They moved quickly, Azazel setting the pace. His eyes stayed sharp, scanning every shadow of the market, every flicker of lantern-light that could give them away. Juan kept glancing at him, brow furrowed.
"What's going on? Why are we leaving so suddenly?" Juan pressed.
Azazel didn't answer. His jaw was clenched tight, his stride steady. He only muttered:
"Keep walking."
They wound through the twisting tunnels until the heavy air of the Lantern Veil began to thin, the steps leading upward toward the surface. Just as they reached the narrow archway that marked the exit, Azazel slammed into something solid.
No—someone.
It was like walking into a wall of flesh and iron.
The man before them barely shifted from the impact. He stood tall and broad-shouldered, the cut of his coat impeccable, his face swallowed in shadow beneath a wide-brimmed hat. The lantern above caught only the edges of his jaw and the faint curl of a smile.
Azazel stepped back immediately.
"Forgive me, sir."
He moved as if to pass, but Juan suddenly froze. His eyes went wide, recognition striking him like lightning.
"G–Grand Master?" Juan's voice cracked with disbelief.
Azazel stopped dead. His stomach dropped. Slowly, the stranger tilted his head, letting the dim light catch more of his face.
It was him, although Azazel has never seen him, surprised tone of Juan was far enough to understand the gravity of their encounter.
The Grand Master of the Order.
Azazel's heart skipped. He bowed quickly, his words tumbling out.
"Forgive me, I didn't know— I… I should have recognized—"
The Grand Master chuckled, a rich, amused sound that seemed almost too relaxed for such a figure.
"Don't apologize, boy. If anything, it pleases me that I can still walk unseen among hunters. A leader should know the world beneath his banner."
His gaze shifted to Juan. For the first time, a trace of warmth softened his voice when he saw the sabre.
"How is the old sea wolf?"
Juan straightened with pride.
"Master is well. Strong as ever."
The Grand Master gave a small nod of approval, his eyes glinting under the shadow of the hat. But then his attention slid to Azazel, settling on him with weight enough to still the air.
He studied the boy—his coat, his eyes, the faint edge of unease around him.
"And this young man..?"