As Vesper made his way from the aftermath of the Zogus encounter toward the reporting headquarters, the tension in his shoulders refused to fade. The debris, the whispers, the stares—everything clung to him like ash after a fire that refused to go out.
When he stepped into the main facility, fluorescent lights flickered faintly overhead. Near the entrance, Reva stood waiting with her arms crossed. Her posture was composed, but a thin layer of concern slipped through the cracks of her otherwise neutral expression.
"You did well," she said as soon as he approached. "A Zogus that size could've become a city-level threat eventually. Taking it down?" She tilted her head slightly. "I'd call that today's task completed."
Her voice was calm—too calm. Consoling. Almost like she was patting him on the back.
Vesper's jaw twitched.
"This shitty job has no wins," he muttered, brushing past her. "Even your dumb brain knows that."
Reva rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.
"Okay, okay, grumpy. No need to spit acid." She pushed herself off the wall and added, "Chief's waiting. Meeting Hall. Good luck."
She walked off, mumbling something under her breath that Vesper didn't bother catching.
In the Meeting Hall, inside the dimly lit chamber, Chief Reed Rims sat at the head of a long table. A half-finished glass of amber liquor rested in one hand, the other gesturing lazily, as if inviting Vesper to speak.
Vesper stood straight.
"Mission completed. Primary target neutralized. Additional threat—Zogus—engaged and eliminated."
Reed scoffed.
"Excuses, Eldritch. Just excuses."
The word eldritch rang through Vesper's skull like steel drawn too fast. His jaw tightened, but his face remained unreadable as he forced the sting of humiliation deep down—where no one could see it.
Reed stood and began circling the room.
"You mercenaries think brute instinct justifies chaos," he said, pouring himself another drink. "You forget this empire is hanging by a thread."
He took a slow sip.
"King Ares is bedridden. The throne is silent. Borders are heating up. Spies crawl through every district. Inflation's a fire we can't smother. And food riots?" He snorted. "Don't even get me started."
He stopped, eyes narrowing on Vesper.
"And what are we left with?" Reed continued. "Cleaners. To do the work no one else has the stomach for. To kill crimes before they're committed."
Vesper said nothing.
He couldn't—because some part of him agreed.
And he hated that part the most.
The chief's voice dropped, heavy and grave.
"This isn't just politics, Vance. This is your mess too. Whether you want to admit it or not."
Vesper gave a curt nod, turned on his heel, and left.
The empire truly was hanging by a thread. Border disputes, food riots, and inflation were among its many problems—but not the core one. The true cause was King Ares himself, or rather, his blind trust in his relatives, most notably one man: Icarus Rathborne, his brother-in-law.
Icarus was now one of the main ministers effectively running the empire while King Ares remained bedridden.
He was a clever man—perhaps too clever. He never appeared intimidating at first glance, but deep down he was the type of man who could sacrifice anyone but himself to achieve his goals.
This fact was known to everyone who was, or had ever been, close to the king—including Vesper. However, those people held no real power in the kingdom. Icarus had always ensured that loyal bootlickers like Reed Rims stood above them.
Back in his small, dimly lit room, Vesper tossed his jacket onto a chair and sat on his bed to rest—until his gaze fell upon his desk.
Something was wrong.
A folded envelope rested neatly on its surface.
No seal.No name.No insignia.
He picked it up slowly and opened it.
Inside was a single line of text:
"Semi-Rhudaur Bar. 9:55 PM."
Nothing more.
The unease crawling down his spine told him exactly who it was from.
He hesitated. He had every reason not to go.
And yet, his legs moved on their own.
The Semi-Rhudaur Bar was exactly as he remembered—filthy, loud, reeking of spilled liquor and bloodstains not yet dry. It was infamous, a watering hole for criminals, mercenaries, and souls too broken to belong anywhere else.
The bartender spared Vesper a single glance, then nodded toward the stairs without a word.
Below, in a quiet chamber lit by flickering wall sconces, a lone figure sat waiting. He was draped entirely in black, his face hidden beneath a deep hood.
Vesper approached cautiously and stopped beside him.
"How are things in the palace these days?" he asked, his tone casual—too casual.
The figure lifted his head and lowered the hood.
Prince Sidis Regalthorn, the eldest son of King Ares. Heir to the throne.
And the only person Vesper truly trusted.
Sidis's violet eyes glimmered with an unnatural light. His black hair was streaked with delicate strands of white, like frost threading through night.
"My father still breathes, Vesper," Sidis said with a knowing smile. "And I prefer just Sidis."
Vesper inclined his head slightly.
"As you wish, Sidis."
The prince leaned back, tension easing from his posture.
"So," Sidis said lightly, "how's life in the Cleaner facility, my friend?"
Vesper gave a half-shrug, his voice dry and hollow.
"Just another day in paradise."