Following Draven was never a good idea I

Draven walked out of Timothy's workshop and took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air that greeted him. He looked around and saw the busy streets of Veland bustling with activity. He felt a strong urge to do something, to be out in the open and not stay cooped up inside the workshop. Draven was dressed in a loose white shirt, black trousers, and a long coat that swayed in the breeze as he walked. He moved through the crowds, his senses alert for any signs of trouble.

The people around him were mostly merchants and workers, all going about their daily business. He saw shops selling various goods, food stalls offering delicious treats, and street performers showcasing their talents. Draven walked with a purpose, his eyes scanning the crowds, searching for any signs of danger. His hand instinctively went to his sword, a comforting weight at his side.

As he walked, he tried to clear his mind of his troubled past and focus on the present. He wondered if he would run into Sarah, and he scanned the faces of the people around him, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He knew he needed her help to avenge his family, but he couldn't help but feel conflicted about trusting her.

Despite his worries, Draven enjoyed the sights and sounds of the city. He saw children playing and laughing, merchants haggling over prices, and beggars asking for alms. He walked past a busy marketplace where vendors were selling all sorts of goods, from fresh produce to exotic spices. The smells of the market wafted through the air, and Draven felt his mouth water with hunger.

He walked for a while longer, taking in the sights and sounds of the city, and then turned back towards Timothy's workshop. Draven knew he needed to be patient and let Timothy finish repairing his armor and forging the shoulder cannon. As he walked, he felt a sense of calmness and purpose, knowing what he was doing had brought peace and happiness to Veland.

As Draven walked down the street, he couldn't help but feel like something was off. He looked around but saw nothing unusual. The street was bustling with people, and everyone seemed to be minding their own business. Draven thought it was just his imagination, so he continued walking. But as he walked, the feeling only grew stronger. He started to feel like someone was following him.

Draven wasn't a paranoid person, but he had been in enough dangerous situations to know when something wasn't right. He tried to act casual, but he kept an eye out for anything suspicious. He walked down a few more streets, turning corners and walking in circles, but the feeling of being followed didn't go away.

As he walked, Draven became more aware of his surroundings, noticing the patterns in the flow of people, the rhythms of their footsteps, and the subtle movements of those around him. Suddenly, he noticed a break in the flow of people, a gap in the crowd where no one was walking. It was then that he realized that someone was following him, someone who had the talent to trail him without being noticed.

Draven quickly ducked into a nearby alley, taking refuge in the shadows, watching as the figure walked past the entrance, still unaware that Draven had spotted them. It was clear that this was not an amateur but a skilled tracker.

Suddenly, he heard Margoth's voice in his head, his sinister tone sending chills down his spine. "We are being followed, aren't we?" he said, his words laced with a dangerous thirst for violence. Draven nodded in response, his eyes scanning his surroundings, trying to spot any potential threats. He knew he couldn't let his guard down, not even for a second.

Draven's desire to avenge his family had made him vigilant and cautious. As soon as he felt he was being followed, he knew he had to take action to ensure his safety. He was determined to find out who was following him, whether it was a friend or foe. He believed that anyone who followed him without his permission was an enemy, and he had to be prepared to defend himself if necessary.

Draven had seen too much darkness and betrayal in his life and didn't trust anyone easily. He wanted to be sure that he wasn't being followed by anyone who could harm him or Sarah. Draven was also curious about who was following him. He wondered if it was someone from the UFH or someone from his past who wanted to settle a score with him. He knew that whoever it was, they were skilled at following without getting noticed, and he had to be careful in his approach.

Therefore, Draven decided to observe his surroundings carefully, looking for any signs of suspicious behavior or unusual movement. He wanted to make sure that he could spot any potential threats and deal with them accordingly. He remained alert and focused, scanning the area around him for any clues that could help him identify the person following him.

Margoth's voice grew more sinister as he spoke again. "Let's teach them a lesson, Draven. Show them the wrath of an Elden god." His hunger for souls was insatiable, and he was always looking for a chance to feast on them.

Finally, Draven slipped into the shadowy embrace of a narrow alley, its cobblestone pathway illuminated only by a few flickering gas lamps that struggled to fend off the encroaching darkness. The alley, flanked by towering brick walls, was veiled in a thick shroud of silence, broken only by the distant echo of bustling city life. The air was heavy with the scent of dampness and secrets, as if the alley itself held hidden tales of the nocturnal wanderers who sought refuge within its obscure depths.

With calculated steps, Draven ventured deeper into the alley, his footsteps barely making a sound against the worn stones. Shadows danced and twisted around him, casting an eerie cloak of anonymity over his figure. The dim light accentuated the sharp angles of his face, revealing a steely resolve in his eyes as he prepared to confront those who had dared to tail him.

As he reached the alley's midpoint, Draven turned and faced the darkness behind him, his body poised and ready for action. A sliver of moonlight pierced through a narrow gap between the buildings, casting a pale glow on his features, accentuating the tension in his expression. At that moment, the alley seemed to hold its breath, anticipation hanging in the air like a tangible presence.

A slow, sinister calmness emanated from Draven, a reflection of Margoth's merciless hunger lurking within him. He welcomed the confrontation, eager to unveil the identities of those who had been shadowing his every move. The alley, now a theater of hidden agendas and clandestine intentions, awaited the unveiling of its players in this macabre dance of predator and prey.

Margoth's voice slithered into Draven's mind, its tone filled with malice and sadistic delight.

"Ah, the prey walks willingly into the trap. How delightful," Margoth hissed, relishing the imminent confrontation.

"Let them come, Draven. Let them taste the terror of facing the Reaper and his faithful servant," he whispered, the words laced with a chilling excitement.

"Their souls will be mine to feast upon, their essence fueling our power. We shall leave a trail of empty vessels in our wake," Margoth chuckled, his hunger for souls palpable.

"Remember, Draven. We are the predator in this dark game. They are mere pawns, unworthy of our mercy. Unleash your fury upon them," Margoth urged, his voice dripping with a cruel delight.

"Let the shadows embrace them, their futile attempts at concealment exposed by our vigilance. We shall rend their spirits asunder," Margoth's words resonated with a sinister intensity.

Draven felt a surge of dark energy coursing through his veins, fueled by Margoth's bloodlust. The anticipation in the air was thick, charged with the promise of violence and retribution. The stage was set, and the hunters were about to become the hunted.

Silently, like shadows in the night, a trio of men followed their leader into the depths of the dimly lit alley. High above, Draven clung to the facade of a dilapidated building, his dark wings unfurled in a silent display of readiness. Hidden within the shadows, his keen eyes followed the movements of the approaching figures, his heart pounding with anticipation. In the stillness of the night, the flickering lamplight cast eerie shadows on his figure, enhancing the aura of mystery that surrounded him.

The man who led the group was a commanding presence, exuding an air of authority and determination. He stood tall, towering above his companions, with a burly and muscular physique that spoke of his strength and resilience. His broad shoulders and sturdy frame indicated a life of physical labor and intense training.

The man's face was weathered and marked with the lines of experience, revealing a life filled with hardship and battles fought. A five o'clock shadow covered his square jaw, adding to his rugged and no-nonsense appearance. His piercing eyes, sharp and intense, held a glimmer of steely determination and a hint of restrained violence.

He wore a dark, worn-out leather jacket that hugged his broad chest, the material adorned with various pockets and patches, suggesting a practicality born from years of being prepared for any situation. Underneath, he sported a simple black shirt, emphasizing his unassuming yet formidable presence. Faded jeans clung to his powerful legs, showing signs of wear and tear from countless encounters.

Completing his attire were sturdy boots, scuffed and worn, testament to the many miles he had walked and the countless battles he had fought. Around his waist, a thick leather belt held various tools and weapons, a visible indication of his readiness for any confrontation.

As the man led his group into the dark alley, his eyes scanned the surroundings, surveying for any signs of danger. His strong and determined demeanor hinted at a long history of leading and taking charge, while his battle-hardened appearance conveyed a sense of fearlessness and the capacity for extreme violence when necessary.

It was clear that this man was not one to be taken lightly. Two figures trailed behind the formidable leader, their identities shrouded in secrecy. Swathed in voluminous cloaks that billowed around them, they concealed their faces from prying eyes, leaving only a faint outline of their features visible. The hoods of their cloaks cast deep shadows, obscuring their expressions and rendering their intentions enigmatic.

Their movements were synchronized, their steps echoing in unison with the leader's, as if bound by an unspoken pact.

"Where did he go?" one of the two figures standing behind the leader spoke, frustration lacing their words.

"How in the hell did we lose him?" the other one chimed in, their voice tinged with exasperation.

The leader, however, maintained a composed demeanor, his eyes betraying a trace of caution as if he understood the peril posed by the elusive young man they were pursuing. In that moment, the vibrant atmosphere of Veland came alive, as the townspeople ignited fireworks, filling the night sky with a cascade of colors and mesmerizing displays.

Amidst the spectacle, a brilliant firework soared into the heavens, its trajectory resembling that of a majestic dragon taking flight. The fiery serpent twirled and danced in the air, leaving a trail of glittering sparks in its wake. The explosion that followed was a symphony of vivid hues, as bursts of crimson, gold, and emerald illuminated the darkness, casting an ethereal glow upon the surroundings.

The dragon-shaped firework captivated the attention of both the townspeople and the trio in the alley, momentarily distracting them from their pursuit. The awe-inspiring spectacle evoked a sense of wonder and awe, momentarily suspending the tension that hung in the air. Its vibrant colors and explosive energy painted the night sky, creating a breathtaking scene that drew gasps of delight from the onlookers.

As the reverberations of the fireworks subsided, their echoes fading into the night, the leader's calm gaze returned to the task at hand. As the fireworks bathed the surroundings in a dazzling array of colors, casting an ethereal glow upon the alley, the leader's eyes scanned the scene with heightened awareness. Amidst the vibrant spectacle, his gaze was drawn to a flicker of movement above, where shadows danced upon the walls of a nearby building. His attention fixed upon a dark figure, partially obscured yet unmistakably present.

In that fleeting moment of clarity, the leader's sharp perception pierced through the veil of darkness. His eyes locked onto the figure clinging to the building, effortlessly suspended in the air with a pair of wings spread wide. It was as if the shadows themselves had come alive, assuming the form of an avenging force.

Draven, as the leader discerned, possessed an aura of daunting power and lethal purpose. His presence exuded a raw intensity, a potent amalgamation of strength and determination.

With his hood pulled low, concealing most of his features, Draven's piercing gaze remained fixed upon the trio below. The leader could sense an air of defiance radiating from the young man, a palpable energy that hinted at his unwavering resolve. The flickering lights reflected in his eyes, casting an otherworldly glow that intensified the aura of danger surrounding him.

Draven's wings, spread wide against the night sky, possessed an ethereal beauty, their sleek and powerful form a testament to his supernatural abilities. They appeared like extensions of his own being, as if he was born to soar through the darkness, a predator stalking his prey.

In that frozen moment, the leader realized the magnitude of the threat before him. Draven, the dark figure perched above, embodied a force that defied the ordinary. The leader's instincts told him that to underestimate this enigmatic young man would be a grave mistake. As the fireworks continued to paint the night with vibrant splendor, the leader steeled himself, ready to face the looming confrontation with unwavering resolve.