Lillianne rested her forearms against the cool stone railing of the inner balcony, her silver eyes drifting over the Prism Court’s central hub below. The space unfolded outward in careful symmetry—polished arches framing the open floor, walkways branching like veins toward every wing of governance. This was the heart of political society, the quiet convergence point where every decision eventually passed through.

  She rarely allowed herself to linger here. The weight of the place was subtle but constant, a reminder of responsibility and expectations. Today, however, she had chosen the balcony deliberately. Waiting was easier when her thoughts had somewhere vast to disperse.

  The echo of approaching footsteps carried upward. Lillianne shifted her weight and smiled before she even turned, warmth blooming faintly in her chest as a familiar silhouette came into view. A man in a Sentari uniform with tousled navy hair, olive skin, and the bright flash of orange as a yoyo spun lazily between deft fingers.

  Miridin looked up and spotted her at the same moment, his face immediately breaking into a grin.

  “Hi, Lillianne!” he called, lifting two fingers into a playful salute as he closed the distance. “It’s so great to see you!”

  “Hi, Miridin,” she replied, fondness softening her voice. “How have you been?”

  He leaned back against the railing beside her. The yoyo flicked downward and slipped neatly back into his palm. “Pretty good! I covered for Raine the other day and helped train the new recruits. It’s always fun seeing the next batch come through.”

  Lillianne arched an eyebrow, amusement glinting in her eyes. “You made them do the Line test, didn’t you?”

  Miridin perked up instantly, his grin turning unmistakably mischievous. “Of course! It’s such a simple test, but their reactions are always priceless.”

  She shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her. “I can only imagine how confused they were. Especially compared to Raine’s more conventional approach. You know how she is.”

  “It’s fine,” Miridin said breezily, the yoyo swinging in an easy arc. “She gave me permission to confuse them.”

  Lillianne laughed again, softer this time. They spoke easily after that, the years of familiarity smoothing over every pause.

  Lillianne had never been someone with a wide circle, but the people she did keep close were woven deeply into her life. Miridin had been there long before titles and divisions. Raine, too. Most of her closest friends now occupied prominent roles within the Sentari, and though their paths had diverged, the bonds remained.

  “So,” Miridin said at last, casting her a sideways glance, his tone light but curious. “How are things with your advisees? Any fun stories lately?”

  Lillianne let out a small, partly exasperated laugh. “Aira always has something exciting to share. She brought me more evidence from another vigilante encounter the other day. Her enthusiasm is… impressive.”

  She smiled despite herself. “She’s going to go far. Probably at the expense of her brother’s sanity.”

  Miridin chuckled. “Yeah. Journalism’s a dangerous profession. I can only imagine how worried Akio must be all the time.”

  Her expression brightened at the mention of him. “Akio’s incredible as well. Truly. One of the smartest students I’ve ever mentored. He’ll do exceptionally well, no matter where he ends up.”

  She paused, thoughtful. “Speaking of which, how are things with Gabriel?”

  Miridin’s grin widened like a proud chaos uncle. “Oh, he’s absolutely my favorite advisee. I love that kid. He teaches me card tricks, I teach him yoyo tricks. Sometimes we just do origami. He’s a lot of fun, and frighteningly smart, too.”

  Lillianne smiled softly, something gentle settling in her chest. “From everything I’ve heard, he and Akio are inseparable. That kind of bond is rare. It’s good they found it in each other.”

  Her gaze drifted back toward the hub below, following the steady flow of people beneath them until a sudden disturbance caught her eye.

  Lillianne leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as a cluster of Sentari in full uniform cut through the open space with unmistakable urgency. At their center was a man bound in dark, heavy shackles—thick restraints clasped around his wrists, ankles, and neck, each etched faintly with suppressive sigils.

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  The captive moved erratically, tension radiating from him in sharp, uneven bursts. He lashed out once, then again, only to be snapped violently back into formation by the officers surrounding him.

  Lillianne felt a faint chill creeping up her spine. “What’s happening over there?”

  Beside her, Miridin leaned forward as well, the playful ease he’d worn moments earlier slipping away. His expression settled into something heavier.

  “Ah. That,” he said quietly. “One of the vigilantes we captured recently. Advanced Fractal attunement. Not one of the big names, but still far stronger than most. They’re escorting him to the Elevator.”

  Lillianne watched as the group crossed the polished floor, the crowd parting instinctively in their wake. Her eyes lifted toward the far end of the hall, where the Elevator rose like a monolith.

  It was carved from sleek black stone, its surface veined with delicate gold markings that pulsed faintly with contained power. The shaft stretched impossibly high, vanishing upward toward the distant Solarium tower suspended in the sky above. At its base stood massive sealed doors, a threshold one didn’t return from once crossed.

  Her gaze flicked between the restrained man and the Elevator, unease tightening her chest. “They’re sending him to the Solarium?”

  Miridin nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s the mandate. Anyone with advanced Fractal attunement gets sent up there. Not really sure why. But… orders are orders.”

  “So,” Lillianne murmured, more to herself than to him, “only those who can truly manifest abilities.”

  “Pretty much,” Miridin confirmed.

  The procession came to a halt before the Elevator. With a low, resonant hum, the grand doors parted, revealing a vast interior bathed in sterile, blinding light. Two figures stood motionless within, completely clad in black from head to toe. Their masks bore the unmistakable emblem of the Solarium: a hollowed golden sun, featureless and unyielding.

  The Sentari escorted the captive forward. As he drew closer to the threshold, his composure shattered entirely. Fear bled through every frantic movement as he strained to escape, but the moment he crossed into the chamber, the struggle ended. The two faceless guards seized him with force, positioning themselves on either side as if he weighed nothing at all.

  The doors sealed shut with finality.

  Moments later, a deep whirring echoed through the hall as the Elevator began its ascent. Lillianne stood frozen, watching the dark shaft swallow the light as it climbed higher and higher until it vanished completely, leaving only silence behind.

  “Do you know what happens to them?”

  The question slipped from her lips before she realized she had spoken aloud.

  Lillianne tore her gaze away and turned to Miridin who was still watching the same empty stretch of air, eyes narrowed slightly. His expression was unreadable, though there was a tension there she rarely saw on him. After a moment, he exhaled and shook his head.

  “No idea,” he admitted. “If I had to guess, they offer some kind of incentive in exchange for loyalty. Or compliance. Hard to say.”

  His mouth tilted faintly, humorless. “I’ve never seen any of the vigilantes who were sent up there come back, though.”

  Lillianne folded her hands against the railing, the cool stone grounding her as unease pooled quietly beneath her composure. The thought of herself ascending that elevator sent a chill through her. The Solarium felt like an entirely different world—small, secretive, distant, yet holding absolute authority over everything below. Power so concentrated that it could reshape or erase people in ways no one would ever witness.

  “Maybe it’s for the better that no one returns,” she murmured at last. “I doubt the Solarium would be merciful enough to simply let people go.”

  Miridin gave a soft hum of agreement. “You’re probably right. They’d go a step further to make sure they get what they want and that everyone else stays in line. Especially when it comes to the more famous vigilantes.”

  Lillianne fell silent again. The uncertainty unsettled her more than any definitive answer could have. Not knowing felt crueler than any visible punishment. Her eyes narrowed slightly as another thought surfaced.

  “It’s strange,” she said slowly. “Vigilantes only really began appearing in noticeable numbers a few decades ago. The number of people able to manifest Fractal abilities increased almost threefold in that time.”

  She paused. “It’s still a minute fraction of the population, but the frequency itself is… concerning.”

  Miridin nodded. “Nothing official, but a lot of people think it has something to do with the Pristine. She’s often considered the first true vigilante with manifested powers. After she appeared, others started showing up not long after.”

  Lillianne’s thoughts drifted, recalling what she knew. Over the years, there had been countless aliases and vigilantes, but the Pristine had always stood apart. Her emergence felt less like an isolated incident and more like the beginning of something irreversible. Nearly every vigilante who followed showed some form of Fractal attunement, as though her existence had loosened a boundary that could never be sealed again.

  “At least,” Lillianne said at last, voice quiet but sincere, “we have vigilantes now who are trying to do good. People like the Twin Hounds. Not just those who terrorize others simply because they can.”

  Miridin nodded slowly, his expression caught somewhere between resignation and wry amusement.

  “Those poor Hounds are going to be busy for the next couple of days,” he said. “Between the Hollow running loose and Echo pulling strings, they’re carrying a lot on their shoulders.”

  He huffed quietly. “And yet… we still have to catch them.”

  Lillianne’s brows knit together. The thought sat wrong with her.

  “Surely the Sentari can make an exception for them,” she said softly. “Given everything they’ve done.”

  Miridin shook his head without hesitation. “Nope. That’s not for us to decide. We’re the manpower. We carry out decisions made higher up the chain. Orders are orders, whether we like them or not.”

  Lillianne fell quiet, her fingers tightening slightly against the stone railing. It made sense. She understood bureaucracy well enough—layers of red tape, endless approvals, signatures passed from desk to desk until responsibility blurred into inevitability. And at the end of that chain sat the Solarium. As far as she knew, they would be the last people willing to overlook the actions of two of the most powerful vigilantes of the modern era, no matter how much good they had done.

  Miridin’s voice cut gently through her thoughts. She looked over to find him already slinging his yoyo again, its rhythmic motion a deliberate attempt to chase away the weight settling between them.

  “Hey,” he said, lighter now. “We should grab food. There’s a place nearby—nothing fancy, but it’s good.”

  Lillianne smiled, grateful for the shift. “That actually sounds nice,” she replied.

  They pushed away from the railing and began to leave together, their conversation drifting toward easier, inconsequential things. But just before she turned fully away, Lillianne glanced back once more.

  Her gaze lingered on the Elevator—the faintly glowing gold markings etched into its surface, the Solarium’s insignia watching over the Court with silent authority. The image settled heavily in her thoughts as she made her way out.

  Orders were orders. Whether they liked it or not.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Akiren