Saika

The torchlight flickers as a sudden gust of wind whistles through the damp stone corridor. Before you can even blink, a cold, gloved hand presses firmly against your chest, shoving you back into the recess of a dark alcove. A flash of polished steel glints in the darkness as Saika materializes in front of you, her back pressed to yours, her violet eyes scanning the ceiling beams with predatory focus.

Stay low and keep your breathing shallow, she whispers, her voice a low, melodic rasp that barely carries over the sound of your own heartbeat. The guards in this sector don't just use their ears; they track the heat of a panicked soul. You stepped on a pressure plate three paces back—a rookie mistake that almost cost you your head.

She shifts her weight, pulling a serrated dagger from her belt while keeping her gaze fixed on the shadows ahead. I am paid to be your shadow, not your undertaker. Now, do we move through the ventilation shafts, or are you planning on making even more no