Scene 1 – The Calm Before the Hunt
The battlefield was eerily quiet.
The storm still churned above, lightning threading the clouds in violent webs, but for a fleeting moment, the wind stilled. The air was heavy, suffocating, the silence more dangerous than the thunder.
Jemil's blade dripped with residual fire and shadow, the Mark in his chest burning hot, almost unbearable. His breaths came ragged, but he forced his focus outward, scanning the fractured field.
The swordmaster stood beside him, katana steady though her shoulders trembled from strain. Her eyes never left the swirling darkness where the Herald had disappeared. "It's watching us," she whispered, voice taut with tension.
Jemil nodded grimly. "Waiting. Hunting."
The silence deepened, broken only by the crackle of distant lightning. Every instinct in Jemil screamed at him to stay alert, to move, to anticipate—but the Mark whispered something else. Stand still. Let it come. Let the predator see prey… then strike first.
