Jian glanced back again. The Farian was still there, a few steps behind. Always close. Always watching. It was starting to wear on him.
Every time Jian turned his head, even slightly, he caught the figure in his periphery—tall, silent, unshakable. The Farian never closed the distance, never tried to engage beyond those quiet, infuriating words of his. But he never fell back either. Just kept pace, step for step, like a shadow Jian couldn't shake.
It grated on his nerves. Made his fingers twitch toward the sword at his side.
The city around them was silent, broken. Rubble covered the roads, chunks of concrete and twisted metal scattered like the aftermath of a bomb. Most buildings were either half-collapsed or burned out, their skeletal frames blackened by fire. Windows gaped like empty eye sockets, glass long since shattered. The air smelled of ash and something faintly sour—rotten food, maybe, or worse.
