aren’t you?