Assassins are the silence between heartbeats.
Clad in dark garments that swallow light, they move unseen through alleys, rooftops, and battlefields alike. Their blades are curved for precision — quick, efficient, and final.
They carry no banners, no symbols of allegiance. An Assassin serves purpose, not glory. Every step is calculated, every strike delivered before the victim understands the danger.
The red accents on their attire are not decoration — they are warnings. Where an Assassin walks, someone’s story ends.
They do not roar like Warriors.
They do not blaze like Wizards.
They end wars before they begin.
And by the time you notice their presence, it is already too late.
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