Shadow Accord's POV

  Observation Chamber – Level V, Hall of Accordance, Brandholt City

  The glass projection cast its cool light across the long table. A quiet flicker, constant and steady. No sound beyond the occasional blink of a notification in the corner. No one acknowledged it.

  Drenna adjusted the collar of her uniform and flicked through her tablet.

  “I’ve confirmed with Glyphfire and the Verdict Wing mages,” she said, eyes still on the data, “there are traces of spellwork in the notebook.”

  That caught attention.

  Caedern’s fingers stilled on the edge of his chair, “the spell distorted what we see in the book?”

  “Exactly,” Drenna replied, “subtle, that’s why we missed it the first time. The layers are buried. Whatever’s there... it’s meant to fool perception.”

  “Then why doesn’t it affect Silent Writ?” Caedern asked.

  Drenna exhaled, “that can only be answered by the caster. Our teams couldn’t even classify the signature properly.”

  Tiran leaned forward, frowning, “Writ can’t cast magic.”

  “She’s not the caster,” Drenna's tone was firm, “even if she had the capacity, the signature doesn’t belong to a human.”

  She paused.

  “They said it aligns with magical creatures.”

  Silence cracked open.

  Caedern leaned back slowly, lips tilting upward, “so we’re into myth now.”

  “I’m just repeating what the mages said,” Drenna muttered. She rubbed her temple with her thumb., “I’m not thrilled either.”

  Caedern chuckled, “come on, this case just got more interesting.”

  “You’re the only one who thinks that,” Tiran said, shaking his head.

  Drenna rolled her eyes but said nothing.

  Caedern rested his chin on his hand, “what’s the chance of her coming into contact with one?”

  “None,” Drenna swiped to another page, “we can’t even confirm if they still exist. Or if they ever did. No confirmed sightings in several centuries.”

  “Any chance the contact left mana residue on her?” Tiran asked.

  “I already asked,” Drenna didn’t look up, “unless the creature cast something directly onto her, it’s unlikely. There’s too much time decay otherwise.”

  “What if it’s the ruin?” Tiran’s voice was quieter now, thoughtful, “Tenzurah was once a Bronze. Pre-myth age. They were said to have had dealings with the creatures before the exile.”

  “And that’s another myth,” Caedern quipped.

  Tiran didn’t flinch, “we’re already discussing magical creatures. Our only leads are in the myths. Bronze buried the rest.”

  Drenna tapped the edge of the projection, a blinking glyph settling down, “I’ll request a new residue scan during the next briefing. For now, we’re just circling guesses.”

  Caedern gave a small shrug, “fine by me.”

  Tiran nodded, “agreed.”

  Caedern leaned forward, eyes sharp, “and now, the interesting part.”

  Tiran sighed.

  “I spoke with Verdict Wing,” Drenna said, “they’re willing to cooperate.”

  Caedern brightened, “that’s more like it.”

  Tiran’s brow pulled tight, “with what, exactly?”

  Drenna tapped her tablet again. A new file expanded across the projection, a draft brief in pale green, glowing softly in the low light.

  Tiran read.

  Then frowned.

  “You’re joking.”

  “We’re not,” Caedern said, “two birds. One stone.”

  Tiran turned toward Drenna, “she’s already gone further than any of us predicted. You admitted it too. She'd proven how much she wants to belong. Isn’t that enough?”

  Drenna hesitated, “I did.”

  Beat.

  “But that doesn’t make her safe.”

  “She’s still on watch,” Caedern added.

  “Yes. Because you said she’s dangerous if she turns,” Tiran snapped.

  “Doing more of this is what makes her turn.”

  “Then she’s not obedient enough,” Drenna said flatly.

  Caedern tilted his head, “you’re biased, Tiran.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Of course I’m biased,” Tiran’s voice was low now, edged.

  “I’ve sharpened that blade for thirteen years. I won’t let you break it just to test a theory.”

  He turned fully now, facing them both.

  “Especially you, Caedern. You didn’t even blink when she came back from the Thorn Marching.”

  A pause.

  “That alone is a feat. She’s functional. Compliant. And just broken enough to be useful.”

  Silence fell again. He wasn’t done.

  “She’s more stable this way. Not shattered. Not disobedient. She’ll walk forward if you let her breathe. But this?”

  Drenna stared at the table. Her jaw twitched, but she said nothing.

  Tiran’s voice softened, but it didn’t ease.

  “This will hit her harder than anything before.”

  “She survived the ruin. She survived the questioning. She survived you telling her to drink something she thought might erase her mind.”

  A beat.

  “Not even your Inks would make it through that. Ask them. Pious Ink? She’d slit her throat before you could give the order. Caustic Ink might handle the ruin. But not the drink.”

  The room stretched in silence, long and thin and brittle.

  “...Alright,” Drenna said finally, “this will be the last.”

  Tiran looked down, rubbing his jaw, “change the subject. She’s not trained for this.”

  Caedern waved a hand dismissively, “it won’t serve the objective if we change it.”

  “Then stay on script,” Tiran snapped, “can you at least promise that?”

  Caedern’s smile was slow, “hmm. Not sure I can.”

  Tiran’s teeth clenched, “she’s not yours to play with.”

  Caedern only shrugged.

  Then...

  A voice.

  “Her again?”

  He hadn’t been there a moment ago. No flicker. No sound. The air simply bent around him, and he was suddenly seated at the head of the table.

  The man wore a mirrored pin fastening his robe, identical to his presence. Precise, composed, refracted.

  His posture was immaculate. Not a line out of place.

  His violet eyes drifted across the projection, reading it with quiet disinterest.

  No one else spoke.

  “I see,” he murmured, “A unique case.”

  A pause.

  “I can understand your interest, Judge.”

  Caedern offered a half-bow from his seat.

  The man’s gaze shifted, “Harbringer. You know this is the most efficient path.”

  Tiran stared for a moment too long, “...Yes. I’m aware.”

  “Then it’s settled,” the man said softly.

  “No change. As is. If she passes, she’s Harbringer’s.”

  “Neither Black Quill nor Judge touch her again.”

  Tiran blinked once, hard, “understood.”

  Caedern leaned back, satisfied, “looking forward to it.”

  Drenna shot him a look that could’ve frozen bone.

  He didn’t flinch.

  Tiran said nothing more.

  He turned back toward the projection, still glowing faintly. The briefing remained unchanged.

  He stared at it for a long moment.

  Then closed his eyes.

  The man’s gaze did not settle on anyone in the room.

  “One indulgence was enough,” he said.

  Then the glass dimmed.

  Arkwyn’s POV

  High Councilor’s Office, East Wing, Kesherra Basin

  The steam rose in soft coils, tinted faintly green as it curled above the kettle. Arkwyn poured carefully into two porcelain cups, the scent of fresh morning leaves. A brisk, grassy infusion meant to wake the mind without clouding it, filling the room.

  His office was still quiet, books and ledgers stacked neatly across the table, the sort of order that came only before the day had a chance to ruin it.

  Outside, light seeped gently through the narrow windows, too pale yet to be called full daylight.

  The door creaked open behind him. Euri shuffled in, shoulders hunched, a half-yawn still stretching across his face.

  Arkwyn glanced over the rim of his cup, “another binge read last night?”

  “Shut up,” Euri muttered, rubbing at his temple as he dropped into the chair opposite, “I had glittery night shifts, unlike you.”

  A low chuckle escaped Arkwyn as he took the first sip of his tea. The warmth sat comfortably in his chest, “any new information?”

  Euri exhaled through his nose, reaching for the other cup, “out of sixteen places the little one mentioned, thirteen have been sealed. The rest were left open on purpose, as decoy.”

  Arkwyn nodded slowly, letting the words settle, “the little one caught on. They managed to decipher the mirage he planted in their intel. Good thing it’s wrapped up now.”

  “Mm,” Euri swirled his tea but didn’t drink, “the get-the-girl project still on?”

  Arkwyn gave a loose shrug, eyes sliding toward the stacks of reports, “since she’s back in Brandholt, it’s gotten even more intense.”

  “...Hope she won’t sniff us because of that,” Euri muttered.

  “Hopefully not.”

  Euri squinted, “nobody invited her to our library again, right?”

  “No. Too risky. They’re on high alert.”

  “Good,” he leaned back, finally taking a swallow of the tea, “can’t have our room tainted by all the scented candles.”

  Arkwyn arched a brow, a faint smile tugging his lips, “it’s my private library, mind you.”

  “Our private library, my excellency.”

  The smile turned into a quiet laugh, “don’t you dare become a second Featherglint. I’ve had enough of his antics.”

  Euri’s laugh rang louder, shaking some of the morning stillness from the room.

  When it faded, Arkwyn set his cup down with care, “where are Sparklefish and Glow Orb now?”

  “On their way back,” Euri answered, flipping through the pile of unopened correspondence.

  “Sparklefish should arrive today. Glow Orb... only Roots and herself know. She’ll take her sweet time, like always.”

  “I’ll send a leaf message, urge her to return faster.”

  “Doubt she’ll care. This might be her last long trip, truth told. She keeps grumbling she’s tired of choking down painkillers every few hours, and of us forcing her to rest every few seconds.”

  “At her age,” Arkwyn murmured, “it’s already a miracle she can walk at all. Even so...”

  “True. I’d be calmer if she’d just stay put and serve as Seamkeeper.”

  Arkwyn let the thought hang before shifting, voice lower, “you think we can sweep for intake soon?”

  “Unsure,” Euri paused in his paperwork.

  “Someone came last month claiming to be Accord. Spoke our challenge code clean. Word’s reached their ears,” His mouth pressed into a thin line.

  “And the leftover route isn’t preferable. Double danger if we rush another intake.”

  “Then we should add layered sweep?”

  “More time-consuming,” Euri admitted. He rubbed at the corner of his eye, “but... probably for the best.”

  The conversation ebbed there, giving way to silence broken only by the faint scratch of Euri pulling papers into order.

  Arkwyn lifted his cup again, savoring the last sip as though it were something more sacred than tea, and let the warmth linger against the dull weight of his chest.

  A knock rapped gently on the door. Fenwick’s voice followed, muffled but clear.

  “Reminder. You're required to attend the Marquis Othvarn charity preparation meeting in one hour. Best not to keep them waiting.”

  A pause.

  “And if you can’t finish your tea fast enough, it’s mine now.”

  Arkwyn sighed, setting the empty cup aside, “enough glittery gossip for the morning, I suppose.”

  “Yep,” Euri said with a half-smile, already gathering the documents into neat stacks, “time to go against those pompous nobles. I’m tired already.”

  “So am I,” Arkwyn rose, smoothing the creases from his robe, “sadly, we’ve no choice but to face them.”

  “Right. Just hope none of them sways to our hunter.”

  Arkwyn’s eyes darkened briefly, “Would be a problem if they do.”

  He adjusted the last folder under his arm. Together they left the office, their laughter and warmth already sealed behind them, bracing for the colder hallways ahead.