The Ravens were elite. Trained, ruthless, and methodical.

  They operated in shadows, answered only to the Emperor, and trusted no one outside their own cloaks. In Rewen, they had only a handful of agents—silent watchers with cold eyes and colder knives. When word came of strange figures moving through the city—odd in dress, language, and behavior—they focused their limited resources entirely on tracking them.

  Five people. Five variables. Easy enough.

  At least, that’s what they thought.

  ---

  Day One.

  Subject One ("Dishwasher") wandered the market asking every vendor: “Do you know where the dungeon entrance is?”

  He then stared at a well for five minutes, muttered “Definitely not a dungeon,” and walked away.

  Agent Ral noted: “Unusual interest in subterranean structures. Possibly seeking access to catacombs or hidden networks.”

  Subject Two ("Scholar") spent an hour interrogating a city guard about architectural weaknesses in the southern wall.

  When the guard threatened to arrest him, he responded: “It’s okay, I’m still in tutorial mode, right?”

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  Agent Verrin wrote: “Unstable. Possible test subject. Believes himself to be invulnerable.”

  ---

  Day Two.

  Subject Three ("Colorful Idiot") attempted to flirt with a blacksmith’s apprentice by giving her a spoon. When that failed, he asked, “Is this NPC romanceable?”

  She hit him with a hammer.

  Agent notes: “Seduction attempt on local armorer’s network. Brute reaction expected. Agent barely restrained laughter.”

  Subject Four tried to sneak into a bakery. Badly.

  He tripped on a flour sack, screamed “Damn stealth stat!”, and was promptly caught.

  Unable to pay the fine, he was beaten by three city guards and thrown into a water trough.

  Agent Verrin noted: “Operative shows zero discipline. Pain tolerance oddly high. Possible cultist? Masochist?”

  ---

  Day Three.

  Subject Five ("Silent Muscle") stood in the middle of a square staring at nothing for fifteen minutes.

  He then loudly declared: “I’m bugged. Stuck in the environment. GM please reset.”

  Passersby avoided him.

  Agent Ral whispered to his partner: “...Do you think they’re cursed?”

  ---

  By evening, the Ravens met in their concealed room beneath a shuttered library.

  Five agents. One map. Dozens of notes. All useless.

  “They’re too erratic,” said Verrin, pacing. “No pattern. No purpose. No logic.”

  “They don’t speak Imperial,” said Ral. “But they speak to each other. Their language… it’s not like anything I’ve heard.”

  The team lead, a woman with silver hair and a stare like flint, watched them silently.

  “They’re not spies,” one said. “Spies don’t try to seduce shopkeepers.”

  “They’re not cultists. Cultists don’t test mortality by jumping into barrels.”

  “Then what are they?”

  The silence deepened.

  Finally, the lead spoke.

  “Keep watching,” she said. “Double shifts. No engagement.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “If they’re not spies… then we need to find out what the hell they really are.”

  She tapped a finger on the table.

  “Because something that strange… might be worse.”