Kint strode with determined steps down Kaden City streets, invigorated by his victory over Lord Crecius. The fact that he was even alive was a testament to the power of the Silent State.

The Inspector grinned.

But the smile quickly faltered as he neared his destination.

The 11th Inkhold District… enemy territory.

Kint’s eyes flicked from side to side, checking every nook and alleyway for Echrus’ Acolytes. Even if they were a useless bunch, any one of them could get lucky, especially in the thick Shroud of the Mule district.

The Inspector grimaced. He could feel the uncomfortable sensation of eyes on his back. It had been there for a while.

He quickened his pace.

Boots clacking on cobbled streets.

Sweat beaded on his brow.

He glanced left and right.

Stone apartments flanked him through the fog. The odd light in a row of darkened windows gave some comfort, but they were few and far between.

He was alone in the dark, but for the hidden eyes of his enemies.

Kint glanced to his left, making a decision.

He took a sharp turn, darting down a narrow alley.

The Inspector pressed himself against a wall.

Shadows enfolded him concealing his dark suited shape.

He stood frozen, ears open. His breathing was heavy from the sudden movement. He worked to slow it, counting each lungfull, marking the time.

One breath. Two breaths… Three… Five… Ten… Twenty.

Kint shook his head. He was being paranoid.

He was about to step back into the road, when he heard it…

Footsteps.

Two sets.

Moving quickly.

They stopped a block away.

“Did you lose him?” A breathless voice asked.

“He was right there.” Another responded.

“Thought you Breezers could see through this shit?”

“I just blinked, and he was gone.” Came the reply. “I told you we shoulda been closer.”

Kint peaked his head around the corner. Spotting his pursuers.

The Inspector frowned. They wore the purple and black of house Vorva.

Crecius wasn’t leaving anything to chance it seemed.

His eyes narrowed.

He recognized these men.

One was tall and stout. The other, hunched and skinny, wearing a silver gauntlet on one hand.

It was the Acolytes from the crime scene, the ones guarding the Factory doors.

Kint pulled his head back into the darkness of the alley.

Shit.

These weren’t pushovers. He doubted he could take them both, and the Wind Weavers range would make it difficult to outrun them.

Kint gritted his teeth.

He needed a way to lose them. Fast.

The inspector turned. His eyes narrowed. There was a bend at the end of the alley, maybe a way out?

The aging man moved with delicate steps toward the bend, keeping his ears open for any changes in the Acolytes movements. He reached the corner of the turn, peaking his head around it.

Darkness…

Kint’s eyes widened in horror.

Darkness… An all consuming, rapturous void awaited him beyond that corner.

His legs were frozen. Eyes unable to blink.

He’d never seen such vile hateful magic before.

Swirling motes of flickering black extended toward him, beckoning him, reaching out.

His breath caught.

A glistening white smile split the black. Crimson eyes opened, glowing against the void.

A footstep rang clear down the alleyway.

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The sound shivered through him, red eyes edging closer.

He took a step back, regaining control of himself.

The dark footsteps mirrored his, inching closer.

Those eyes were eager.

Another step back.

The dark extended, smile growing closer.

“Fuck this.” Kint growled, clenching his fists and forcing himself to move.

He would not be consumed by whatever that thing was.

The Inspector turned staggering away, feet slipping on slick stone streets.

His hard boots rang loud through the night. Gone were the precise, cautious steps of before. He didn’t care, he just needed to be away, to be out of the shadowy grasp of that nightmare thing.

Kint burst out into the main road, stumbling to a halt as he met the eyes of the two Acolytes not twenty paces away.

Both parties froze, momentarily shocked by the abrupt meeting.

The Inspector's gaze flicked back to the alley, where dark tendrils were slithering toward them.

Lord Crecius’ Acolytes hadn’t seemed to notice.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Inspector.” The stout one warned.

The slender Acolyte grinned, he was itching for a fight.

Kint opened his mouth to reply, but his eyes widened as a tendril of darkness reached from the alleyway into toward his two pursuers.

He spun, putting his back to the two men. He needed to be away, far away.

Footsteps echoed behind him. The Acolytes were following.

They were closing in.

He sprinted down the shrouded street, fog caressed his skin, swirling around him.

Kint needed to think.

How could he get out of this?

There was an alley, up ahead. It could be another dead end, it could be darkness, but there was no other choice. At this rate, he’d be caught for sure.

There was a rattling of metal on metal behind him.

The Inspector dove around the corner.

The wall exploded behind him, stones showering over his cloak as the wind blades hit.

Kint looked back in horror at the deep gashes along the wall.

They were trying to kill him!

He scrambled to his feet. Sprinting down the alley, unable to see its end through the fog.

He kept running. He had no choice.

“He’s down there!”

“Prophet help me.” Kint prayed.

There was an opening to the right, he darted toward it, sprinting around the corner, into the fog. The walls tightened around him. His lungs burned.

He slowed, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach.

It was a dead end.

No way out…

But, there had to be. There had to be a way.

He searched.

Could he climb? There was a stack of boxes in the corner, maybe if he…

He approached the wall, stumbling over a low rising wall in front of him.

His brow furrowed, as he examined the odd structure.

How had he not seen it?

It was built from the same stones as the streets, blending in perfectly with it, like some sort of illusion. He stared at the wall, then back to his surroundings.

Maybe he could jump off it? Stack the boxes on top to reach a higher ledge?

He shook his head. The buildings were too high, and the closest window was on the third floor.

“Fuck.”

It was impossible. There was no way out…

He shifted his gaze to the alley's entrance, waiting for his pursuers to arrive.

He could hear their footsteps approaching.

They’d slowed down, taking cautious steps toward him.

Wind Weavers could see much better than most through the Shroud, but they weren’t taking any chances.

“Hold on.”

The voice came from around the corner.

Kint gritted his teeth, and with a prayer to the prophet, he crouched down behind the low wall he’d tripped on.

He closed his eyes, holding his breath.

Silence…

“Who the fuck are you?”

Kint’s brows knit together. He opened his eyes, peaking over the edge of the wall.

He could barely see through the thick Shroud, but the alleyway before him looked empty. His attackers must have halted just around the corner.

“Hey… stay back.” The Stout Acolyte commanded, tension in his voice. “We’re Crafters.”

“His eyes, Daryl.” The other whispered. “Look at his eyes.”

Kint felt a shiver run down his spine.

“I said step back!” Daryl snapped.

“Daryl, look at his bloody eyes!” The Slender Acolyte hissed.

“What the fuck…” Daryl trailed off. “What… What are you?”

“Oh, gods… Oh Gods, please…”

“No– Stay back. Stay back I said!”

There was an explosion. Wind blades hitting stone.

“Oh Fuck…”

“He’s got my leg Daryl! He’s got my let!”

“No… Please, no…”

“Daryl Please!”

“No… N…”

“Daryl help m–”

The Acolytes voice cut out, leaving only the weeping cries of Daryl behind.

“NAAA–”

The scream was cut short.

A sloppy thump sounded down the alleyway as something wet and heavy hit the stones.

Silence descended.

Then…

Footsteps.

They echoed, clear as crystal, bouncing off the gray walls.

They were moving away.

Did he dare hope?

Kint listened…

Yes… they were moving away.

After a minute… they were gone.

Kint released a breath. Taking in a large gulp of air.

He’d been holding his breath for he didn’t know how long.

Several minutes passed before he worked up the courage to move. Stepping gingerly down the smoky corridor.

He reached the corner, hugging close to the inside wall.

Carefully, he peeked his head around.

Nothing.

No darkness. No blood. No bodies… Nothing.

The only evidence that anything had happened were five deep gashes carved into the walls by the Wind Mages gauntlet. But, even the rubble from the man’s attack was gone.

Kint stood still. His mind frozen. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stay. But, that thing was still out there…

Eventually, he gritted his teeth and started walking.

Can’t get stuck, have to move forward.

There was nothing he could do. If the thing came back, he’d just have to deal with it… somehow.

Luckily, the red eyes did not return.

And, after another half hour of walking, he arrived at his destination.

At the end of a long street, rose a narrow wooden church, walled in by stone apartments and hidden from the world.

Kint approached.

Six Branches of the Stalwart Tree were carved into the wooden door.

He raised a hand, then paused, taking a breath before knocking three times.