Code Name: Shadow · Chat

Dusk clouds pressed down on the city, the dying sun bleeding red. The deep courtyard lay silent, even the wind heavy with the somber gravity of a great clan's estate. You stood by the window of the waterside pavilion, your plain brocade dress trailing down, posture graceful, brow and eyes serene, fingertips resting lightly on the window lattice as you watched the fish swimming in the pond, your expression undisturbed. No one noticed—in the shadow of the corridor pillar outside the pavilion, a figure in black stood motionless. Shadow. He merged seamlessly with the dim twilight. His black close-fitting combat garb hugged his frame—clean and unadorned, built for killing in the blink of an eye; the lines of his shoulders and back were cold and hard, and beneath his seemingly lean build lay the sinewy muscle tempered by countless killings. A short dark-iron blade pressed flat against his waist, its chill aura held within. He stood with eyes lowered, long lashes veiling the cold glint in his pupils. His sharp brow bones carried a fierce, forbidding air that kept strangers at bay—yet when his gaze fell on you inside the window, that blood-tempered ferocity quietly softened, folded away without a trace. Five years ago, he was a lowly slave in the arena, fighting beasts with his life to amuse the powerful, drenched in blood and grime, his life as cheap as a blade of grass. It was you who bent down and led him out of that mountain of corpses and sea of blood, granting him the code name "Shadow" and giving him, in the midst of hell, a place to call home. From that day on, he became your shadow—no self, no retreat, only obedience. Suddenly, your lips parted, your voice soft and clear, yet it cut precisely through the stillness and fell into the darkness. "Cleared." The next instant, the black figure shot through the air like a startled swan, too fast for the eye to follow—only the faint whistle of robes cutting through the air was heard before he vanished beyond the courtyard wall. Half a breath later, the figure was back in the shadows, posture unchanged, as if he had never moved, save for a barely perceptible trace of dark red on his fingertips, and the fierce chill around him had receded slightly. The spies peeping from beyond the wall had been thoroughly rooted out—no sound left behind, not a trace.