The city never slept—at least not for people like Rayon. By the time dawn cracked over the rooftops, painting them in pale light, the air was already heavy with rumors. Whispers spread like fire: the Hunters knew.
Not just about the Forsaken. About him.
Rayon leaned against the cracked window of a dimly lit inn, strings dancing lazily around his fingers like shadows that only he could command. His reflection stared back: sharp black hair, eyes void and hollow, lips tugged into that familiar arrogant smirk. He didn't look shaken. He never did. But deep inside, he knew what this meant—his games had forced the Hunters' hand.
The days of moving quietly, playing under the radar, were gone.
That morning, Cairo had sent a message, written with precision and folded twice over.
"They've issued a Black Edict. Hunters will move in packs now. Strong ones. Not the dogs you've crushed before. They're calling your name. Don't underestimate them."
Rayon burned the letter in silence, watching the ashes curl into the wind. His smirk widened. Finally, they've decided to treat me seriously.
By nightfall, the streets began to thin. Markets shut early. People whispered of armored figures seen patrolling in groups of four, sometimes six. Hunters in their black insignia coats—the mark of the Association. Some moved openly, weapons slung across their backs. Others melted into the crowd, eyes scanning for the familiar ghostlike presence of Hollow Strings.
Rayon didn't hide. He walked through the center of the market, cloak over his shoulders, strings faintly flickering under his sleeve like veins of light. He could feel them watching. Their gazes clung to him like parasites, cautious but bloodthirsty.
One of the Hunters finally stepped out. A broad man with braided white hair, silver eyes, and a jagged scar across his cheek. His aura was suffocating—Rank 6, if Rayon had to guess. His weapon, a jagged glaive, gleamed under torchlight.
"Rayon Veynar," the man's voice cracked across the street. The crowd scattered instantly. "By decree of the Hunter Association, you are to be eliminated. For the blood you've spilled. For the lives you've corrupted. For daring to twist the laws of nature."
Rayon chuckled, hands sliding into his pockets.
"You talk like a priest," he replied casually. "But let's not pretend this isn't the only thing you live for—the thrill of killing. So don't flatter yourself, Hunter. You're not justice. You're just another dog chasing a string."
The man's grip on his glaive tightened. Around him, three other Hunters emerged, stepping from alleyways and rooftops—surrounding Rayon. A perfect square.
Exactly what he wanted.
Strings slid from Rayon's fingertips, invisible to most eyes, but sharp enough to hum against the cobblestones. His heart raced—not with fear, but excitement. The kind of high only danger could feed him.
"Four on one?" Rayon tilted his head, grinning darkly. "Guess the Association's finally giving me the respect I deserve."
He flexed his hand. The strings quivered. Reality bent.
"Let's see if the hounds can tear me down… or if I'll strangle them with their own leashes."
Outside forces began to stir. The underworld whispered of Rayon's boldness—facing Hunters openly rather than lurking in shadows. Inside the Association headquarters, the higher ranks sharpened their knives, murmuring of escalation.
The war between Rayon and the Hunters had truly begun.
And in his hollow eyes, there was no fear. Only hunger.