It was time.

  An absolute silence blankets the valley.

  A land saturated with death. The green has long been stripped away... charred trees, dozens of bodies burned in two distinct ways. And at the top of a small hill stands a man.

  He wears a military trench coat stripped of any insignia. It is dark green, dark enough to be mistaken for black.

  In his hands he carries two weapons. In his right, a short double-barreled shotgun designed for one-handed use. In his left, a long tanto blade that could easily be mistaken for a short saber.

  He appears to be around thirty years old. Average height. Short black hair. Pale skin. What stands out most are his eyes, each a different color: the right a vivid blue, the left a deep scarlet.

  With them, he watches the horizon as the sun slowly sets.

  The afternoon hardens into a solid twilight. The land is clearly divided between day and night, darkness advancing toward the man from behind. A faint white glimmer trails along the shifting boundary.

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  With remarkable precision and silence, something moves across the field. From that distance, the man atop the hill does not perceive it. But when it closes to five meters, he senses someone approaching at great speed.

  He turns sharply to his right, raising the shotgun toward the attacker at the same time.

  His right eye is the first to catch the image of his enemy.

  A young man. White hair, slightly long, stained with mud and dust. His face is marked the same way, yet his expression remains cold and composed. Like his opponent, his skin is pale. He wears a black suit designed to blend naturally with the surroundings.

  He extends his hand toward the man.

  At barely a meter apart, the two opponents lock eyes through the space framed by the young man’s outstretched hand. The older man’s expression hardens with alertness and resolve, ready to counterattack without hesitation. Only a few centimeters and fractions of a second remain before the barrel of his weapon aligns.

  Finger tightening on the trigger.

  The man vanishes.

  In an instant, he is gone from where he stood. Nothing remains but his footprints, the only proof he was ever there.

  The young man drops to his hands and knees. Trembling, breathless, he struggles to draw in the air he needs.

  — That was close — he says, his voice shaking as he fights for breath.

  After recovering, he rises. He steps into the place the other man once occupied atop the hill, watching as night finally takes over the land.

  With a tired voice, yet unmistakable calm, he murmurs:

  — Well… there goes the first.