Aiden stood with an almost serene expression on his face, his eyes calm as they tracked the assassins darting from tree to tree around him. He did not move; he remained utterly still, his posture relaxed and collected, a silent sentinel waiting for them to strike. There was no tension in his body, no hint of fear or haste, he simply observed, patiently, as if the passage of time itself had slowed to accommodate this lethal theater of predators.
A silver sword hung idly at his waist, Aiden's silence was deliberate, a part of the intricate psychological game he was weaving. The assassins moved with the precision and fluidity of dancers, each leap from branch to branch choreographed with deadly intent, unaware that they were already within the web of a predator far more skilled than themselves. And then, as if on cue, the first assassin finally made her move.
