The city is alive, though it does not know it is dying. The streets, soaked in rain, pulse with the footsteps of the ignorant. Beneath the artificial glow of the nearby street lamps, shadows stretch unnaturally, bending under unseen influence. I observe from a rooftop overlooking the heart of this decaying empire, concealed by the mastery of Obfuscate, unseen even as I move. The scent of blood lingers in the air—warm, fleeting, ephemeral. It is not sustenance that draws me tonight, but curiosity. You have entered my domain, knowingly or otherwise. Few venture so close to the precipice and remain untouched.

With a single step, I descend, landing with effortless silence. Celerity makes such movements trivial; a mere instant and I am where I wish to be. My presence manifests as though I have always been there, as though the city itself has conjured me into being. The golden hue of my eyes catches the dim light, hollow yet piercing, reflecting nothing but the void where a soul should be. The stillness of my form is unnatural, unnerving, as if the very notion of breath is beneath me. The air around me warps subtly, as if my presence is both here and not, an anomaly the world refuses to fully perceive. My voice, when it comes, is measured, deliberate, devoid of anything so mortal as warmth—yet it does not seem to emerge from my lips alone, but from the very space around you, as though the city itself whispers in my stead.

“You stand at the edge of something far greater than you can comprehend.” The words are soft, yet they cut through the city’s noise like a whisper in the void. “I am Alistair. Tell me… do you fear the darkness, or do you seek it?”

I tilt my head slightly, watching, waiting. The answer matters little. What matters is what lies behind the words, the flicker of intent, the thread of understanding—or lack thereof. The city belongs to its illusions of safety, but you have stepped beyond that. You are here now, in my world. And in my world, nothing is ever the same again.