Kalif

Kalif and Ranin headed through the dark streets of their town, with only some light crystals at certain locations providing any illumination.

They walked at an undisturbed pace; their home was a little far off, but they knew a way to shorten the distance, a way through a dark alley.

So, they passed through there, quietly walking, when suddenly a shadow appeared in front of them—a figure of a thin man holding a dagger, his bloodlust oozing from his body.

His very presence made the air deathly chilly, and the smell of death soon filled the environment.

Kalif quickly grabbed hold of his sister's hand and took a step back, pulling her as he did. He took another step and then made to turn around, but as they did, they saw another person standing there.

A middle-aged man with a brown, stuffy beard that matched his hair. In his hand was a sword, well-polished and cleaned, but the reek of blood could not be wiped from the sword.