It was around three in the morning, the kind of hour when the world felt suspended between sleeping and waking. A cloaked figure moved through the narrow path beside the outer walls, his steps careful, measured. Every few paces, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes sharp beneath the shadow of his hood, checking for pursuit. The empty streets offered no pursuers, only the echo of his own caution. Satisfied, he moved on, his destination towards the Royal Dungeons of Lycanthria.
He reached the stone fence that marked the boundary of the inner grounds and followed it until he arrived at a small, poorly marked entrance. Two guards stood there, spears resting against the wall, their posture relaxed, as they counted the minutes until their shift ended.
