The Underground was a world of its own, hidden beneath layers of cobblestone streets and bustling markets above.
It thrived on secrets, whispered deals, and blood-soaked alliances. And as Eclipse stepped into the dimly lit tavern that night, he felt every ounce of his caution screaming at him to turn back.
But turning back wasn't an option.
The door creaked shut behind him, and all heads turned toward the newcomer.
One wearing a mask and a cloak.
He was the only one who wore that here.
The room froze for a heartbeat before returning to its usual hum—laughter echoing from drunken patrons, clinking glasses.
To the untrained eye, it might have seemed like any other gathering of weary travelers or rowdy adventurers.
But Eclipse saw through the façade.
Every man here carried himself with an edge, their eyes sharp, their hands resting close to weapons concealed under cloaks or tucked into belts.
He scanned the crowd meticulously, analyzing each face, each posture.
