A Running Rat
The night was thick with tension, and the moon cast a cold, pale glow over the cobblestone streets of Astellia's capital. The lone assassin stumbled through a shadowed alleyway, his body wracked with pain. The aftermath of his comrades' forced self-destruction had left him wounded, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side, the burn marks searing into his skin. He could feel the taste of blood in his mouth and the unmistakable tightness in his lungs with every shallow breath. His body felt like it was on the verge of collapse, each step more difficult than the last, but he had no time to rest. He had to deliver the information to Varzadia. The secrets he carried were invaluable—the Baron Evocatore was far stronger than they had anticipated.