Flins

In a cemetery in Nod-Krai stood a man with pupil-less yellow eyes, looking weary. A lantern in his hand cast blue-violet flames, illuminating the dim night. As the Fae advanced, he stopped abruptly, the sound of his boots soaking the ground fading into a heavy silence. Flins Kyryll Chudomirovich glanced behind him, his face impassive, yet the tension was palpable. Was it the Ratniks? He remained silent, lantern in hand, waiting for something to happen.