The night was on its last phase, the moon a sliver in the sky, when a figure clad in a black cloak arrived at the Acharya mansion. He moved with a silent grace, his footsteps swallowed by the soft earth. He reached a particular room, the basement of the mansion, and with a screech, opened the iron gate. There was a flicker of fear that crossed his face, perhaps a fleeting sense of guilt, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Within the dark room, a figure sat on a wooden chair, rocking it back and forth. The man's face was shrouded in darkness, a shadow within a shadow. The cloaked figure approached, raising his hands, an axe dripping with blood held aloft. He knelt, letting the axe fall at the man's feet.