DEYYAR HAD HIMSELF RUNNING OUT OF TIME.
But surely not out of plans.
The festival of the Veiled Crescent was to commence on the first glimpse of tonight's moon. Yet the evening was staggering in its final stage, with twilight beginning to fade. Which meant that he had only an hour until nightfall to make it to the palace.
Perched on a rooftop, a predator awaited its prey. Deyyar sat, resting on his elbow with legs crossed and hands interwoven. He played with a dart between his lips, careful enough not to come in contact with its needle at the front.
He thought slumber would be a more merciful option for his prey, rather than paralysis. Hence was the dart's tip dipped in moon shadow nectar. Its injection would grant one a peaceful two nights.
Deyyar scrutinized the house adjacent to the rooftop. A facade of beautiful grandeur it surely was. Perhaps if he looked at the house with an oblivious mind, he would've actually considered it beautiful. But what a tragedy it was, for splendor could not make every roof feel like home.
The porch was supported by marble stairs and sheltered with pillars erected on both sides. Pillars, fashioned by splintered hands of his people. The door itself was made of whittled pine wood, a delicacy of the rich. A cobblestone pathway flanked by manicured hedges trailed before the entrance. Yet only God knew what illicitness took place within those four walls. The door's handle hatched from the inside, its knob twisting and turning. The predator sat upright.
He steadied the dart between his teeth and brought the dart blower close to his lips.
Any moment now.
An aristocrat clad in fancy garments finally stepped out of the house. Deyyar effortlessly exhaled, and the dart was released. It struck his prey on the neck, and almost immediately did the man fall to his side, unconscious.
And thus, the predator's hunt proves triumphant, as always.
He lurched to the bottom of the single story roof, rotating his ankles and cracking his knuckles, as he approached the fallen man. He took in his clothing, pleased enough that the man's size would do. Next to his unconscious form, a warm ember pipe laid, recently ignited. Picking it up, he inhaled the flavor of the mobile hookah, yet tossed it on the ground once more.
He clicked his tongue in distaste, "Too sweet a flavor for a man like you."
Further searching the man's pockets, Deyyar finally found the envelope containing the invite.
His lips curled up in an illicit, single sided smile, "I'm just borrowing your stuff for the night." He went on to tap the man's cheek, "Sweet dreams, you scoundrel."
The first of his many plans worked, as the Royal Palace laid in his wait
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A/N
Hi,
It's been a while.
I know this update was short, but I promise you longer chapters and more frequent updates.
Shall we meet at the palace.
Hehe
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Phoenix From The Shadows
Historical FictionIn the shadowy realms of Derjan, where the sun sets behind the whispers of deceit, Deyyar bin Yusuf thrives as an assassin without scruples, his blade a cold harbinger of death. But fate takes a twisted turn when the enigmatic Al Finiq clan coerces...
