Under One Roof
A suffocating silence filled the air. The wind was calm, yet the stillness carried an eerie weight.
James dragged the girl—Natalie—by her arms, careful not to let her escape his grasp. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with dread. He studied her for a moment, then asked coldly,
"Why are you here?"
Her lips trembled, but no words came. Fear sealed her voice. She seemed lost, trapped within her own terror. James tried to calm her, to coax her into speaking, yet it was useless. She sat still—silent as a statue.
He sighed. "Fine. We'll talk at headquarters."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Someone was at the tavern door. James entered, guiding Natalie along, and descended into the cellar below. The underground passage stretched endlessly into darkness—nearly four kilometers long—its damp air whispering secrets of the past. At the end lay a sealed chamber where the Dark Ravens held their clandestine meetings.
After a long walk, James halted. He placed Natalie in a chair at the room's center. From the shadows, four figures emerged—faces hidden by the faint flicker of lantern light.
"Welcome back, Commander," they said in unison.
James smirked. "You're actually on time? I'm impressed. Usually, you lot prefer to keep me waiting."
He pointed toward the girl. "Noah. Marceline. Bob. Frank. Meet our guest. She tried to destroy the city—acting under orders from some secret organization. She won't talk, so… Marceline, do your thing. Go inside her mind."
Marceline, barely twenty-one, was still a university student working with the Ravens to fund her studies. She nodded.
"Reverence of Sleep."
Natalie's eyelids fluttered. She fell into a deep slumber as Marceline whispered again,
"Leak."
In an instant, Marceline's consciousness slipped free of her body and plunged into Natalie's subconscious realm.
A strange vision appeared before her—a blood-red cross, and beneath it knelt Natalie, her body trembling as she performed a brutal ritual. She screamed in agony, tears staining the cold marble floor.
The shadows of the church peeled away to reveal a tall man in a black mask, holding a crimson cross. His voice echoed like a prayer and a curse combined:
"Well done. You are one of us now. We are the Crimson Cross. To cleanse your sins, you must offer a human sacrifice. Our sacred purpose is to find the one who bears the Flame and Ashes."
Suddenly, the dreamscape began to shatter. Cracks split through the crimson sky. Marceline's breath caught—she fled the collapsing realm and snapped back into her body, trembling violently.
James knelt beside her. "What did you see?"
Her voice was shaky, barely a whisper.
"She was… hurting herself. A man with a black mask… and the name—Crimson Cross. He said they're searching for the bearer of Flame and Ashes. I don't know what that means, but… it sounded dangerous."
James listened intently. His expression hardened. "If that's true, this could threaten the stability of the entire kingdom."
That very night, a devastating announcement swept through the city.
King Bruce—dead.
The circumstances were impossible, almost supernatural. Chaos and unrest spread across Trost like wildfire. And somewhere in the shadows, unseen hands pulled the strings of fate tighter.