Waning clouds obscured the moonlight as it filtered through at the edge of night, a gentle breeze stirring a fine mist of flower petals and light rain, casting a hazy moonlight through the clouds.
Upon these tumultuous cloudbanks that crowned the city's palace, a solitary figure of utter beauty and isolation glided to the edge of the glazed roof tiles, her movements graceful and agile.
Perhaps it was the slippery tiles, slick with a light drizzle, but that figure, as ethereal as smoke, stumbled, nearly plunging from the eaves.
A hand suddenly reached through the rain, firmly grasping her arm and pulling her back to safety atop the roof.
As Ning Feiyan steadied herself, she glanced at the hand on her arm, narrowing her eyes slightly but saying nothing.
The figure that emerged from the shadows under the cover of night was the assassin Hong Zhuang from the Demon Clan, wearing a new Waning Moon Mask that concealed most of her face within her cloak.
