The voice came before the figure fully stepped into view, its timbre like velvet dragged across a blade smooth, but with something cruel beneath.
He emerged from the shadows in the narrow passage, clad in robes that marked the scholar class, ink-black with subtle silver embroidery curling along the sleeves like ancient script. A jade ornament hung from his belt, swinging slightly as he walked, and his hands were clasped behind his back with practiced calm.
His face was refined, pale and unmarred, framed by raven-black hair tied loosely with a white ribbon that suggested academia, not warfare. A gentle smile played on his lips, yet it never reached his eyes, eyes that gleamed with sharp, predatory amusement. There was a strange stillness about him, as if he had not merely arrived, but had always been there, waiting.
The scent of dried ink and herbs clung to him, yet mingled subtly with something metallic, almost like rusted iron.
