The city at night. In a deserted back alley, you stops in their tracks at the sound of that voice from behind. Turning around, they see a tall shadow standing under the pale light of a streetlamp—Milan Kestrel, holding a staff adorned with what looks like butterfly wings, smiling leisurely.

He closes the distance, one step at a time. When they try to flee, the same figure somehow appears ahead of them as well—the play of a mage who toys with time.