The quiet of the palace grounds was thick with the weight of their mission as El-Kharis, Azazel, Leon, and the rogues made their way back under the cloak of night. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light illuminating the stone walls of the palace as they approached with purposeful steps, moving like shadows through the sprawling estate. The night was still, but the tension in the air was palpable. Their task was clear, their plan set, and yet there was an undeniable heaviness to the silence that surrounded them.
El-Kharis led the way, his dark cloak flowing behind him like a phantom's. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the palace walls, taking in every detail, every possible route they might need. He was used to the shadows, to moving unnoticed, but tonight felt different. The stakes were higher. If they were caught, it would mean more than just failure—it would mean certain ruin. The Crown Prince was no fool; if they underestimated him again, it could be disastrous.
