As dusk settled, the Iron Fox Mercenary Guild stirred to life, its halls echoing with the sound of voices and clinking mugs. Behind the front desk, the guild's clerk sorted ledgers with weary precision until a sharp whistle broke the monotony.
"Boss wants you upstairs,"she said to a man seated in the corner, his face half-concealed by the shadow of his hood.
He looked up briefly, and the woman froze, caught off guard by what she saw.
His eyes. For a moment, she could have sworn they were gold.
"Something the matter?" His grey eyes glinted with muted curiosity.
The woman said nothing, turning instead toward the path ahead. He rose and followed, their steps echoing softly as they ascended the narrow staircase.
The moment he entered the room, his gaze caught the woman seated by the desk. Cloaked, poised, and far too graceful for a place like this.
Even beneath the hood, her presence spoke volumes. Her voice was calm, her diction precise, the faint lilt of refinement clinging to every word. But more than that, her hands, pale, slender, unmarred by labor, betrayed her origin.
A noble.
He knew it instantly.
Still, he kept his silence, observing as his superior exchanged polite words with her. Words about employment, discretion, and compensation. Then, as if bored with formalities, the "boss" turned toward him.
"You," the man said, pointing. "You'll take this request."
The mercenary tilted his head slightly. "A special kind of job, I assume?"
Elara's hood shifted as she regarded him, her gaze sharp and assessing beneath the dim light. "Someone's been following me. I want them found and brought to me. Alive."
His lips curved faintly, almost in amusement. "A noble lady hiring a mercenary to catch her shadow. How poetic."
"I'm not here for poetry," she replied coolly. "Just results."
That earned her a quiet chuckle. "Then you'll have them."
Elara stood, the faint clink of coins marking the deal's end. "You'll be contacted once the job is complete."
As she turned to leave, the mercenary's voice followed, low, smooth, and unsettlingly calm. "Understood. But if I may, my lady… shadows tend to bite back. I hope you're ready when this one does."
He caught it then, a fleeting glimmer on her wrist. A mark, faint yet unmistakably glowing beneath the light.
His eyes narrowed, curiosity flickering.
Elara noticed. In one swift motion, she pulled her hand away, hiding the mark beneath her sleeve.
She paused briefly at the door, then glanced over her shoulder.
"I've been bitten before."
And with that, she vanished into the misted streets.
Hours later, the moon had climbed high, silver light spilling over the cobblestones. The mercenary, known in the guild as Ashen, leaned against a pillar outside the guild's back entrance, watching the direction she'd gone.
Beneath the quiet hum of the city, he murmured under his breath, "Hmm… what could this young lady be planning?"
Later that night, Elara was at the edge of the Arcanaeum District, where the city's old magic resided.
Between the clustered towers and shops that glimmered with faint runes, one building stood out. A crooked wooden sign reading "The Silver Veil: Arcane Curiosities & Consultations."
A bell chimed softly as she entered. The scent of sage and ink filled the air. Behind the counter sat an elderly woman draped in violet shawls, her eyes faintly glowing with runic light.
"You seek knowledge," the woman said without preamble. "Something has bound itself to you."
Elara's sleeve slipped back as she lifted her wrist, revealing the faint sigil glowing beneath her skin.
"It appeared the day I woke from my deep sleep," she said quietly. "I've never had this mark before."
She couldn't bring herself to speak of it. Not the truth of her regression, not the fact that this was the tenth time she had awoken to start again.
The woman's gaze sharpened. "That... I know it's a powerful sigil, but I don't have any information about it."
Elara frowned. "How do you know it's powerful? Can you at least give me a hint, something you might recall from all the sigils you've studied?"
The woman hesitated, her eyes narrowing as if weighing her words.
"Because I can feel it," she said softly. "That kind of mark hums. Faint, but alive. It's not just etched with magic... it's bound by something older."
Elara's grip tightened around her sleeve. "Bound? To what?"
"To the Moon's memory, perhaps," the woman murmured, almost to herself. "Or something that remembers you better than you remember yourself."
For a heartbeat, silence filled the room. The sigil on Elara's wrist pulsed faintly, as if it had heard every word.
The seer's voice grew lower, cryptic. "A promise long broken… and a door that should never have been opened. Tell me, child. Have you dreamt of a voice calling from the water?"
Elara hesitated. "…Yes."
The woman only smiled faintly, her gaze distant. "Then your answer lies not in this city, but in the ruins beneath it — where the moon first fell."
Before Elara could ask further, the lights flickered. When they steadied, the old woman was gone. Only the scent of sage lingered, along with the faint echo of her last words:
"The moon remembers what mortals forget."
Elara stood frozen, a shiver crawling down her spine.
When she returned to the Veyldan estate later that night, silence wrapped the halls. Most of the servants were asleep; only the faint hum of night lamps guided her steps.
In her room, she shed her cloak and went to the balcony, where a familiar shadow awaited, the mercenary.
"You found the one tailing me?" she asked quietly.
He nodded once. "Taken care of. I'll bring him tomorrow. He won't follow you again, unless you wish it."
"Good." She crossed her arms, glancing toward the dark garden below. "I assume you'll need a place to stay while you work under me."
"I can handle myself," he said. Then, after a beat, "What I want… is your name, my lady."
Elara turned to him, faint amusement flickering in her gaze. "I assumed that by now, after we arrived home, you'd already figured out who I am. Do you really need me to say it?"
He didn't answer. Just watched her silently, as if waiting.
She sighed softly. "Elara Nytheris Veyldan."
Only then did he smile, a small, knowing curve of the lips. Nytheris, huh, he thought.
"Beautiful name,"he murmured. Then, after a pause, his gaze dropped briefly to her wrist. "That mark of yours… it's familiar. I think I've seen it before."
Her eyes narrowed. "Where?"
He shrugged lightly. "Memory's a tricky thing. But perhaps… the right price might help me remember."
Elara's composure cracked for an instant. "You—"
She cut herself off, scoffing, then stepped forward and shoved him lightly by the chest. "Forget it."
Without another word, she turned and swept back into her chamber.
Ashen chuckled softly under his breath, the moonlight catching on his hidden smile.
Later, when the manor had fallen completely silent, Elara left her room again, barefoot, careful not to wake anyone. The halls were dim, bathed in moonlight.
She reached the end of the west wing, where a grand door waited, untouched for years.
Her mother's room.
Elara exhaled slowly, then turned the knob.
The scent of old roses greeted her. Dust shimmered like faint stars in the air. Everything was exactly as her father had said, untouched.
But as she moved toward the dresser, her eyes caught something faint: a torn corner of parchment tucked beneath a jewelry box.
She lifted it carefully. On it was a single line written in elegant script, one she knew well.
"If the moon still weeps over the sea, then I am not gone, only waiting."
Elara's breath caught. Not in surprise, but in quiet relief.
She had known since her sixth life that her mother still lived. She had seen the records, the scrolls, the sealed letter before the flames consumed her.
But finding this again, in this life, meant something else entirely. It was proof, and a message she could finally pass on.
Her father had spent years waiting by the window every night, believing his love was gone forever. Maybe, she thought, this could ease him, even for a moment. If he saw this, he would know.
That somewhere, somehow, the woman he loved still watched the same moon.
The sigil on her wrist pulsed faintly, just once, as if approving her thought.
Then, as she set the parchment down, her eyes caught another glint. Faint runes carved into the back of the wooden dresser. She brushed the dust away. Words appeared in the pale light:
"Follow the tide where the stars descend. The heart remembers what the blood forgets."
Elara's pulse quickened.
That mark… that phrase… she'd seen them before. In the forbidden scrolls from her sixth life. The crest of Ancient Nytheris.
Her mother's bloodline. Her own.
A second clue. This one meant for her.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the glowing runes. "So this is where you want me to go," she whispered.
For the first time in this life, she felt the pull. Not of fate, but of family.
She turned toward the window, the moonlight washing over her face.
"I'll find you, Mother," she said softly. "No matter where you've hidden yourself… because only you can tell me what this all means."
The air stirred, carrying the faint scent of roses once more, and beneath it, a whisper that might have been her mother's voice, or the memory of one:
"Then follow the tide, my child."