Kiaren was not just any soldier in Noir's service—he was a shadow that moved among shadows, a man whose presence alone could instill unease.
Standing tall and lean in his early thirties, his frame carried a deceptive stillness, like a predator poised to strike. His jet-black hair fell in sharp, angular strands, framing a face as sharp as a blade. His piercing green eyes glowed faintly in low light, their intensity hinting at secrets no one dared to unearth.
His bronze skin bore faint scars along his arms and neck, mementos of battles fought in silence. Even beneath his cloak, the edges of his horns—smooth and curved like onyx crescents—glinted faintly, a mark of his draconic lineage.
Kiaren's aura was as unsettling as his appearance. It wasn't just his physicality; the energy around him seemed to ripple unnaturally, like a storm held in check. This was the result of his covenants. With Selvath, the Lesser Dark Ascendant, he had partial mastery over shadows and dark magic. Selvath's gift whispered to him in stillness, weaving illusions and dread into the air around him. His second pact, with Kaelvar, the Fire Ascendant, granted him control over fire and lava, a volatile force that simmered just beneath his calm exterior. The duality of his powers—one cold and consuming, the other hot and destructive—gave Kiaren a balance that few could match, though the weight of wielding both left his body and mind strained at times.
As Kiaren approached the city gates, the massive walls loomed above him, their polished stone surfaces glinting faintly in the moonlight. The city seemed alive, pulsing with an energy Kiaren could sense beneath the mundane bustle. The air itself was thick with whispers of power, subtle but undeniable. His dragonoid senses picked up traces of dangerous auras as he passed through the gates. Faint, like dying embers, they lingered near darkened alleys and shadowed corners, flickering weakly yet unmistakably sinister.
Inside, Jordan unfolded like a web of contradictions. The streets near the gates were uneven, their cobblestones worn smooth by time and foot traffic. Dimly lit lanterns swung from iron brackets, their flames flickering and casting fragmented shadows across the walls of modest timber-and-stone buildings. The smell of spiced meats mingled with the tang of forge fires, creating an almost claustrophobic blend of aromas.
As he moved deeper into the city, the streets widened, the surroundings shifting to reflect more affluence. Smooth, polished stone replaced the worn cobblestones, and the buildings grew taller and more ornate, their facades carved with intricate motifs of mythical beasts and floral designs. Magical lampposts glowed steadily here, their white light casting warm halos over the pristine roads.
Kiaren's sharp eyes caught sight of a small, inconspicuous shop tucked away at the corner of a quieter street. The faded sign above the door read "Ravnor's Wear's", and a single lantern swung gently in the breeze, its light casting uneven patterns over the cracked wood. As he pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell echoed in the cramped space.
The shop's interior was narrow but well-kept, the shelves lined with folded fabrics, leather boots, and an assortment of robes. A faint smell of oiled leather and lavender lingered in the air, an oddly calming blend. Behind the counter stood the shopkeeper—a wiry man with thinning gray hair and sharp, dark eyes that flicked up as Kiaren entered. His gaze lingered for a moment, suspicion flickering across his face before he lowered his head to his work.
Kiaren moved silently through the shop, his steps making no sound against the worn floorboards. His hand brushed over the edges of a long black robe hanging near the back of the room. It was plain and functional, its coarse fabric perfect for his needs.
"I'll take this," Kiaren said as he approached the counter, his voice low and calm.
The shopkeeper looked up again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Kiaren's appearance. His gaze lingered on the faint outline of horns beneath the hood and the faint gleam of his green eyes.
"A Dragonoid," the shopkeeper muttered, his voice tinged with both awe and suspicion. "There's been talk of your kind in the city. Rumors... But I've never seen one in person until now."
Kiaren said nothing, his face an unreadable mask. Slowly, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a single gold coin, sliding it across the counter with deliberate precision.
The shopkeeper's eyes widened at the sight of the coin, his fingers hovering over it before slowly taking it. He turned it over in his palm as though testing its weight, his sharp gaze flickering briefly toward Kiaren before settling on the counter.
"Well, gold is gold," he said at last, pocketing the coin in one smooth motion. "You'll find no trouble in my store… as long as none finds me." His voice was steady, deliberate, and carried an edge that could have been mistaken for indifference—but wasn't.
Kiaren remained still, watching as the man adjusted a small stack of folded cloaks with measured care. There was no wasted movement, no idle chatter. Even the way he positioned the robes felt precise.
The silence between them stretched for a beat longer than necessary, but neither seemed bothered by it. Then Kiaren gave the faintest nod, taking the robe and slipping out the door.
Outside, the cold night wrapped around him, but the shopkeeper's words lingered, an unexpected echo against the quiet hum of the city. Kiaren stepped off the bustling main street and into the narrow alley. The faint buzz of a dangerous aura prickled at the edge of his senses, but it was distant and weak, like a smoldering ember far from igniting. He crouched over the robe, laying it flat on the ground, and extended his hand.
"Fire Magic: Lesser Flame," he muttered under his breath.
A small, controlled flame sparked in his palm, licking at the edges of the fabric. He moved his hand carefully, burning the material just enough to make it appear worn and weathered. The flame's glow danced across his green eyes, giving them an almost predatory gleam as he worked.
Satisfied, he donned the robe and stepped back into the main road. The faint buzz of the city pulsed around him, but his focus remained sharp as he moved toward the upper district.