The first light of dawn revealed two monks standing over his bed."It is time," they said, their voices hollow.
The Wanderer had no belongings to gather. He simply stood and walked out, his feet hitting the marble paths to the garden one last time.
The wind, indifferent to the temple’s politics, carried the heavy scent of flowers to him, in a final fragrant farewell, from the only part of Lythra that hadn't tried to break him.
He reached the outer gates.
Tharos was nowhere to be seen, likely purging the ritual hall of the "taint" the Wanderer had left behind.
Only Kaelen stood there, a cloth bag clutched in her hands. She held it out, her fingers twitching to avoid even a brush of his hand.
"You will find a waterskin, some food, and coins for your travels," she said, her voice strained. "This is the last grace of our temple to you. My final advice is to leave Lythra immediately. No one will help you here any more. Your mere existence is a threat to this city."
He took the bag, the weight of the coins shifting inside. "The resentment is mutual," he replied, his voice low. "Peace and serenity to you, Kaelen."
She turned away before he could see her expression. "You made sure we couldn't have that anymore," she whispered, her retreating footsteps the only answer.
The Wanderer stepped out onto the jade streets he grew to hate, heading for the city gates.
He felt an itch at the back of his neck, the prickling sensation of eyes tracking his every movement through the crowd.
At the gates, the guards didn't ignore him this time. Their eyes were hard, their spears leveled as they watched him pass, ensuring he truly left the city.
He entered the forest, the canopy swallowing the morning light. The feeling of being watched didn't fade.
The shadows between the ancient trees seemed to stretch and pulse.
He kept walking, maintaining a steady pace, pretending to let his guard down as he reached into his bag for his waterskin.
A sharp whistle sliced through the air.
He pivoted on instinct as a dagger buried itself into a trunk inches from his throat. Three cowled figures emerged from the brush, fanning out to surround him.
One of them stepped forward, pulling back his hood to reveal a face he’d seen before.
The one-eyed leader of the street gang. "Your rotten brain seems to always forget paying what you owe," he hissed.
The Wanderer let the waterskin dangle from his fingertips. "I thought you’d be hiding under a rock somewhere after getting beaten by a beggar."
Spite flared in the man’s single eye, turning it a bloodshot red. "The words of a dead man walking don't matter," he snapped, gesturing to the two men flanking him…real Fang assassins this time, their lethal Qi confirmed it.
In a blur of black cloth and steel, they rushed him.
For a moment, saw them in a different place…nothing close to Avaris, but he quickly dismissed the visions, locking on them.
The first assassin lunged, the silver of his dagger a blur. The Wanderer dipped low, his center of gravity shifting, and drove an uppercut into the man's elbow.
The joint popped, but the second assassin didn't miss the opening. He appeared in a flicker of shadow, a heavy kick catching the Wanderer square in the back and sending him face-first into the dirt.
The one-eyed leader’s laughter echoed through the trees. "See? We don’t even need Qi for a dog like you."
The Wanderer surged upward with a snap-kick that the assassin barely avoided. He scrambled to his feet just as they rushed him in tandem, blades leveled. He met them head-on, his hands locking around their weapon-wrists.
The two assassins pressed their free palms together, weaving a sphere of volatile, dark Qi between them. The Wanderer’s vision flickered again, for a moment seeing the assassins as shadowy figures.
He failed to step back in time.
The detonation was instantaneous. The blast caught him full in the chest, hurling his body through the brush.
He rolled to a stop, his breath hitching, but as he rose, his anger finally overrode the pain.
His skin began to hiss, violet sparks of magic arcing off his frame like captured lightning. With a speed that mirrored their own, he vanished. He reappeared inches from the first assassin, driving a roaring, magic-reinforced fist into the man's chest.
The second lunged to intervene, only to be met by a savage roundhouse kick to the abdomen that sent him reeling.
The two assassins exchanged a look of grim realization before dissolving into twin plumes of smoke.
The Wanderer turned his gaze toward the one-eyed man. Terror stripped the leader's mockery, he scrambled backward, ducking behind the thick trunk of an ancient tree.
The Wanderer ignored him, closing his eyes to sense the displacement in the air.
Daggers began to rain from every direction. He blurred through the volleys, dodging the steel. "I thought you were elite Fangs," he mocked.
The reply was the sharp zing of invisible threads. The daggers he had just dodged were pulled back, the wires slicing through his arms and legs as the blades returned to their masters.
The moment he flinched, the assassins materialized above him, their hands wreathed in sharpened Qi. They descended in a cross-cut, carving deep, glowing lines across his chest.
The Qi felt like the concentrated malice of the monks, but intensified. The Wanderer fell to his knees, his breath coming in gasps.
"Quickly!" the one-eyed man shrieked from behind the tree. "Finish him!"
One assassin lunged, his fist glowing with a lethal aura. The Wanderer lunged forward with his head, meeting the glowing fist with his own forehead, his "crown" now reinforced by a layer of raw magic.
The assassin recoiled, shrieking as the bones in his hand shattered against the Wanderer’s skull.
The Wanderer didn't give him a second to breathe. He lunged from the dirt, his fingers stiffened into a spear.
He drove them through the man’s ribs, his internal hunger roaring as it began to drain the assassin’s Qi.
With a visceral tear, he ripped the man's heart clean from his chest.
This wasn’t survival anymore… and he welcomed it.
The remaining assassin froze, watching as the Wanderer slowly squeezed the life-blood from the organ in his hand.
Recovering his composure, the survivor flicked his wrists. The threaded daggers shot out, snaring the Wanderer’s limbs and tightening until they bit deep into his muscle.
The assassin channeled his dark Qi through the wires, the energy burning like acid.
Ignoring the agony, the Wanderer planted his feet and hauled on the threads, dragging the assassin toward him.
As the man flew forward, the Wanderer met him with a rising boot to the face. The assassin collapsed, blood masking his features, but rose for one final, desperate Qi-infused strike.
The Wanderer caught the blow mid-air, twisting the man’s arm behind his back with a sickening crunch.
The assassin flailed with his free hand, but the Wanderer caught that too. Standing behind the broken man, the Wanderer planted a foot in the center of the assassin’s spine.
He growled like a predator, and pulled back on both arms while pushing forward with his foot.
The forest was filled with the sound of snapping sinew and a final, guttural scream before the assassin's arms were torn from their sockets.
The man slumped to the forest floor, unconscious from the sheer trauma.
Unable to contain his hunger anymore.
He knelt over the cooling torso and drove both hands into the man’s chest. The void within him opened wide, inhaling every scrap of the remaining Qi until the last spark of life flickered out, leaving only a hollow husk behind.