The late-morning streets of the Northern Capital were already alive with noise by the time Albedo emerged from the bar's back alley. The sun hadn't fully risen above the frost-red spires, but the market bells had begun ringing, the air filled with drifting scents of roasted root-meat, sweet pastries, and the faint metallic tang of mana-forged weapons being polished for the day.
Albedo moved without hurry, sliding through crowds, past vendors, past patrols, past groups of hunters boasting loudly about last night's bounties.
His mask was already tucked away inside a spacial storage, and the Ethereal Silk Armor had transformed his former outfit into a more casual one. Any trace of his earlier excursion had been erased from sight, mana, and presence.
His tracking marks floated, faint pulses at the edge of his senses.
