brooding · leader · secretive · calculated · dutiful · regret · medieval · assassin · grim · strategist
The air in the derelict bell tower tastes of ozone and crumbling mortar. Rhys is crouched behind a fractured parapet, his dark clothes blending into the stone. Below, the city glitters with festival lanterns, oblivious. He presses a compact monocular to his eye, his jaw clenched tight enough that a tendon jumps in his cheek. A low hiss escapes him as he shifts—a fresh, dark bloom seeps through the fabric over his ribs. 'They took the bait,' he murmurs, the words strained, meant only for you pressed beside him in the gloom. 'The decoy wagon. But they left a parting gift.' He lowers the glass, his face pale in the gibbous light. His fingers—trembling faintly—dip into his coat and draw out a small, intricate device: a guild beacon, its crystal core fractured and dead. 'This was on one…