Princess Selene Solaris sat in her magnificent study, gazing at a Regio Conquest game board made of marble and obsidian. She was contemplating a report on troop movements along the northern border when her personal attendant entered, her face etched with anxiety.
"Your Highness," the attendant said with a bow. "A message... from an unusual source at the academy."
Selene raised an eyebrow slightly, not tearing her gaze from the game board. "Deliver it."
"The message... consists of only two words, Your Highness," whispered the attendant. "Archon Zarthus."
The ivory chess piece in Selene's hand stilled. For several seconds that stretched into an eternity, the room was silent. Then, she placed the piece down slowly.
"You are dismissed," she said, her voice calm, yet there was a cold emptiness within it.
After the attendant left, Selene rose. She did not appear panicked or angry. Her face was a perfect mask of tranquility. She walked to a hidden bookshelf, pressed a secret carving, and the shelf slid open silently to reveal a personal archive vault.
She opened the vault and retrieved a thick book with a red leather cover bearing the imperial seal. The title read: Internal Review of Nocturne Anomalies and Theron Incident - Top-Level Classified.
She opened it to the marked page. The official report on the "accident" caused by Archon Zarthus Nocturne. But beneath it were additional notes written in ink visible only to imperial family members.
"...Theron House's claims regarding the incident are dubious. Their rise in influence afterward was too rapid and advantageous. Treason is suspected, but for political stability and to prevent public panic concerning the Nocturne curse, the case was officially closed..."
Selene closed the book. So her father and grandfather had known. They had always known the official story was likely a lie.
And now, Nihil, the anomaly, the Kitchen Boy, also knew.
The message was not a threat. Selene was too clever to see it as such. It was an invitation. An opening move in a game of chess. Nihil had not only demonstrated that he possessed a weapon; he had shown that he knew how and when to use it. He had proven he was not merely a strong monster but also a shrewd political player.
"Fascinating," she whispered to the empty room. "Extremely fascinating."
She would not summon Nihil. That would be too overt. It would place Nihil on equal footing. She would make the next move. She would control the narrative.
She touched a communication crystal on her desk. "Summon Professor Theron from the academy. Tell him Princess Selene wishes to consult him on 'magical history.' Immediately."
An hour later, Professor Theron arrived at Selene's private pavilion, his face filled with a fawning respectful smile. "Your Highness, this is an unexpected honor."
"Have a seat, Professor," said Selene, her voice sweet yet cold. She poured tea. "I am reviewing some fascinating academy historical records. I came across a name that keeps recurring. Archon Zarthus Nocturne. No doubt you are very familiar with it, given your family's tragic history."
Theron's face stiffened slightly. "Of course, Your Highness. A black stain in history. My ancestor nearly became a victim of his recklessness and dark ambition."
Selene sipped her tea. "Recklessness," she repeated softly. "Curiously, Professor, that same name has just reached my ears from a completely different source. From your peculiar new student... Nihil."
Clink. The tea cup in Theron's hand trembled, producing a sound like thunder in the silent room. His composure shattered. His face paled. He knew. The boy knew.
"I have a keen interest in history, Professor," Selene continued, a thin smile playing on her lips. "And I wish to ensure the imperial records are the most accurate. I want you to send all documents—both public and your family's private journals—pertaining to the 'Stabilizer Incident' to the palace for my personal review."
She gazed at Theron, her blue eyes now as cold as ice. "Consider this part of the 'special research' I am conducting on behalf of the Emperor. I am sure you would not object to assisting, would you?"
It was a command, wrapped in silk and poison. A checkmate. Theron could not refuse a request from a princess acting on the Emperor's behalf.
He could only bow his head, cold sweat beading on his temples. "Of course... Your Highness."
Selene smiled. She had claimed Nihil's weapon. Now she held control over the fate of House Theron. And indirectly, she had also bound Nihil's fate to her own. The game had truly begun in earnest.
In the suffocating darkness beneath the Defiled Cathedral, Velka Nocturne faced her warden, Sister Morwen. The hope that had briefly flickered in her heart dimmed, replaced by a cold terror.
"The Weaver is a survivor, just like all of us," Morwen said condescendingly. "She chose the side that offered the greatest advantage. A valuable lesson for you, noble girl."
Velka did not respond. She merely stared at the silver music box in her hand. The object that was supposed to be her mission now felt like a symbol of her foolishness.
"Do not worry," said Morwen, as if reading her thoughts. "You will soon understand your grand purpose."
She was dragged through dark corridors and arrived at a prepared room. This was not a dirty cell. Instead, the room was clean, with a simple bed and a small altar. The Purification Chamber. Her cage.
The heavy stone door closed, locking her in total silence. Desperation began to creep in. She was alone. Trapped. A pawn for a mad god she did not believe in.
She stared at the music box again. Driven by a wave of desperate anger, she roughly opened it, allowing the strange, dissonant melody to fill the room. She hoped the ugly sound would drown her thoughts.
She let it play repeatedly. The notes刺痛 her ears. But then, she began to realize. As a noble, she had studied music for years. This melody... it was not just dissonant. It was deliberately dissonant. There was a pattern within it. There were strange pauses, notes repeated with an unnatural rhythm.
She recalled something. A lesson from her music teacher about "Ancient Musical Keys," a method of encoding messages within melodies.
With her heart pounding, she began to listen carefully. She separated the notes in her mind. Three short notes, one long note. Pause. Two long notes... This was not a melody. It was a code.
As she wound the music box for the umpteenth time, she saw it. The protective runes on her stone door, which had been pulsing with stable dark energy, began to flicker. Their flickering was not in sync with the entire melody, but only with certain notes.
A high C note made the upper runes flicker. A low G note made the lower runes waver.
"Good Lord..." she whispered. The Weaver. That cunning old woman.
This was not just a key. It was an instruction manual. The music box was telling her the correct sequence of notes to deactivate the rune seal on the door.
For hours, she worked. She wound the music box, stopped, replayed small sections, matching each note to each flickering rune. It was the most complex puzzle she had ever faced, with her life as the stake.
Finally, she found it. A sequence of twelve notes.
With trembling hands, she slowly wound the music box crank, then with her fingers, she stopped and restarted the metal blades inside, playing only the sequence of twelve notes.
First note. The rune above the door dimmed.
Second note. The left rune flickered then went out.
...
Twelfth note. The last rune in the center of the door, which had been glowing brightest, vibrated violently then crumbled into dust of energy.
CLICK.
The sound of an ancient lock mechanism opening was very loud in the silent room.
Velka held her breath. She pushed the heavy stone door. The door slid open, revealing a dark catacomb corridor. She was free.
She slipped out, the music box now clutched like the most precious thing in the world. She had to get out of here. She moved through the dark corridors, following the vague memory of the path they had taken when bringing her here.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a cult guard.
The guard turned, eyes widening in surprise at the sight of her. "You! How did you—"
Before he could scream, Velka acted. She had no weapon. She had no strength. But she had a mind and courage born of desperation.
"Stop!" she said, her voice cold and authoritative, mimicking the tone her father often used. "High Priestess Ravenna has sent me to test the security. And you have just failed completely."
The guard was confused. "W-what? But..."
"Are you questioning the High Priestess's orders?" hissed Velka. "I was commanded to inspect every vulnerability. The fact that I could exit the Purification Chamber and walk all the way here without you noticing is a humiliating failure. Now, take me to the nearest exit. I must report this negligence."
The boldness of the lie, so unexpected, left the guard hesitating. He was torn between fear of an intruder and fear of Ravenna's wrath.
As he wavered, a shadow fell from the ceiling behind him.
Sssst.
A silver thread coiled around the guard's neck. Before he could make a sound, he was pulled into the shadows. There was a brief choked sound, then silence.
Velka froze in terror. From the darkness, a woman clad in a silk mask and all-black attire stepped forward. In her hand, she held a garrote made of sharp silver thread.
"The old woman does not like leaving tangled threads," the masked woman said, her voice like a whisper. "And she dislikes even more being used as a pawn by a death-worshipping cult."
Velka recognized the speaking style. This was an agent of The Weaver.
"The Weaver... she sent you?" whispered Velka.
"She fulfilled her contract with the Cult. She sent you to them," said the agent. "Now, she fulfills a new contract. One with a client who pays much more highly." The woman pointed to a dark tunnel. "A client who wishes to ensure Princess Velka Nocturne returns to the surface safely."
"Who is the client?" asked Velka.
The agent shook her head. "Not my place to say. Now come. Our exit will not remain secure forever."
Velka was faced with another choice: trust the agent of the woman who had trapped her, or die alone here.
She had no choice. She ran after the masked woman, delving deeper into the darkness, a thousand questions burning in her mind. Who was the mysterious client paying for her rescue? And what game was The Weaver truly playing?