Valerius' Estate did not just sit on the highest hill of the Gilded Sector; it suppressed it.
While the surrounding mansions screamed for attention with neon-infused gargoyles, holographic auroras, and floating gardens held aloft by vulgar displays of gravity spells, Valerius's home was a monolith of silence.
It was a block of stark, white neoclassical stone, devoid of ornamentation. It had no floating lights. It had no magical barriers shimmering in the air.
It had… absence.
As the black town car—secured by Kai's connections—rolled up the gravel driveway, Ogdi felt it.
It started as a pressure in his ears, like the sudden drop of an elevator. Then, it curdled into a nausea that settled deep in him.
The Lattice, the infinite wireframe of reality that he was learning to see and edit, was void here. The sapphire lines he usually felt woven into the air were gone, replaced by a terrifying, static grey.
The car stopped. The door was opened by a valet wearing a mask of polite indifference.
Ogdi stepped out. The air smelled of expensive perfume, manicured ice, and the distinct, metallic scent of ozone that always lingered around powerful people who had something to hide.
"Welcome to the Solstice, Lord Vane," the doorman intoned, his voice flat.
Ogdi adjusted the collar of his tuxedo. It was a custom fit—charcoal grey, tailored to hide the black, circuit-like stains on his hands—but it still felt like a constraint.
Beside him, Ylaeth stepped out. She looked effortless, yet terrifyingly fragile. She wore a gown of midnight blue silk that shimmered like oil on water, her movements fluid and practiced.
To the casual observer, they were just another pair of wealthy eccentrics attending Valerius's Gala.
But Ogdi saw her hands. They were trembling.
"I can't hear anything," she murmured, clutching his arm. Her eyes were wide, darting around with panic-stricken intensity. "The riddles… the future… they're gone. It's just… quiet. It's like being buried alive."
"That's the Nullifier," Ogdi whispered, squeezing her hand to ground her. "Valerius rejects the Lattice. We are walking into a dead zone. Stick to the plan. We find the Circlet, we steal it, we leave. No magic."
They stepped inside.
The ballroom was a cavern of gold and crystal. Hundreds of the elite—dukes, tech-moguls, and high-ranking Purifiers out of uniform—mingled beneath chandeliers that dripped with real diamonds.
The noise was a dull roar of polite laughter and clinking glass, a sound that felt brittle in the magic-less air.
Ogdi didn't look at the jewels. He swept the surroundings with a tactical gaze.
Jean was standing near the champagne tower. The detective wasn't drinking. He looked uncomfortable in his tuxedo, his eyes scanning the crowd with the restless energy of a wolf in a kennel.
He was looking for threats. He didn't know he was looking at the biggest one in the room.
A server with a tray of crystal flutes wove through the crowd. She moved with a practiced grace, keeping her head down, trying to be invisible.
Ogdi froze.
It was Nala.
She looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes, likely from overworking since Café Opaline's destruction. Here she was, serving wine to the very people who were burning her neighborhood.
"Don't look," Azad hissed in his mind. The entity's voice was faint, muffled by the Null field. "Guilt is a beacon. If you look at her, you anchor her to this tragedy."
Ogdi forced his gaze away, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He steered Ylaeth toward the center of the room, merging into the sea of silk and arrogance.
"Let's move," Ogdi whispered. "I'll try to find the Vault entrance. You check the layout. If you see Valerius, stay away."
She nodded and slipped into the crowd, a shadow in blue.
Ogdi took a glass of water from a passing tray and moved toward the periphery. He needed to find a structural weakness in the house, a place where the Nullifier's field might be thin enough to risk a small Edit.
He turned a corner near a massive marble pillar and stopped dead.
He hadn't found a weakness. He had found the center of gravity.
A group of sycophants—generals and investors—were clustered around two men.
One was Valerius. The Auditor looked exactly as he had in the hologram: beige suit, wire-rimmed glasses, utterly forgettable. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, radiating a terrifying aura of absolute nothingness.
The other man wore a crown.
It was the Crown of Oravus—heavy gold, surprisingly devoid of ornamentation, yet magnificent in its austere weight.
King Aethelred.
He was taller than Ogdi expected. He had broad shoulders and a beard trimmed to match, but it was his presence that filled the room. It wasn't magic; it was sheer, undistilled charisma.
His eyes held Ogdi. They weren't cruel. They were... weary. They were the eyes of a man who had looked at a garden, decided it was overrun with weeds, and reached for the gasoline with a heavy heart.
Ogdi tried to back away, to blend into the marble, but the crowd shifted, pushing him forward.
Valerius looked up. His eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses were flat, grey discs.
"And who is this?" Valerius asked. His voice was dry, like paper tearing.
"I... I am Lord Vane," Ogdi lied, bowing his head. "From the outer provinces."
The King turned. His gaze landed on Ogdi.
Panic flared in Ogdi's chest—not a magical warning, but a biological scream. Run.
"My apologies," Ogdi said, his voice grinding out. "I was looking for the exit."
"The exit is that way," The King gestured vaguely, not looking away. "But you seem in a rush to leave my hospitality. Am I that boring?"
The silence that followed was heavy. A circle of guests had formed, sensing the interaction. The music seemed to dim.
"Not boring, Your Majesty," Ogdi said, straightening up. "Overwhelming."
"Vane," the King mused. His voice was deep, resonant, and shockingly calm. "I don't recall a House Vane. But the provinces are burning tonight, aren't they?"
The King swirled his wine, watching the red liquid coat the glass. "You have a strange accent. And a strange bearing."
The guests chuckled nervously. The King didn't smile.
He stepped closer, invading Ogdi's personal space. "Tell me, Lord Vane. What do you think of it?"
"Think of what, sire?"
"You are young. You have the look of someone who still believes in tomorrow. You look like you actually live in the world. What do you think of the fires in the East?"
The room went silent. This was a test. A trap.
If Ogdi showed sympathy, he was a rebel. If he showed glee, he was a fool.
Ogdi looked up. He met the King's eyes. He felt the black stain on his palm itch furiously. He wanted to Edit this man's heart. He wanted to command it to stop beating.
But he couldn't. The Null field was too strong.
"I think," Ogdi said, his voice steady, "that fire is an effective tool, Your Majesty. It clears the rot."
The King's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But," Ogdi continued, walking the razor's edge, "fire has no loyalty. It eats the weeds, but if the wind changes, it eats the gardener too."
The silence stretched, tight as a bowstring. Valerius tilted his head, his grey eyes sharpening.
Then, the King laughed.
It was a short, bark of a sound. "The gardener must simply build stone walls, Lord Vane. Then the wind is irrelevant."
The King placed a heavy hand on Ogdi's shoulder. It felt like a branding iron.
"I like you. You possess a certain... clarity. Most of these peacocks," he gestured to the room, "think I am cruel. They don't understand that a surgeon must cut to cure. The country is gangrenous. I am merely removing the dead limb so the body can survive."
"A noble goal," Ogdi said, fighting the bile rising in his throat.
"Enjoy the evening," the King dismissed him, turning back to Valerius. "The Auditor tells me we won't need fires soon."
Ogdi bowed and backed away, his legs feeling like jelly.
He thinks he's saving us, Ogdi realized with horror. He isn't evil. He's convinced.
"The worst kind of monster," Azad muttered. "The altruistic one. Go, boy. You've been marked. Valerius is watching you."
Across the hall, near the service corridors, Ylaeth was engaged in her own dance, trying to breathe.
Without the constant noise of the future—the riddles, the whispers, the shifting timelines—she felt deaf. The Null field stripped her of her senses, leaving her naked in a room full of predators.
She had been tracking the movement of the Palace Guards, mapping the blind spots in the surveillance grid. She turned a corner, feigning a need to check her makeup in a hallway mirror, and nearly collided with a server coming out of the kitchen doors.
Glass rattled. Ylaeth caught the tray before it tipped. She grabbed a glass of champagne just to have something to hold.
"Oh! I am so sorry, Madame," the server gasped.
Ylaeth looked at the server.
Nala stood there, holding a silver tray. Her eyes were locked on Ylaeth's face.
"No harm done," Ylaeth said, her voice smooth as silk, adopting a slightly higher, more vapid pitch. "I should watch where I'm gliding."
Nala paused, looking at Ylaeth. Then, her eyes darted over Ylaeth's shoulder toward the main hall where the commotion with the King had just settled.
"Did you see that?" Nala whispered, almost to herself. "That man... with the King."
Ylaeth's smile didn't waver, though her stomach twisted. "Yes, quite the spectacle."
"He..." Nala frowned, tilting her head. "He looks exactly like... like a friend of mine. Ogdi."
Ylaeth's grip on the champagne glass tightened.
"Ogdi?" Ylaeth laughed, a light, tinkling sound that felt like ash in her mouth. "Oh, honey, no. That is Lord Vane. He's from the outer provinces. Old money, very reclusive. Does your friend wear five-thousand-credit tuxedos and lecture the King on structural engineering?"
"His usual fits weren't bad, matter of fact he had quite the sense of style," Nala said jokingly, a sad smile touching her lips, "but he didn't have that kind of money."
Nala hesitated. The resemblance was uncanny—the silhouette of the man, the way he stood. But the lady was right. The Ogdi she knew was a quiet, confused student who paid in cash and drank mocha XLs. He wasn't a noble who stood toe-to-toe with royalty.
"I... I suppose not," Nala said, though the suspicion lingered in her eyes. "Just... the resemblance."
"Everyone has a double somewhere," Ylaeth said, touching Nala's arm gently. "Go on, dear. The sharks are thirsty."
Nala nodded slowly and moved back into the fray. Ylaeth watched her go, her smile vanishing instantly. That was too close.
Ylaeth turned a corner, heading toward the library, hoping to find a layout of the house. She wasn't looking, and bumped into a solid wall of fabric.
"Careful, my dear," a voice drawled from in front of her.
Ylaeth stumbled back. Valerius stood there.
He hadn't made a sound. He didn't have a heartbeat she could sense. Standing next to him was like standing next to a black hole.
"Mr... Valerius," she stammered. "My apologies. I was looking for the restroom."
"The restrooms are in the East Wing," Valerius said. His voice was incredibly flat. No inflection. No emotion. "This is the corridor to the private gallery."
He looked at her. He didn't look at her dress or her face. He looked at the space around her.
"You feel... light," Valerius noted. "Most people here carry so much noise. Ambition. Greed. Lust. You are remarkably quiet."
Ylaeth forced a smile. "I'm just observing."
"Are you?" Valerius adjusted his glasses. "You were speaking with the server. Do you know her?"
"She spilled a drop of wine. I was reprimanding her," Ylaeth lied.
"I see." Valerius took a step closer. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Ylaeth felt her connection to the Lattice—already thin—being strangled.
"You seem interested in the gallery," Valerius said. "Are you an art lover?"
"I appreciate rare things," Ylaeth said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I heard you have a collection that rivals the Royal Museum."
"I collect things that are misunderstood," Valerius said. "Things that are dangerous because they are uncontrolled. I like to... organize them."
He smiled. It was a terrifying expression. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Like the Crown of Silence?" Ylaeth asked. She couldn't help it. The question slipped out.
The air in the hallway stopped moving.
Valerius didn't blink. "You are well-informed for a guest from the provinces."
"Rumors," she said quickly.
"Rumors are just noise," Valerius said softly. "I hate noise."
He reached out and touched a tapestry on the wall. It depicted a man holding a scale.
"The Crown is not art, my dear. It is a tool. A tool to bring quiet to a loud world. Would you like to see where I keep the quiet?"
It was a trap. Ylaeth knew it. Every instinct screamed at her to run.
But they needed the location.
"I would be honored," she said.
Valerius gestured down the hall. "After you."
As she walked past him, she felt the Null field intensify. It felt like walking into a freezer.
And from the shadows of the ballroom balcony, Ogdi watched. His knuckles were white as he gripped the railing. He saw Valerius leading her away.
"He has her," Azad whispered. "If you try to Edit him now, he will cancel you out. You need a distraction, boy. A big one."
Ogdi scanned the room. He looked at the massive crystal chandelier suspended directly above the King's head.
He looked at the champagne tower near Jean.
He looked at the bolts holding the chandelier's chain.
He couldn't use magic. The Null field would eat it. But physics? Physics was universal.
"Uncompromising realism," Ogdi muttered.
He reached for a heavy silver serving platter on the nearby table. He didn't need a spell. He just needed good aim.