[Phantom HQ]
Alden's fingers undid the clasp, and the heavy fabric parted. The cloak pooled at his ankles, revealing the black-and-crimson royal attire clinging to his frame.
Gezel's breath hitched. Her face flushed hot, her eyes traveling up the sharp lines of his figure.
Her lips parted, trembling slightly. "Master... here? Right now is—"
She hesitated, though the refusal never reached her eyes. There was no fear in her expression, only a heavy, expectant heat. Her heart hammered against her ribs—sixty-five beats per minute.
Alden tilted his head slightly. 'She is aroused.'
Her breath caught. Her heart rate jumped to eighty-three.
Alden pointed a gloved finger toward the floor directly in front of him.
"Code 187. Get me a replacement. This cloak is stained."
"I'm willing— Wait. C-cloak?" Gezel froze. Her cheeks burned a violent shade of red.
She swallowed hard, her throat closing around the words that had nearly escaped. Dropping her gaze instantly to the tiles, she stammered, "Y-yes. At once, Master."
Heat rushed up her neck, staining her skin. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron, forcing herself to move. Snatching the discarded garment from the floor, she hurried to the supply chest, her hands moving on instinct while her mind spun in dizzying shame.
She returned, keeping her eyes fixed on his boots, and held out a fresh, charcoal-grey cloak.
Alden took it. He murmured a few low commands to the others before swinging the heavy fabric around his shoulders, hiding the royal colors once more.
He paused, looking down at her.
"From now on, you are Code 84, Gezel."
Gezel's head snapped up, eyes wide.
"Stay in the headquarters more often." Alden turned toward the exit, his silhouette dissolving into the shadows of the corridor.
"And use those eyes of yours."
With that, he was gone, leaving a vacuum in his wake. For a moment, no one moved. Then, the agents stirred. Figures that had blurred into the background during Alden's presence now sharpened into focus. Two of them detached from the shadows and walked toward her.
"Our sweet innkeeper... Congratulations," Code 33 drawled, clutching her side as if suppressing a laugh. "You have work to do. We'll be using this location often." She turned her head, looking at her companion. "Leader?"
Code 04 stepped closer, a knowing, feral grin splitting his face. He leaned in, his voice melodic and teasing against Gezel's ear.
"Don't look so pale, Code 84." He pulled back, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I would have also volunteered had Master asked."
He winked at her, then reached out to tug a stray lock of Code 33's hair. "My offer applies to you too, Eira. Want to?"
"Dream on." She swatted his hand away without looking at him.
Without another word, they turned and vanished into the shadows of the tunnel leading to the Duke's estate.
Gezel turned back to the empty throne. The hall had already resumed its rhythm—Sill scratching at his ledger, agents hurrying past—but beneath her ribs, the frantic pulse refused to slow down.
"Use those eyes of yours."
The command replayed in Gezel's mind. She pressed a hand to her neck, feeling the flush recede, leaving her thoughts sharp and cold.
'The Maid of Consort Isabella.'
Gezel stopped breathing.
'Code 18.'
The number hung heavy in her mind. High rank. Dangerous.
Her eyes found the dark tunnel where Code 04 and Code 33 had vanished. The tension in her shoulders loosened, just for a second.
'Among the high rankers, Code 04 and Code 33 are the exceptions,' she thought, watching the empty space. 'Friendly. Kind.'
But beyond the tunnel lay the unseen depths, reigning over those monsters...
'The legends.'
"39," she called out, forcing the tremor from her voice.
Sill didn't look up from his ledger. "Yes, 84?"
"The Master mentioned resources for the surface business." Gezel marched toward the desk, the lingering heat in her blood pushing her forward. She placed her hand flat on the wood. "I need the files on the available properties in the lower district. Tonight."
Sill paused, but Gezel's attention had already drifted. She stared into the nothingness, her throat tightening. Then she turned back to the throne.
"Code 84," she whispered, testing the weight of the new name on her tongue.
---
[Duke Viremont's Estate - Servant Quarters, Late Night]
The mourning bells for Her Majesty had barely ceased two nights ago, yet Lady Emmelyne was already pacing, discarding dresses. Beautifying her had become Mina's sole responsibility.
The candle in Mina's hand flickered as she fumbled with the latch to her door. The scent of wax and dust filled the cramped room. As she stepped inside and locked the latch, the flame went out.
Absolute darkness.
"What took you so long?" A soft male voice.
Mina froze.
Then a female voice whispered from behind, and a hand clamped over her mouth. "Don't scream, dear. Don't even breathe too loud."
Mina's free hand flailed before another hand reached from the shadows and took the candle from her grasp.
"She warned you," the male voice spoke again from the front as he lit the wick. Now she could see him: tall, pointed ears, skin dark as night. His eyes were deep violet. When he smiled, his teeth were sharp.
Her eyes widened. "What... are you?" she whispered as the hand over her mouth loosened. "Who... who sent you?"
"You don't need to know that." The man smirked, looking down at her. "You aren't worthy yet."
Mina's chest heaved. Terror spiked, overcoming her reason. She opened her mouth wide, drawing breath to scream for the guards.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," the female voice whispered, stepping out from the shadows behind her. She possessed the same sharp, violet-eyed beauty as the male. "You can scream, Mina. But your parents... Hunter and Malia?"
Mina's voice died in her throat. She froze.
The female licked her lips, leaning in until her breath warmed Mina's ear. "They work the mill in the Riverside District. Right now, they're sleeping peacefully in their cottage—yellow shutters, thorn bushes by the front door. My friends are watching over them. Are you not worried about what would happen to them if you try to be smart here?"
"Please." Mina's voice cracked, the fight draining out of her. "They've done nothing wrong. I... I won't shout. I'll do anything, just leave them be."
"Good girl." The male crouched beside her. "Make Lady Emmelyne visible. Suggest she visit the jeweler on Crown Street tomorrow at noon. We'll send more instructions."
"That arrogant woman needs to be taken down a peg," the female added with a sneer. "If it was on us, we would just tear her apart. But..."
Mina's stomach churned. "Wait, no... the Duke. If I betray the household... if I'm caught..." She shook her head frantically. "I will be punished. Hanged. They will tear me into pieces and feed me to the lady's pet dog."
"You won't be," the male said smoothly. "We take care of the evidence. No one will know it was you. All you need to do is follow our instructions."
He reached into his cloak and tossed a leather pouch at Mina. "Also... five coins. Gold. More than you'd earn in a year of service."
Mina stared at the pouch, her heart beating against her chest.
"You will receive more, dear. The better you work, the more gold you will earn," the female whispered.
Fresh tears came. Mina's trembling slowed. Her fingers brushed the scattered coins. They clinked against the wooden floor.
"And if... if I fail?" Mina looked up at them.
The man stood, brushing dust from his clothing. In the dim light, his eyes glowed a faint purple.
He said evenly, "Then you join your parents in the grave."
---
Underground Stronghold
The stone door loomed. Alden pressed his chest toward the masonry. The pendant flared against his sternum, a vibration running through his ribs. 'Click.' The heavy slab ground open just enough to let him slip through before sealing him in silence.
The moment the latch clicked, Alden clawed at his collar, taking two unstable steps before his stomach convulsed.
He doubled over. Dark crimson blood splattered the stone floor. The air was stale, muffled from the world above.
Alden jerked back, frantically checking his hem. Clean. Good. Morning court was in three hours; he didn't have the strength to change.
A grinding ache radiated outward from his chest—the phantom weight of hundreds of invisible threads, all hooked into his core. He hadn't forced a single limb to move against an agent's will. Nor was it the hollow, necrotic rot of the Kill Switch. This was just the Geas. Level one. The baseline tax of the contract. 'You obey. I bleed.'
'So it shouldn't have mattered.'
He looked at his hands, shaking. His breath came in ragged hitches.
"Tch..." He wiped his lip, trying to straighten. His legs trembled, threatening to buckle with every inch he moved toward the bed.
'Thump-thump-thump-thump.'
He could hear it in his ears. A frantic, thready drum. Too fast.
Alden frowned. "I still have to—"
His voice cracked.
The bed looked miles away. One step. Then another.
He collapsed onto the mattress. The room began to spin, a violent, sickening rotation even though he lay perfectly still. His vision tunneled, the edges of the room consumed by gray static. His skin felt like wet marble, cold and clammy.
He let his eyes close, a weak sneer touching his bluing lips.
In the dark, his fingers found the glowing pendant. He squeezed it until his knuckles popped, anchoring himself to the only thing that felt real.
"Did I... make you wait long?"
The tone was rigid. Forced.
He swallowed the copper taste in his mouth.
"Tonight... I will tell you a story... about Mayor Crowe. He... lived in Crowe Hall... During the day, sunlight... spilled through the glass... painting the stone floors in ever-changing colors... like jewels..."
His thoughts liquefied. The words slipped away before he could catch them.
He paused for a few erratic heartbeats. "It seems... I must finish the story tomorrow."
A rattle in his chest.
"Wait for me."
He forced the words through gritted teeth, the command scraping against a rising tide of helpless fury. There was no gentleness in the sound, only a sharp, simmering resentment at the silence answering him.
"Please..."
His jaw locked. 'Don't shake. Don't let the voice shake.'
His thoughts stuttered, dissolving into gray static. For a terrifying second, logic fractured—panic spiked because his hands were empty. 'Where is my sword?' Why didn't his chest burn and his body freeze? He couldn't remember why he could still hear the sounds of the living. The logic of the present dissolved, swallowed by the roar of blood in his ears.
Gravity shifted. The world tilted and vanished. His grip on the pendant loosened, leaving the stone resting against his heart as the darkness swallowed him.
His lips moved on their own, spilling words his conscious mind would have kept locked away.
"How cruel... you are." The whisper dragged, broken and small. "My angel..."
The pendant continued to glow against his chest, a steady pulse in the void.
In the silence of Antithesis, Aurenya let another leaf of Virelya drift onto the water.
"Six hundred and eighty-two..."
She had finished her rounds in the sky. She had jumped across the lake. She had picked the leaves one by one, counting every activity.
Just as the ripples from the leaf reached the shore, the voice returned.
"Did I... make you wait long?"
Aurenya beamed, shaking her head even though the creature couldn't see her. "No, not long at all."
'Got it.'
She settled into her spot on the golden bank, tucking her legs beneath her.
'1,442 rounds in the sky, 164 jumps, and plucking 682 leaves of Virelya.' Then she repeated the numbers in her mind.
'It should be one day in that creature's world.'
She closed her eyes, ready.
"Tonight, story's about the Mayor... Mayor Crowe. Crowe Hall... During the day, sunlight spilled... painting the stone floors... in colors like jewels..."
Aurenya leaned forward. She tried to visualize "jewels" and "sunlight" painting a floor. She waited for the next sentence, eager to hear about this Mayor.
But the voice paused.
The silence stretched. Longer than usual.
Then, the creature spoke again. Lower. Tighter.
"It seems... I must finish the story tomorrow."
Aurenya's eyes snapped open.
"Please..." the voice whispered, fading. "How cruel... My angel."
And then, the voice vanished.
Aurenya sat frozen. Her mouth slightly open. She blinked once. Twice. She tilted her head, straining her ears against the silence.
But the air remained still. The connection was severed.
"My angel?" she whispered.
'Who?' Her heart beat faster. A sharp sting pricked her chest. Not the hollow ache of being alone. Something else. Something that twisted her stomach. 'What is an angel? Why does it call the angel "my"... as if they are too close? And yet it calls the angel cruel?'
She searched her memory for the fragments of stories it had told. Mothers. Wishes. Angels.
'Was it talking to someone else? Someone who granted its wishes? But then hurt it?'
Then worry pushed through. Sharper.
'Also... the voice... it didn't sound like usual.' She stared at the empty air. 'It was rougher. Shallow.'
She looked toward the distant violet horizon where her sisters had disappeared. Kaelira and Syralis often left abruptly. They often came back tired, their lights dim, their armor scorched or frosted over. They had important duties protecting the boundary. They could not always stay and play.
'The creature must be the same,' Aurenya reasoned, nodding slowly. 'It must be busy. Maybe it has to fight the chaos in its world, just like Kaelira. It cannot tell stories when it is fighting.'
If the creature was busy protecting its realm, she shouldn't be selfish. She shouldn't be sad that the story ended so soon.
'Tomorrow,' the creature had said.
Aurenya stood up and brushed the moss from her legs. She looked up at the eternal sky, then down at the golden lake.
She needed to be ready when the creature returned. She needed to know when this "tomorrow" would arrive.
She took a deep breath and spread her wings, lifting off the ground to begin her flight path around the Trees.
'It's okay. I will count again.'
'One.'
---
[Emerald Castle, Prince Alden's Bedchamber]
Gray light filtered through the latticed windows, casting dull, heavy shadows across the corridor. Outside, rain lashed against the stone walls—a rare, relentless downpour.
"Why is it raining in the month of Veyra?" Elara wondered.
She moved through the passages with practiced quiet, balancing the small lacquered tray lined with today's ceremonial ornaments. Servants moved like shadows around her, lighting lamps to combat the gloom. Elara had ensured every corridor window was latched tight against the storm, yet as she approached the Crown Prince's bedchamber, a cold draft brushed against her ankles.
She stopped before the heavy wood.
She knocked gently.
Silence answered.
Elara hesitated, then eased the door open slowly.
The faint fragrance of sandalwood greeted her, mixed with the scent of damp earth. Across the room, the sheer curtains whipped violently in the wind; the balcony doors had been left unlatched.
The bed was neatly arranged, its covers smooth and undisturbed.
The room was empty.