— The Tracing Ritual —
Early morning light filtered faintly through the narrow window when Kane arrived, footsteps measured and restrained. He placed a small evidence pouch on the table and slid it toward Eren.
"Darius had this delivered," he said. "It's Lyra's."
Inside the pouch lay a single strand of hair, sealed and preserved with meticulous care.
Eren's gaze sharpened instantly.
Without another word, he cleared the floor and sat down cross-legged, his posture straightening as his breathing slowed into a steady rhythm. The surrounding air seemed to still, as if responding to his focus.
This wasn't the first time he had performed a tracking ritual—but this one mattered.
Using his fingertip, he traced a Bloodline Tracking Array onto the floor. The lines formed smoothly, precise and symmetrical, etched with practiced ease. When the formation was complete, he gently placed the strand of hair at its center.
Closing his eyes, he awakened the Lumin & Umbra Sigil within his mind. The familiar dual resonance stirred, light and shadow interweaving at the edge of perception.
He spoke softly, voice low and deliberate—
"Array, rise. Trace the shadow."
Hum—
A low vibration spread outward. The array ignited, its patterns lifting from the floor as luminous threads. Pale gold and muted violet light intertwined, rotating slowly as if searching through unseen depths.
The strand of hair trembled.
Then it rose.
For a heartbeat, Eren felt the pull—faint, distant, but unmistakable. A direction forming. A connection trying to take shape.
And then—
"Fwoosh."
The hair burst into flame without warning, curling inward and disintegrating into ash.
The light collapsed. The array went dark.
Silence fell.
Eren froze, his fingers still half-raised. A muscle jumped at the corner of his eye.
"...Damn it," he muttered. "That shouldn't happen."
The formation had been flawless. The sigil stable. The ritual parameters correct. There had been no interference from the outside.
Which meant the failure came from the link itself.
He exhaled slowly, mind racing.
There were only two explanations.
One—Lucien Veyne was already dead.
Two—the bloodline connection between Lyra and Lucien did not exist.
The second thought barely lasted a second before he dismissed it outright. Lyra's lineage had been verified beyond question. Too many records. Too many confirmations.
That left only one conclusion.
Lucien Veyne was dead. Truly dead.
The realization settled like frost along Eren's spine. It felt as though every lead he had been holding had turned to ash in his hands—clean, final, irreversible.
But something didn't fit.
If Lucien had truly been killed, why go through the trouble of staging a corpse? Why leave behind a substitute at all, instead of erasing him completely at the scene?
"This wasn't a simple frame-up," Eren said quietly, his eyes darkening. "Someone wanted the world to believe Lucien Veyne died in a very specific way."
And that meant intention. Planning. Control.
A larger conspiracy.
He rose to his feet, decision already made. If the truth wouldn't surface through ritual, he would drag it out through reality itself.
"I need the crime scene," he said. "And the people who saw it first."
---
The car cut through the outskirts at speed, tires humming steadily against the asphalt. Low industrial buildings and half-abandoned warehouses slid past the windows, their silhouettes blurred by the early light. Sparse streetlamps flickered by, casting brief bands of illumination across the windshield like passing signals.
Eren leaned back into the seat, one arm resting against the door. The city's edge always felt like a boundary—civil order thinning, secrets growing heavier. His gaze lingered on the road ahead for a second before he reached into his coat and took out his phone.
The call connected almost instantly.
"Director Arden," he said without preamble, his voice even, controlled. "I need access to the Veyne estate crime scene. And I want to speak with the officers who responded first."
"No problem," Arden replied immediately. "I'll have someone coordinate with you."
The ease of the answer told Eren enough. Whatever Arden suspected, it aligned closely with his own doubts.
Eren's thumb hovered briefly over the screen. Then he added, "There's one more thing. I want to know who the man was—the one impersonating Lucien Veyne's corpse."
The faint background noise on the line vanished. Silence stretched—short, but heavy.
"...That won't be easy," Arden admitted at last. "His face was completely destroyed. Identification may be impossible."
Eren exhaled softly through his nose, eyes narrowing as the cityscape gave way to open stretches of road. "Do your best," he said. "And if you reach a dead end—get me one of his hairs. You archive everything."
There was no need to elaborate. Arden understood the implication immediately.
Bloodline tracing worked both ways.
"If relatives exist," Eren continued, voice calm but edged with certainty, "they'll lead us to whoever put him there."
Another pause. Then: "...Understood. Anything else?"
Eren's lips curved into a faint, almost polite smile. "You've already done more than enough.
He ended the call and let the phone rest against his palm. His other hand turned the Power Ranger mask slowly, the plastic cool against his fingers. Light from a passing vehicle struck its surface, warping his reflection—his eyes briefly doubled, distorted, unfamiliar.
Eren watched it for a moment longer than necessary.
An omen, perhaps.
Or a reminder that nothing wearing a face was guaranteed to be real.
---
— Echoes of a Cold Case —
In the study of Kairos Manor, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and polished wood. Floor-to-ceiling shelves loomed in silence, their spines bearing decades of sealed reports and forgotten names. Arden stood near the desk, arms folded tightly across his chest, facing his father.
"That kid's instincts are frighteningly sharp," Arden said at last, breaking the stillness. "He spent one day with the files, and he's already pulling the case apart thread by thread."
From the sofa, Damian let out a short, dismissive snort. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were anything but.
"Would the Vigil-Wyrm Order misjudge its candidate?" he said coolly. "Eren Kai was never ordinary."
Arden nodded, then hesitated. His fingers tightened slightly against his sleeves before he spoke again.
"Father... do you remember the Caelthorn family massacre?"
The effect was immediate.
Damian's expression darkened, the faint trace of ease draining from his face. For a moment, he did not answer.
"Twenty-three years ago," he said slowly, each word measured. "Over a hundred dead in a single night. An entire clan erased—roots, branches, and all. No witnesses. No survivors. And no answers."
Arden stepped closer. "I believe this case is connected," he said. "The toxins match. Paralysis first. Consciousness stripped away. Death followed only after."
Damian's eyes narrowed, a sharp glint flashing beneath the weight of memory.
"If that's true..." He exhaled through his nose, the sound edged with irritation—and something colder. "Then someone has been refining their method for decades."
He rose from the sofa and turned toward the window. Outside, thick clouds pressed low against the estate, swallowing the light and dulling the horizon. The sky looked heavy, burdened, as if holding its breath.
"Dark clouds gather again," Damian murmured.
"And this time—"
His reflection in the glass stared back at him, old scars hidden beneath calm authority.
"—the storm won't pass quietly."