The midday light of December 24th was deceptively warm.
For the first time in weeks, the oppressive gray clouds had completely broken over the Western Sector, leaving a brilliant, bright sun that cast a dazzling glare over the thick white blankets of snow. There was no fresh snowfall today, the freezing winds had died down to a gentle, crisp breeze.
Down in the sprawling courtyard and backyard of the Xyle estate, the chaotic hum of industry had taken over. The workers from Grand Celebrations had arrived at dawn, moving like a well-oiled machine. Tall, velvet draperies were being hoisted over the stone pillars, polished silver trays glinted on long buffet tables, and a massive outdoor kitchen setup had been established in the rear. The air was thick with the rich, gorgeous aroma of roasting meats, heavy spices, and expensive wines being prepared for the elite of the sector.
Upstairs, isolated from the noise, Alaric stood in the center of his bedroom.
On his bed lay a brand-new, charcoal-black tailored suit, flawlessly pressed and crisp. But Alaric wasn't looking at the clothes. His right hand was extended, three smooth breaths already drawn and exhaled. The air distorted, and the weightless, purplish steel of Singularity materialized in his grip. Alaric held the crystalline blade up to the bright afternoon sun, watching the light refract through its dangerous, swirling energy.
He turned his gaze slightly, looking at his fully restored left hand. Alaric's eyes narrowed as his gaze locked back onto the purple blade.
"A sacrifice worth three lives..." he murmured into the quiet room, his mind instantly flashing to the names circled on his desk ledger: Mark Kruch, Will Amkrik lek, and Eldrin Ashworth. "...and the beginning of the destruction of one."
Volt Tor.
With a calm, mechanical precision, Alaric let the weapon drop, watching it disintegrate into tiny purplish molecules that surged effortlessly back into his chest. He turned to the bed, dressed himself in the immaculate tailored suit, and adjusted his cuffs. The fit was perfect.
He opened his bedroom door and descended the grand staircase. The foyer was beautifully decorated, but Alaric's attention was immediately drawn to the man leaning against a polished marble pillar near the entrance. Tylor Vanevold was already there, dressed sharply for the occasion, hands tucked into his pockets.
As Alaric's boots hit the bottom step, Tylor looked up. Their eyes met across the bustling room.
No words were spoken, no greetings were exchanged. In that singular, heavy look, a silent understanding passed between the two Arcanists. Tylor's expression was a mixture of calculating curiosity and grim anticipation, Alaric's was a mask of absolute, unyielding certainty. The network had been laid. The bait was set.
Alaric turned his head, casting a final, sweeping glance over the grand decorations, the bustling servants, and the glittering crystal chandeliers. He drew in a slow, deep breath, letting the subterranean thrum behind his ribs stabilize his pulse.
"The wait is over, isn't it?" Alaric whispered, a cold, ruthless smirk touching his lips as he looked at the entrance gate. "Soon all will start to come with different thoughts."
The elegant, black-painted carriages of the Western Sector's elite began to line the snow-cleared driveway of the Xyle mansion just as the bright afternoon sun dropped below the horizon.
The sudden transition to twilight brought back the familiar, biting December cold, but the estate's courtyard was so heavily lit by roaring coal braziers and crystal lamps that it felt entirely disconnected from the winter dark.
The guests began to filter out of their transport. Some entered accompanied by their jewelry-laden wives, their fur coats sweeping against the stone path, while others arrived alone, flanked by tense, sharp-eyed bodyguards.
They walked with a mixture of profound curiosity and deep unease.
For eighteen days, they had whispered about Alaric Xyle's sudden disappearance and assumed his assets were ripe for the taking.
Yet here they were, walking into his home under the massive, bold banner declaring his close friendship with Lord Volt.
At the main entrance gate, the atmosphere shifted from festive luxury to cold bureaucracy. A physically imposing Entry Officer from Grand Celebrations, dressed in a crisp, dark uniform, stood directly in front of the open steel doors. Beside him stood a small desk illuminated by a single gas lantern, upon which rested the official merchant registry of the Western Sector. He didn't care about aristocratic pleasantries, he was checking identity documents with the mechanical precision of a border guard.
"Registry papers," the officer demanded flatly as a trio of merchants approached. He took the documents, scanned the stamped numbers against his master list, and nodded tightly. "Rank 42. Enter."
The system was flawless, but it didn't take long for the rigid filtering to cause friction. A middle-aged businessman wearing an overly flashy velvet coat with gold embroidery was stopped dead in his tracks. The Entry Officer blocked the archway with his massive frame, handing the man's identity papers back with a cold glare.
"You are not on the permitted guest list," the officer stated. "Step aside."
The businessman's face instantly flushed a furious crimson. He had spent the last two days boasting to his associates that he would be attending the most exclusive event of the winter, and being turned away at the threshold was a public execution of his status. He stepped forward aggressively, poking a gloved finger toward the officer's chest as he began shouting.
"Why? Check the registry again, you absolute idiot! I am under the Top 85 businessmen in this entire sector! My capital alone dictates that I should be inside that room!"
The surrounding guests paused on the path, turning their heads to watch the unfolding scene with quiet, mocking amusement. The Entry Officer didn't waste his breath arguing. His fist shot forward, burying itself deep into the shouting businessman's abdomen.
The heavy punch landed with a dull, sickening thud. The merchant gasped, the air violently leaving his lungs as his knees buckled, sending him crashing into the cold snow. The officer looked down at the groveling man, entirely unfazed.
"Not under eighty, right? The invitation clearly stated the parameters. You are trespassing on private property, and I have every legal right to neutralize a threat. Get him out of here."
Two auxiliary guards immediately grabbed the groaning merchant by his velvet collar, dragging him down the driveway through the slush.
The remaining elite quickly straightened their coats, holding their documentation out with a newfound sense of quiet discipline.
The ledger of the evening had barely opened, and Alaric's chosen firm had already set the price of admission.
It didn't take too long when Alaric noticed Mark Kruch and Eldrin Ashworth coming together.
A small smirk formed on Alaric's face yet he immediately hid it, he couldn't smirk in front of this many people. And just moments later, Will Amkrik lek also entered.
Alaric grabbed a glass of wine and had a sip of it as he walked toward him. Will glanced around as he was searching for Alaric. He looked around as he saw Alaric coming towards him. He stretched out his arm to shake hands and Alaric accepted it.
"It's been long Mr.Xyle."
"Same for you Mr.Led."
A fake smile appeared on Alaric's face. "How's your business ?"
"Oh," Will said while taking a sip of his wine. "It's good."
"Mr.led you know...that when I was missing atleast according to rumours my eighty percent of export was freezed."
Will narrowed his eyes as his lips twitched. "Why ? How? Did they gave any explanation ?"
"No..but somehow instead of my products your export was increased by eighty percent.... Coincidence."
"The thing is Mr.Xyle...If a animal is dead it can never win but the one who hunts it first or atleast claims he hunted him first wins."
Then complete silence stretched between them. And then they both chuckled, Alaric walking towards the wine section. " I'll get you a drink."
Will nodded.
Alaric walked toward the wine section, trying to be as calm as possible as he grabbed a glass of wine and a bottle, but it was different than Teal Charm.
As he poured the wine into the glass, he gave it to the waiter and motioned his hand in the direction of Will. " Give it to him...and also a bottle of same wine Teal Charm."
Alaric stood by the bar for a moment, his eyes shifting across the expansive ballroom to locate his second target.
Through the shifting crowd, he spotted Eldrin Ashworth standing near a tall ice sculpture. Surprisingly, Tylor Vanevold was already there.
Tylor was dressed sharply, holding a glass of high-tier spirits, engaged in what appeared to be a highly engaging conversation with Ashworth.
Ashworth was laughing at something Tylor had said, completely unaware that the man he was drinking with was an Arcanist who shared a ledger with Alaric.
Alaric caught Tylor's eye for a split second across the room.
Tylor raised his glass in a silent, subtle toast before turning back to his target. Alaric smiled calmly, a sense of cold satisfaction settling deep into his chest.
The trap was holding its form beautifully.
Turning his focus back to the immediate vicinity, Alaric went in search of Mark Kruch.
He found the stout businessman standing near the heavy velvet draperies that led out to the rear courtyard.
Kruch had just finished eating a small dish of roasted meats from a disposable ceramic bowl, tossing the empty container into a servant's bin with a dissatisfied grunt.
Alaric didn't approach him directly from the front. Instead, he circled back to the wine section, grabbed a fresh glass, and poured a dark, rich vintage from a completely different bottle than the Teal Charm.
Holding the glass securely in his right hand, he smoothly stepped into Kruch's line of sight, appearing as if he had simply stumbled upon him by accident.
"Mr. Kruch," Alaric said, his voice warm, the perfect imitation of a gracious host welcoming an old colleague. "I see you've found the refreshments. I hope the kitchen's selection is to your liking."
Mark Kruch turned heavily, his thick neck creasing over his stiff collar.
When he saw Alaric standing there whole and immaculate, his small eyes widened slightly before settling back into a hard, defensive stare. He took the glass of wine Alaric offered him with a brief, stiff nod.
"Mr.Xyle," Kruch rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly from years of cheap coal smoke inhalation. "The sector was certain you were resting at the bottom of a ditch somewhere. You've caused quite a stir by throwing a party the moment you walked back through the gate."
"A man must maintain his visibility, Mr. Kruch," Alaric replied smoothly, taking a small sip from his own glass. He looked out over the crowded room, his expression turning thoughtful. "After all, if a merchant is invisible for too long, people begin to take liberties with his ledgers. You see... after those unfortunate rumors of my disappearance began to circulate, the sales for Glow and Shine mysteriously decreased by exactly four percent within the first week."
Kruch didn't even blink. He lifted the glass Alaric had given him, taking a heavy, unrefined swallow of the dark wine. "The winter market fluctuates, Alaric. Four percent is a standard margin of error."
"Is it?" Alaric asked, his voice dripping with an icy, polite amusement. "Because what I found truly fascinating when I reviewed the records this morning was that during that exact same week, your own manufacturing houses experienced an identical increase of exactly four percent in their total distribution. Another coincidence, I suppose."
Kruch let out a dry, hacking laugh, the sound muffled by the noise of the ballroom. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, staring at Alaric with the absolute lack of shame that characterized the upper tiers of the Western commerce hierarchy.
"It is what it is, Xyle," Kruch said, his voice entirely dismissive as he took another deep sip of the wine. "Opportunity doesn't wait for a man to find his boots. If a seat is left empty at the table, someone else is going to sit in it. You should know that better than anyone."
"Oh, I do," Alaric whispered, his smile widening just enough to show his teeth under the gaslight. "I know that perfectly well, Mr. Kruch. Drink up. The evening is still very young, and the real transactions haven't even begun."
---
Alaric walked away from Mark Kruch cursing slowly when he saw Tylor was also standing there. Tylor looked at him and nodded as he slowly said, " Well ,I have given the drink to Eldrin...at first i thought it was poison."
Alaric chuckled. " I'm not that stupid....poison will give them a easy death."
Tylor stretched out his hand to touch Alaric's shoulder. " Focus on this party right now...any idea about Volt ?"
Even before Alaric could answer, everyone, literally every single person, was looking at the entrance. The Entry Officer from Grand Celebrations was bowing.
A man entered the Xyle mansion. The only person other than Alaric who knew why Alaric was missing for eighteen days, atleast partially.
Volt of Nobility Tor had arrived.