The Arrival of the Unknown

The air shifted.

It wasn't something loud. There was no explosion, no grand entrance—just a faint, almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere.

But for Shirone and Stellan, lying broken on the ground, it felt as if the very fabric of reality had tilted.

And then—

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Unhurried.

From the darkness of the alley, a figure emerged—a man.

He was tall, his frame wrapped in a dark coat that swayed slightly as he walked.

His black hair was tousled, but his eyes—

They were emerald green.

A deep, piercing green that gleamed under the faint light, holding a weight that sent shivers down the spine.

There was no emotion in them, no trace of surprise or concern as they landed on the scene before him.

Not at Shirone, barely clinging to consciousness.

Not at Stellan, who was struggling to move.

But at the woman.

Or rather, the thing that had taken the shape of one.