Field beyond North Gate, Brandholt City
The cloaked figure’s steps were deliberate, crunching faintly over the grass as she moved between shadow and moonlight. In her palm, a small device pulsed with a dim crystal glow, each beat like a heartbeat.
She swept her gaze from treeline to path, measuring, checking, always returning to the invisible space where they hid.
Her stride never faltered. She was walking straight toward them.
The tether hummed recognition, but instead of easing, Writ’s wariness tightened like a knot pulled taut.
Strange as it was, he almost felt grateful.
The woman’s arrival spared him.
He’d been at a dead end.
No way to explain why Caustic’s tone had shifted, or what the riddle had meant in Accord terms.
If Writ asked directly, he would have had no answer except the truth. That he had no idea.
And that, more than anything, would blow his cover.
The figure closed the last ten steps when Writ’s whisper brushed against his ear.
“Are we invisible? Soundproof?”
Kion drifted closer, replying under his breath, “yes. Both.”
“When I click my finger, drop the invis. Now...” her voice stayed low, steady, “…please drop the soundproof.”
He inclined his head, brushing away the ward with a careful sweep, deliberately letting the shimmer pass over her senses so she’d feel it vanish.
Writ clapped several times, sharp, precise.
Kion startled despite himself.
The figure halted mid-step, her hood tilting toward the sound.
Then Writ, flat and unyielding, called out, “why does nine afraid of seven?”
Exactly the same phrasing Caustic had questioned him with.
Kion’s face stayed schooled, though his mind jolted. He shifted closer to her shoulder, hovering just behind.
Better to let her handle this. Better to watch and wait.
The woman replied smooth, as if reciting, “because thirty-two and eleven ninety-eight.”
Kion pressed his lips thin, relief flooding in.
Stars, good thing he hadn’t tried bluffing Caustic earlier with his half-made answer.
Past-Kion, for once, had been smart.
Writ pressed on, cool as ever, “why do that?”
The woman raised a hand, bracelet flashing in the dim.
“Because it’s a comfy bell, and it likes dark hats.” a smile flashed under the hood, then her arm lowered, as if the explanation were complete.
Comfy bell. Hats.
Inscrutable. Accord nonsense.
Kion abandoned the attempt to understand.
“Whose hats?” Writ asked.
“The one who offered medic today owns it,” the figure returned, tone clipped but not unfriendly.
Again, relief.
If he’d answered Caustic’s full sequence with his nonsense, things would’ve gone very differently.
Writ snapped her fingers. Kion dropped the invisibility around her but kept his own wound tighter than ever.
No reason to risk detection now.
Writ rose smoothly, hand brushing the hilt at her belt, “hunting me, Knell?”
"Not really," Knell answered, her voice, when it came, carried the same restraint but not unkind, "nice trick you have there. I can barely sense you. How did you get it?"
"Not your problem."
"Harsh," the woman tilted her head and shifted the device into her sling bag, "anyway, nice to hear your voice. Don't recall you talked, back in the day."
"What do you want?"
Knell replied evenly, “you’ve lingered too long near the edge, do you know that?”
“No one told me where the border is,” Writ replied evenly.
Knell’s shoulders tipped in the barest shrug, “good thing your instinct’s sharp enough to keep you inside it.”
“You’re here to drag me back?”
“I'm not,” Knell’s gloved hand patted the flat of her bag, then she reached inside again, “he only asked me to see if you're sick. Seems his worry was misplaced.”
“And?”
This time Knell drew out a small box. Her bag sagged empty once it cleared. She crouched, setting it on the grass with deliberate care, then retreated five steps, “and to send you this. Still warm. Knell-made. No additives,” A faint, almost wry curve touched her lips, “he wanted me to watch you finish one before I leave.”
Fear coiled cold in Kion’s stomach.
Poison? A test?
Did they already suspect the relation between him and Writ?
But the hum against him held steady. No panic, only alert.
Kion wondered who Knell was.
Clearly someone Writ knew. Someone who knew about the past Writ he never knew.
Writ moved without hesitation, crouching to open it.
Kion followed, hand half-raised, ready to stop whatever she reached for.
The lid lifted. Steam curled out, carrying a wave of butter, sugar, browned crust.
The smell hit him so hard his mouth watered.
He swallowed it back, forcing himself to remember it could still be a trap.
He bent near her ear, whisper sharp, “are you sure about this?”
Writ studied the contents for only a beat before she shrugged, plucked out a loaf, and bit deep.
Chewed once. Swallowed. No pause.
Except... there. A flicker of hesitation in the tether, quick as lightning.
Surprise, confusion. Then buried.
She forced the rest down, as though daring him to stop her.
His chest seized. What was that pause?
The last swallow cleared.
She cut a dry glance at Knell, “happy?”
"Utterly," Knell inclined her head, a small smile tugging under the hood, “I'll leave. Anyway, you’re welcome at our place anytime. Take care.”
Writ gave a short nod.
Knell turned as though finished, then paused after two steps.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Stay the night if you want. Just don’t go farther. Beyond that... it won’t end well,” her tone softened, but the clip returned at the end.
“Alright.”
Knell lifted a hand in farewell and made her way back toward the gate, steady and unhurried.
When her figure disappeared behind the gate, Writ let out a long breath and lowered herself back into the grass. She set the box between them, “hungry?”
Kion unspooled his cloaking to cover her again before settling beside the offering.
His eyes stayed on the neat little loaves, “you’re sure it’s safe?”
“She wouldn’t say ‘no additives’ if it wasn’t,” Writ’s glance flicked down at the box, “can I take another?”
“Go ahead.”
She took one and ate with careless ease.
Still, the tether trembled faintly. The same buried flicker of unease.
He asked again, quieter, “why the hesitation?”
“It’s fine.” She swallowed, then added after a beat, “just... amazed it still tastes the same. But different.”
He frowned, baffled. What did that even mean?
She didn’t explain.
"Uhh... alright?"
Kion finally gave in and lifted one himself.
The crust yielded under his teeth, the soft interior still warm enough to melt on his tongue. Sweet, buttery, impossibly comforting.
A low hum escaped him before he could stop it. Surprise followed each bite, the taste lingering like a quiet revelation.
He cursed the knowledge that tonight would be the last of it.
“Knell-made” probably meant homemade, not sold anywhere.
He wondered, half-hopeful, half-ashamed, whether Writ might ever accept Knell’s invitation and sneak him a meal someday.
He managed, between bites, “so... you know her? Knell?”
“Tiran’s housekeeper. Sort of.”
“I... see,” he chewed slower, savoring, “you meet her often?”
“Only when I stayed at his house,” she swallowed her last bite, wiped a crumb from her lip, “she’s fine. Not a threat unless Tiran points her at you.”
Kion’s stomach knotted even through the warmth of the bread.
So even those close could turn into weapons if Tiran willed it.
For a moment, he pictured Writ as one of them. Commanded, turned.
He knew that's how Shadow Accord worked.
Still, the thought chilled.
“So...” Writ licked the crumbs from her fingers, a gesture he’d never seen her make, unguarded and almost ordinary, “where were we?”
He nearly choked, forcing the bite down, “let me finish first. This is too good to ruin with heavy talk.”
“Agreed,” she said simply. Then she leaned back into the grass, eyes turning to the stars. The tether loosened, curling in something that felt almost like ease.
Kion slowed his chewing, dragging out each bite as though time might come with it.
He wasn’t ready yet. Not for the truth, not for the risk of shattering what calm they’d finally found.
How could he tell her, without also confessing that he didn’t understand the code at all, and that he had never belonged among the Accord?
The Silent Writ's POV
Field beyond North Gate, Brandholt City
Why did the bread taste good?
She could still taste it on her tongue. warm and yielding, the crust giving way with a gentle crunch that echoed softly in her mouth. Air and yeast, a faint sweetness she hadn’t remembered. the kind of texture that should have been ordinary but wasn’t.
When she first ate it under Knell's gaze. Her chest tightened, cautious, like noticing a crack in the floor she hadn’t seen before. She shoved it down, hiding it from the baker in front of her.
Now even after she swallowed the last bite, the warmth lingered, spreading quietly through her stomach. She licked her fingers once, twice, just to confirm it was still there, still safe, still hers for this moment. No one watching. No one judging. Just the bread, and Kion next to her, enjoying the same food.
She could easily tell Kion had given his approval too. The way he savour the bread slowly, enjoying every bites with sparkling eyes. So she let him have the moment and just lay down on the grass. Eyes to the stars and mind to Knell.
Knell looked... well. Older than the last time she saw Knell before she left Tiran's house. But still fit enough and carried that elegantly menacing gesture with her movement.
Writ had worried at first. If Tiran really sent Knell to hunt her, then Knell would’ve been fully armed. A tough opponent. Too tough without advantage, whether terrain or equipment. And since Writ had rushed out searching for Kion, she’d only brought the bare minimum. Hardly enough. Especially since age hadn’t worn Knell down just yet.
Kion would help, she knew. But Writ would rather not drag him down with her. Not when he was already exhausted. Not when he could get hurt. Not again. She wished he’d just stay put if such a thing ever happened.
Writ glanced at Kion and found him halfway through the bread, still chewing slowly with the content expression of a hamster pleased with its stash.
Her mind drifted. Skimming the memories she knew in order but never in peace. Thorn Marching. The blank year in Nexus. Waking in Tiran’s house. Each one rose in a brief, jarring glimpse, each confinement folding into the next.
She recalled Knell’s face when she’d stepped through the door. Never forcing her to talk, yet never leaving her fully alone. She checked on Writ every few hours, adjusted each meal until Writ could stomach it, never raised her voice even when nausea ruined everything. Patient, steady, almost gentle.
Writ knew better than to mistake it for affection. If Knell stayed, it was because Tiran had ordered it. That persistence, unyielding, reliable, was proof enough. Knell would never turn against her unless commanded to. Safe, in the way a locked door was safe. Dependable, predictable, assigned. Safe enough to be around.
You're always welcome to our house, you know?
The invitation offered easily. As if coming back didn't mean waking up the dead past. As if it's Something Writ would accept on her own.
She glanced at Kion, still stuffing his face. So she took out the memory stone from her pocket. replaying Caustic's voice once again.
"...if you mean daily life, no. We’re people. We talk, we laugh, we live. Not everything becomes a report."
His last answer still weighed her mind. Just like Knell's invitation.
Welcome. Our house. People. Talk. Laugh. Live. Not report.
They said it like shadows even had the right to live normally. Had the right to enjoy their time like normal people are. As if graduating Treshfold didn't only mean switched authority.
But then another line from Caustic came to mind.
"Life outside wasn’t supposed to be more miserable than Treshfold.”
Was it, really?
She'd stepped out of their gate expecting the same. Expecting how she'd be able to see the vastness of the sky, the different soils, water that's not from the tap. Naively followed the man she was assigned to as if he's going to open a door to the new world for her.
He did. To hell.
Where rules changed on his every whim. Where she had no idea how to act without anything done to her. Where every single thing she said and did were reasons for punishment, because she's always wrong and could never be right.
She desperately wished to return to Treshfold back then. As cold and harsh as it is. At least it's predictable. The rules never change. She could be right, punishment could be avoided.
She's doing well back there. So well that they let her graduate early. She should've refused. Shouldn't thought of it as an honor and met the offer with expectations.
At least she wouldn't met that man that way. Wouldn't have to grovel at his feet every night. Trying to appease the impossible.
More memory swept her through. This was exactly why she was glad Tiran told her to forget everything. To treat the past as if it never happened. To forget and buried it where it belong.
Too late now. Everything insisted to dug him back nowadays. Caedern, Caustic, Knell. Action from the past. Talking about the past. People from the past.
The stars above blurred, doubling, scattering into white noise. Her chest felt tight again. Too tight. As if the air around her thickened into glass. She blinked once, twice, but the heaviness stayed, crawling up her throat.
Chill went through her spine. She failed to push the thoughts away. Her throat locked up.
Forget, Tiran said. She tried to tell her body the same. But it body remembered. Too well. The breath that used to freeze on cue. The pulse that counted footsteps outside a locked door. The voice that never reached her tongue.
“L-Lun-?” Kion's word reached her faintly. His smile collapsed. Panic pulled at his voice, each syllable pushed out like he was fighting a silence that belonged to her but dragged him with it.
She turned her head, last piece of bread still in his hands. But his expression hinted otherwise. As if he knew.
Her lips parted. The breath went out but no sound followed. Her throat seized. Small, invisible hands curling around it from the inside. Every muscle tried to obey, to form yes or I’m fine, but the command scattered before it reached her mouth.
Nothing.
Not even a whisper.
The last piece of bread sagging in his hand. His head tilted, brow knitting. He opened his mouth, nothing came out.
She forced air through her nose, fingers curling into the grass, cold dew smearing against her skin. The ground spun gently beneath her, heartbeat pounding behind her ears.
Not again.
She wasn’t supposed to go back there.
She wasn’t supposed to be that girl anymore.
Kion leaned closer, bread forgotten, managed to speak, “hey-”
But the silence in Writ thickened, and she could almost taste the copper tang of memory on her tongue.
As the world went blank and swallowed her whole.