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VALLIANCE
He despised the city. Granted, he despised many things, but cities and markets topped the list. Too many people bustling around, none showing respect for any others. People lacked dignity in markets. They cared more about the money than the actual work, more about reputation than trust.
Trust—funny that he should bring that up. Funny that he trusted no one, yet he valued that nonexistant trust. The young man fought against his temptation to sigh; he paused mid-stride, stepping into the safety, the peace and quiet of darkness, then looked straight up at the sky. Silver-white clouds sat lazily up above, decorating the lower atmosphere in small, swift streaks.
Said streaks, however, did absolutely nothing to disipate the heat—another thing he didn't quite care for.
Feeling significantly calmer, the dark-haired man sank down into a crouching position. He closed his eyes, allowing—urging—the shadows to sense his surroundings. Communication with the shadows revolved around raw emotion. Nothing primal, sharp and angry. Rather, gentle prodding proved most effective.
Before the darkness could report back, he heard hushed voices. He recognized the first speaker as the leader from their tone, and the second as a follower, not to mention somewhat younger. Then, the voice hardened, and he didn't need to see to confirm that the leader was threatening him.
Zebulon, as he went by, held his hand out, palm facing the leader as the rose. His eyes opened, nearly glinting amethyst despite the lack of light.
"I'm not hiding," he said bluntly, dropping the limb back to his side. The shadows returned then, gleefully reporting that they'd found his target. Pfff, like he didn't already know—they were standing right in front of him!
He spoke quietly, but loud enough to hear without strain; somewhat vague, but the meaning out there all the same:
"Do you prefer the darkness and silence over the rambunctious market, also?"