The departure of Troy Helms left a lingering chill in the corridor, a frost that even the humid, steam-choked air of the underground Sanctum could not melt. Rayn, Vespera, and Veora stood before a door that seemed out of place in this cathedral of obsidian and marble. It was a simple, weathered wooden door—the kind one might find in a forgotten library or a scholar's attic—yet it radiated a silent, heavy authority.
Veora, her usual energetic chatter dampened by the presence of the "Executioner" and the proximity of her commander, raised a hand and knocked. The sound was muffled, swallowed by the thickness of the oak.
From within, a voice resonated. To a normal human, it would have been a mere vibration, but to Rayn—whose senses were currently attuned to the Low-High Tier 8 frequency—the words were as clear as a bell in a silent valley.
"Come in."
Rayn adjusted his glasses, the silver frames catching the violet glow of the hallway lanterns. "Madam Veora," he said softly, "I believe Commander Freddy is prepared to receive us."
Veora blinked, her green eyes flashing with a mix of surprise and annoyance. "If you can hear him through three inches of enchanted oak, your ears are as sharp as your tongue, Rayn. I didn't hear a thing." She knocked again, perhaps out of habit or a lingering desire for a clearer command.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered.
"I ALREADY TOLD YOU! COME IN!" Freddy's voice erupted from behind the door, carrying the heat of a man whose patience had been burned to a cinder by paperwork and mystery.
They pushed the door open and stepped into a space that smelled of old parchment, bitter tobacco, and the faint, sweet scent of the yellow and pink flowers resting in a porcelain vase on the desk.
Commander Freddy Orenstein did not look up immediately. He was seated in a high-backed leather chair, a newspaper held firmly in his hands. He wore a crisp white suit today, a stark contrast to the grey pinstripes of their first meeting, with a silk black shirt beneath it that seemed to absorb the dim lamplight.
The office was a testament to a life spent chasing shadows. To the left, a wardrobe stood slightly ajar, revealing a row of sharp coats and spare shirts. To the right, two massive wooden shelves groaned under the weight of thousands of documents—the recorded sins and tragedies of the kingdom. On the wall behind him hung a framed photograph of the Spectre team; Rayn's eyes scanned it, noting Troy's cold gaze and Veora's youthful grin among faces he had yet to meet.
Freddy finally lowered the newspaper, his eyes scanning Rayn and Vespera. He rose slowly, smoothing his white jacket.
"Hello, Mr. Rayn. How are you?" He offered a hand across the mahogany desk, his grip firm and testing.
"Don't mention it, Freddy," Rayn replied, his voice a calm tide against Freddy's storm. "I am as well as a man in my position can be."
Freddy's gaze flickered to Vespera before returning to Rayn. "Your wife told my assistant that you were suffering from a debilitating fever. A 'lung-rot' from our city's fine air. You look remarkably healthy for a man who was on his deathbed three days ago."
Rayn allowed a thin, practiced smile to touch his lips. "The constitution of a scholar is a fickle thing, Commander. I am prone to sudden collapses and equally sudden recoveries. I apologize for the delay in my arrival."
"Don't worry about it," Freddy said, waving a hand dismissively as he sank back into his chair. "I understand the 'discomfort' of moving to a new city. I'm not angry, Rayn. I'm pragmatic. So... are you truly ready to join our organization and assist us in purging the filth from this kingdom?"
Rayn watched him. He has already threatened my life, yet he asks for my consent, Rayn thought. He wants to see if I will bow or if I am still a wild horse. I must play this game of shadows until my core is fully refined.
"Yes, Freddy," Rayn replied, his voice echoing with feigned sincerity. "It is an honor for both my wife and myself to join the Spectre team."
A mocking glint appeared in Freddy's eyes. "Good. I hope that 'great mind' of yours can make Division 7 the jewel of the Spectres. Veora, did you explain the nature of our power to them?"
Veora shifted uncomfortably, her hands fidgeting with her belt. "No, sir. I thought it best they hear it from the source."
Freddy leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, right next to an ashtray filled with the grey ghosts of his morning tobacco.
"Listen closely, Rayn. We who serve the Crown are known as The Circulants. We are not like the common rabble. Our power is not born; it is made. Undercover teams like ours have access to the Power Potions—alchemical elixirs that unlock the hidden pathways of the human body. As per the King's Decree, every member of the Secret Services must undergo the Awakening Ritual."
Rayn felt a cold jolt of alarm deep within his soul.
A power potion? His mind raced through the implications. His Dantian was currently home to twenty one essences, a celestial storm of power held in check only by his King DD Core. To introduce an alien, alchemical substance into that delicate balance was like throwing a torch into a powder magazine. In the worst-case scenario, the conflicting energies would cause his core to detonate, turning the Sanctum—and half the West Side—into a crater.
"I understand," Rayn said, his voice a masterpiece of controlled calm. "However, such a step is... significant. My wife and I come from a tradition where the body must be purified before such a ritual. I would ask for one more day to prepare our minds and settle our spirits before we take the potion."
Freddy's brow furrowed. "Why? Is there a problem? Most men would kill for the chance to become a Circulant."
Rayn offered an awkward, humble smile. "This is a life-changing event, Freddy. I want to ensure my body is calm and my wife is mentally prepared. Is it a requirement of the service?"
Freddy nodded slowly. "It is a Royal Order. No one works the Secret Service without a spark of the Crown's Power. But... fine. One day. Tomorrow, you will meet Mr. Benson, our chief Alchemist. He will guide you through the ritual."
"Dumbfounded," Rayn thought. A ritual. To think I must hide my divinity behind a vial of liquid.
Freddy reached into a drawer and pulled out two leather purses. From within, he produced two badges. They were silver, fashioned into the likeness of an eagle with its wings spread in defiance. The eagle's eyes were twin emeralds that seemed to pulse with a faint green light, and the edges of the frame were inlaid with gold and green ornaments.
"These are your marks," Freddy said, his voice solemn. "Disguised protectors. Show these to the veterans if you are in trouble. They are the only proof that you belong to the shadows."
The walk back to the manor was silent. The evening sun was a bruised purple against the horizon as Rayn and Vespera entered their home. Rayn immediately went to the kitchen, his mind working faster than his hands as he prepared a simple meal of grains and meat.
As they sat at the table, the steam from the food rising between them, Rayn looked at Vespera.
"Vespera. Tomorrow we are expected to 'awaken.' If I drink that potion with my essences active, I will explode. How do I seal my power effectively enough to deceive an alchemist?"
Vespera chewed slowly, her golden eyes thoughtful. "It is not as complex as you fear, Rayn. You must not just hide the power; you must halt the tide. Focus on your core. Visualize the nineteen threads as rivers. You must dam them at the source and prevent the flow from entering your meridians."
After dinner, they retreated to Rayn's room. They sat cross-legged on the floor, the darkness of the evening pressing against the windows. Rayn closed his eyes and looked inward.
There they were: the nineteen essences, rotating in a brilliant, terrifying dance. He also saw the two 'void' spots—the Red and the Black-White essences that remained unawakened.
With a surge of will, Rayn began to compress his power. He felt a sharp, agonizing pain as he forced the flowing energy back into the King DD Core. It was like trying to force an ocean into a wine bottle. Sweat poured down his face, his muscles twitching with the effort. After two hours of intense focus, the glow of his essences faded. His body felt heavy, mortal, and hollow.
"It is done," Rayn gasped, opening his eyes. The pain was dull now, a constant throb in his chest.
Vespera stood up, preparing to leave for her own room. "Can I still cultivate while the power is sealed?" Rayn asked.
"You can seal and unseal at will," Vespera replied, her voice soft in the moonlight. "And do not worry about the potion. We are of the Sovereign Blood. Our cores are vast oceans; a drop of alchemical poison will not drown us. It will merely be absorbed into the depths."
She paused at the door, her silhouette framed by the hallway light. "Rayn... you introduced me as your wife from start, Why?."
Rayn didn't look up. "It is the most believable lie. People do not question the devotion of a spouse. It is a shield for us both."
"I see," she whispered.
As the door clicked shut, Rayn lay back on the floor. Tomorrow he would face the alchemist. Tomorrow he would drink the "Power" of this world. He closed his eyes, his mind drifting into a dreamless sleep, prepared for the transformation that awaited in the dawn.