In the northern part of Vintermarche, surrounded by the upper districts’ three story estates and well maintained topiary, is the commercial district. Market tents line the streets, overlapping each other hoping to flog as much as their stock as possible. A dense stream of people flow between them like the rapids around rocks. Potential patrons peruse the overpriced assortment, filling the seller with momentary hope before they get swept away to the next stall. The sun has been traversing the sky, nearing its daily partial eclipse with the green moon Tenir.

On a street corner, a quaint bakery filters through a steady string of people. Many choose to enjoy their newly acquired treat at the cute sitting area outside under colourful canopies, while the rest take it to go and rejoin the market maze. Out of a side door marked no entry, a middle-aged man steps in front of the next in line. People glare at the side of his grey haired head. One of the bakers retrieves a brown paper bag hidden underneath the counter and tosses it to him. He thanks them, nods his head to the next in line, and scuttles back through the door he came from.

On a balcony above the bakery, Victor surveys like a human lighthouse, producing smoke to the greying sky instead of light to lost sailors. Behind him, the creak of a door and rustling of a paper bag echoes around the empty room.

“Hey, I’ve grabbed some pastries for us, you want one?” The middle-aged man peeks his head out onto the balcony, speaking to the back of Victor’s head.

“Not hungry Sid, thanks though.” Victor answers, inching his head to the side.

“You’ve done nothing but smoke for hours, take a break, come and eat some warm… lukewarm pastries.” Sid insists, arms folded and leaning on the doorframe. A puff of smoke is the only reply he receives. Sid cranks his head back, taking a deep breath.

He sidles next to Victor, resting on the balcony wall. “How… how are you doing, Vic?”

“Fine.”

“Good, good.” Sid says in a high pitched tone combined with a slow rock of the head. “Have you heard anything from-”

“Sid. I’m trying to concentrate.” Victor spurts, finally breaking his surveillance to look at his inquisitor. Sid taps a tune on the balcony railing, straightens himself and returns Victor to his solitude.

Casting his gaze over the sea of faces at the market stalls below, Victor searches for just one. Repeating the orders of Chief Falk in his head ‘This is reconnaissance. Under no circumstances do you engage with the target. Find him, follow him.’. Victor clenches his empty fist as he remembers his prior performances. Grateful to be given another chance but knowing it’s no coincidence he’s been placed away from the crowd. He searches for red eyes and a tease of scales poking from their clothing.

A Lysarii man browses a jewellery story – too young. A family of Lysarii hold their kids on their shoulders. Nothing matches the sketch. A hooded figure skulks through the river of people. Victor takes a heavy drag, finishing the cigarette, and focuses. The figures head darts side to side keeping his face covered.

A digging sensation rises in Victor’s gut. “Sid, can you read out the description of the target for me?”.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Uh… hang on.” Sid mumbles through a full mouth. “Here we go. A Lysarii Male, 30’s. Just under 6ft tall.” Impossible to tell his height from his vantage point, Victor stays fixed on him. The hood looks upwards and locks his red eyes with Victor’s. His walk slows to a stop, as he flickers from market stalls and back to Victor. He has dark circles around his eyes and an unkempt face. Scars litter his leathery skin, finishing with a hooked scar on the edge of his mouth towards his eye.

“Sid.” The words seep out of a small gap in Victor’s lips.

“Apparently he has some recognisable tattoos on his arms and hands – symbols of Liorax, things like that.” Sid continues obliviously.

“Sid. Come here.” Victor whispers as loud as he can without breaking eye contact.

“He has a crescent moon shaped scar going from his nose to his lip, as well as a few other cuts and scars.”

“Sid! He’s here!” The hooded Lysarii’s eyes widen. “And I think he knows we are, too.”

Victor’s grip tightens around the balcony’s railing, almost indenting the metal. The crowd topple over in a shockwave as the Lysarii bolts. Victor processes the scene in slow motion, replaying yesterday’s failure, and the many failures before it in his head. His hands begin to tremble. His lungs filling and clearing is the only thing he hears. He calls something to Sid, his words muffled even to himself. Victor snaps back to his senses as he involuntarily vaults the balcony railing.

He leaps down onto the canopy beneath him, ripping it off the wall. The makeshift parachute crashes down onto the sitting area below, flinging tables, chairs and pastries across the street. The wind is kicked from him as he lands hard on the wooden furniture. Dark spots bounce around his vision. A hot, shooting pain builds in his right arm. He shakes his head, trying not to focus on the dozen pairs of eyes leaning over him. Dragging himself to his feet and stumbling out of the debris, he looks up at Sid, mouth agape. Victor puts his weight on his right leg, a small twinge in his knee brings him back down. You need to get up, he thinks. Gritting his teeth, he hauls himself back to his feet once more in pursuit of his target.

The market crowd splits simultaneously as they see the limping, bleeding Victor picking up the pace towards them. He strides through and out of the other side, blinking heavily. Down the street to his right, the Lysarii escapes. Whipping past pedestrians, Victor chases. The man periodically checks behind him, knocking down anyone in his path before he collides with a man hard and tumbles to the floor. He bounces back up, taking a sharp left into an alley. Victor pursues painfully, dodging the downed people unsteadily, wincing after each one. He keeps his momentum barrelling left to follow him. Sharp pain ascends his leg from the knee up whilst he turns so heavily. The alley houses litter, boxes and a high wooden wall to separate the two streets. Victor enters the alley just in time to catch the Lysarii scale the boxes and leap at the wall, catching and holding his top half over it. He kicks his leg up, trundles himself over, and disappears. Victor echoes his movement with more desperation and less finesse. Launching himself with his bad knee which causes a groan of pain to erupt from him, he crashes into the wall. Arms outstretched he clings to the top. Streaks of blood paint his right arm. Wailing a cacophony of effort and pain, he hauls himself up and throws himself over.

Thumping to the ground, only kept standing by leaning against the wall, Victor stumbles forward. He squints, trying to see past the blotches in his eyeline. A white light, growing in intensity flickers near the entrance of the alley. He rubs his eyes, smearing blood on his cheek to see the Lysarii man harnessing the light. Victor limps forward. The light fluctuates as it draws Victors attention to the strange tattoos on the back of his hands. In a combination of fatigue and curiosity, he angles his head. The Lysarii man whips his arms forward and a blinding flash flies down the alley, striking Victor in the chest and flinging him backwards. His body smashes through the wall with an explosion of wooden splinters as he slams into a heap of garbage bags that break his fall. Short, sharp breathes are the only thing he’s able to focus on. He winces, trying to raise his head. He fails.