In the darkness.
Pinpricks of artificial light flickered weakly in the dark alleys.
The increasingly chilly night wind swept between buildings, carrying the stench from the gutter corners through streets and alleys. Ancient edifices stood in this dead and cold night sky, with starlight cascading from the eternal sky upon rooftops, spires, and city walls, revealing vague outlines of these dark silhouettes, amidst which shadows occasionally flitted by.
Those fleeting shadows carried an air of tension and resolve, with slightly hurried steps in the darkness, they passed along a hushed message among neighbors, friends, and kin: "Wait for the first toll at dawn."
Cobbler Brum, wrapped in a scarf, walked on the darkened streets. The night wind at dawn seemed to carry malice, making him shiver slightly—he couldn't tell if the shiver was from fear, excitement, or merely the cold, but he felt as if a flame burned in his chest. With this fire, he dared to step outside and onto the street.
