After the missions concluded, Sylvia began investigating the cult known as The Silence—just as I had expected. Fortunately, they hadn't turned their attention toward Eden. That would've complicated things.
We met at a quaint little bakery tucked between two towering arcane emporiums. Ravenia, after all, had always been one of my favorite cities... if not for the cuisine, then for the dealings with Loken—though I preferred the former.
"I swear," I mumbled through a mouthful of gougères, "if this place wasn't smack in the middle of a city that breaks into sector wars every damn year, I'd buy it just for these."
The bakery had an adjoining restaurant where we took our seats. It buzzed with life—vampires laughing over coffee, werewolves gnawing pastries with surprising delicacy, a few Mahoons sipping delicately brewed tea, and even a scattering of humans pretending they weren't the minority. The furniture was made of polished blackwood, and the silver plates shimmered like mirrors beneath the hanging lanterns.
Sylvia sat across from me. Reinhardt and Grunthar were still attending the funeral, so it was just the two of us. She prodded at her cake with her spoon, brows furrowed, clearly lost in thought.
"How many plates have you had?" she asked eventually, side-eyeing the waitstaff—who looked moments away from tears due to my relentless ordering.
"You should try some," I said, pushing a plate toward her. "It's really good."
"Thanks, but I'd rather not," Sylvia declined, nudging the plate away with a polite smile.
I arched a brow and reclaimed it with theatrical disappointment. "Ah, what a shame. These gougères could end wars… or at the very least, start interesting ones. I'm considering buying this place and relocating it to Central City. A little pastry diplomacy, if you will."
She glanced at me, about to speak, then gave up. "How many—never mind. Look, remember how I said I had some work to do?"
I nodded as she leaned in, her voice dropping just a little.
"There's this cult that's been popping up here ever since your family dismantled the Assassin Syndicate."
I paused mid-bite, feigning curiosity. "A cult? Here in Ravenia? What is it now—blood rituals and anti-sun chants in alleyways?"
"Not exactly. They call themselves The Silence. The Mahoons at the police station assigned me to look into them. We got intel that they were smuggling extraterrestrial metals—stuff above grade one. So we raided one of their warehouses, but when we checked the goods, every single piece was just grade one."
"Disappointment disguised as bureaucracy," I murmured, chewing thoughtfully. "The kind that ruins both crime and cake."
Sylvia said, frowning. "I even used magic to force the leader to talk. But get this—he didn't even know who he was working for. Not even a name."
I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. "Brainwashing?"
"That was my first thought, but the Mahoons don't think so. No memory tampering or psychic residue was found. He was trained from the start not to ask questions. Like that was normal to him."
Sylvia rubbed at her temple in frustration. "It's hard to believe a cult that insane could even function."
I sipped my tea, thoughtful. "On the contrary, Syl... cults thrive where truth is inconvenient. And silence? That's the most seductive doctrine of all. No contradictions, messy opinions, it's almost perfect.
"That's what doesn't make sense," she said. "They're loyalists. Every district they touch ends up safer. Crime drops and order improves. They're practically model citizens—just... religiously obsessed ones."
"Then why investigate them at all?" I asked, tilting my head. "Maybe they're just some overzealous vigilante group."
"I don't know..." she muttered, finally taking a bite of her cake as if to distract herself from how much that last part unsettled her.. "I just can't get them out of my mind."
"You need help?" I asked, resting my elbow on the table, gaze flicking lazily toward her cake.
"Unless you're planning to work with the Mahoons," Sylvia muttered, not looking up.
I scoffed softly, a bitter laugh caught somewhere between memory and distaste. "You know how much they test my patience just by standing in the same room. They're inefficient, loud, and somehow always looking in the wrong direction. There's a reason my father loathed them—loathed them with a fire so potent, I think it scorched me too."
Sylvia's expression softened. "Sorry," she said, her voice lower now.
The word hung in the air like a soft echo. She knew better than to pry. Knew the weight those memories carried. My parents weren't just dead, they were buried beneath layers of silence and unfinished sentences.
"It's fine," I said, offering a faint smile. "But I won't work with them. If you need help, real help, you just have to ask."
"…I'll think about it," Sylvia said at last.
And just like that, I had the youngest future Shadow of the Emperor halfway on my side. A small victory, but a meaningful one.
"That's good," I replied, offering a genuine smile before glancing toward the waitstaff. "Could I get another round of these, please?"
The poor server gave a strained nod, barely masking the despair behind his eyes. A moment later, he returned—trembling slightly—with the three hundred and fifty-third plate of gougères, quietly replacing the last empty one.
I didn't miss the shimmer of moisture in his eyes.
"I'm surprised they haven't run out yet," Ryuk commented dryly, watching as I cleared the plate with practiced ease.
I wasn't sure why, but my appetite—already large thanks to the high metabolism rate that came with being a Timeless—had somehow grown even more since yesterday's incident.
"If your compassion gifts us another heart, I swear I'm going to rip it out myself before kicking out whoever shows up," Moriaty growled from the mindscape.
We didn't even make direct contact with that creature, I replied mentally. And we didn't use the cursed object either. So how could he do what you did?
"Even I'm not sure how I almost took full control of the vessel," he admitted. "Maybe… maybe it has something to do with life and death energy?"
I frowned, shifting slightly in my seat. But Wally's battery consumption rate has increased too. That's not normal. Could this be a side effect of his artificial soul?
"But why would that affect us?" Moriaty asked.
I don't know, I said, and for once, I meant it.