PARTIAL REPORT – SUBJECT THIELLE
Emergency Evaluation Center N-4, Sideral District, Seravenn
Designated Name: THIELLE
Active Emotional Identifier: RUMINATION
Manifestation Status: Unstable / Preliminary Phase / Raw Potential
Time Since Spontaneous Awakening: 4 days, 9 hours, 17 minutes
Public Detection Level: 0% – Undetected by civil sensors
Structural Compatibility: 73.9%
General Observations: Cognitive inconsistency, internal emotional loops, disjointed verbalizations, distorted time perception.
The subject is suspended by a partial restraint harness. Muscles tense, eyelids swollen, skin pale from lack of sunlight. Reports indicate emotional implosion traces inside the testing cubicle: magical residue clinging to the glass, non-induced thermal fluctuations.
Her voice trembles when she speaks. She asks softly, without any real hope of an answer:
—Why are you doing this to me...?
The lead protocol officer, Dr. Cirelle Thaynn (5th Veil), responds without changing her tone:
—Your channel is misaligned. The emotion you carry has yet to mature. Rumination consumes you unproductively.
Pause. She observes the subject. The silence lingers.
—We can’t let you enter the world like this. You wouldn’t just destroy yourself. You’d take others with you.
Thielle closes her eyes. Not to rest—only to avoid crying.
In the past six hours, she has shown signs of dissociation and unprovoked magical surges. One of the auditory stabilizers spontaneously detonated upon hearing a key word (“mom”). She does not remember doing it. She doesn't remember much at all.
Her murmurs repeat:
“I don’t want to think anymore… I don’t want to think anymore… I don’t want to think anymore…”
High risk of identity collapse if synchronization is forced. Exposure to open emotional environments not recommended. Protocol 12-Delta will be reevaluated within 48 hours. Partial sedation advised.
End of record.
Day time in Seravenn Neyra’s apartment
The next morning began with surprising coordination, as if we had been living together for weeks. While Neyra showered, Velka prepared a breakfast worthy of a military operation, and I took care of the tea. We didn't speak much, but moved in sync—like a well-oiled machine. None of us wanted to be late for work. Even though our main mission was still counterintelligence, we knew the cover was just as important.
After getting dressed in the civilian uniform assigned for the academy, my gaze lingered for a moment on the bathroom table. There was a small tube of Velka’s lip gloss, a subtle one, nothing flashy—just enough to enhance the natural tone of the lips with a soft sheen. I didn’t think much of it. I picked it up. Applied it. “No one will notice,” I told myself.
Of course Velka noticed.
—And where do you think you’re going all dolled up, huh? —she asked with an overprotective-mother tone as I stepped out of the room.
I froze for a moment.
—I just... liked your gloss from yesterday, when we tried it. Thought it was nice.
Velka narrowed her eyes, as if scanning my soul.
—I don’t mind you using my stuff, Lyss... I mean, Lyria —she corrected with a smile—. But you should be honest. You put it on to tempt Silas, didn’t you?
—What?! No! Of course not… I just thought it was a nice touch —I stammered, more nervous than I’d like to admit.
She just chuckled.
—You’re turning into a sexy librarian, huh? Keep this up and that boy won’t even realize how hard he’s falling.
Before I could reply, I noticed Neyra standing silently by the window. She hadn’t moved in a while, frozen like a statue. I walked over.
—Neyra, we should go —I said gently, but she didn’t answer right away.
—There… —she whispered suddenly, pointing discreetly toward the street—. That woman. The one from the other day. She’s here again.
I followed her gaze. Across the street, a figure walked slowly past the windows of a closed café. It was the same woman: white hair, dark dress, flawless posture. She wasn’t looking at our building. In fact, she seemed simply distracted, perhaps waiting for someone. And yet… something felt off.
I remembered the scent of withered lilies.
—Do you know her? —I asked quietly.
—No, but I feel it —Neyra said, eyes still fixed—. It’s like a pressure in my chest. A knot. That woman is connected to something… something dark. I know it.
—Neyra… maybe you’re seeing ghosts where there are none. She could just be waiting for someone.
She turned to me, hurt and irritated.
—You don’t see it? Don’t you feel anything? Anything strange?
I shook my head, almost guilty. My mind was still wrapped around other things. Around Silas. Around this impossible idea of normalcy.
—Of course not. Because you’re busy playing your little princess-and-prince fairytale —she snapped, turning to grab her things—. Well, I’ll do something. Even if I have to do it alone.
—Neyra…
—Don’t follow me —she added without looking back—. Stick to your story. I’ll stick to what I know is real.
I watched her leave without another word. Then turned back to the window.
The woman was gone.
—What was all that fuss about? —Velka asked as she approached with her bag.
—Neyra says she has a hunch. If you want to understand it, ask her —I replied, trying to sound indifferent. But the princess comment kept buzzing in my head.
We left the building without another word. A few steps later, we parted ways to take different routes. But just before boarding my transport, I looked one last time at the spot where the woman had been.
Nothing.
Neyra walked aimlessly through the district, the gray lights of Seravenn still too faint to erase the shadows of dawn. The argument with Lyss still burned in her memory, but it no longer mattered. There was no time for apologies or explanations. Her mind repeated a single nameless thought: her.
The woman with white hair. The woman she didn’t know. The woman she hadn’t seen clearly, but who, since that first encounter, had left no doubt—she was not normal.
“She wasn’t normal… she isn’t normal,” Neyra’s mind repeated.
Her steps carried her to a less crowded area. It didn’t matter. She had a job to do. From the inner pocket of her coat, she pulled out the portable analysis device and powered it on. Simulation after simulation lit up on her visor: magical traces, emotional residue, energy fluctuations.
She was determined to find her. Even if no one else believed she was there.
She pulled the small analysis device from the inner pocket of her coat and powered it on. Simulation after simulation flashed across her visor—magical readings, emotional traces, energy fluctuations, fragmented visual logs from the area—all compiled, reorganized, and accelerated by her gift and her obsession.
The first attempt was chaos. The second, just noise. The third, led her focus elsewhere. The fourth...
...a moment. One single second of connection.
Everything clicked.
The energy she had sensed that morning, the same environmental shift, the pressure in her chest… the trembling in her fingers. It was her. Her instinct wasn’t lying. Neither was her ability.
The white-haired woman wasn’t just anomalous. She was a magical girl.
But not one of theirs.
The visor vanished back into her coat pocket in a blink. Her breathing quickened, and her body trembled with that indescribable mix of urgency and fear. Her training screamed not to act yet. That it was reckless. That every step needed to be measured, verified, approved by Velka, by Lyss, by the Veil.
But her emotion—the desperate need for certainty—screamed louder.
She could intercept. She could follow. She could... act.
But she didn’t.
Not out of weakness, but strategy.
She closed her eyes and let Seravenn’s icy air burn her lungs for a moment. Then opened them. Steady. Resolved.
She couldn't compromise the operation.
Not yet.
But now more than ever, she was sure: she had a target.
Back to Lyss
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Neyra had said.
—“Go on playing your prince and princess fantasy.”
I knew she didn’t mean it. That it didn’t come from genuine rage. Not after the night before—the laughter, the shared secrets… the hugs.
Still, it stung.
Even if I pretended it didn’t.
The academy was already buzzing with familiar sounds. Military heels on marble, distant echoes of doors opening, the quiet murmur of students entering the campus. I took refuge behind the library desk, surrounded by papers, archive logs, and the comforting hum of the database booting up. For a moment, I was just that: a librarian doing her job.
Two hours later, I heard his voice.
—“Good morning, Professor Wren,” said Silas, walking in with one of those smiles that could melt steel.
I turned. No cold or curt response this time.
—“Good morning, Silas.”
The conversation was… pleasant. Normal. Even enjoyable. We talked about impossible-to-find records, duplicate names in the archive, and a book someone had stuffed inside a toolbox. For the first time in a long while, I laughed. Genuinely.
And then, with that nervous manner I was beginning to recognize, he scratched the back of his neck, took a breath… and said it.
—“I wanted to ask you something,” he began. “So… today’s Thursday, and… well, you’re amazing at finding things, and I thought… would you like to come with me to the public library this Saturday? It’s for a project I’m working on. It’d be great to have your help.”
I felt my heart skip—not from fear.
From nerves, yes… but something else, too.
I hesitated. Searched for excuses. Found none.
—“Alright,” I finally said.
Silas looked at me as if he’d just won a war. Though he masked it well.
—“Perfect. This Saturday at nine. I’ll meet you at the stop. Have a good day, Lyria.”
He turned to leave, and just as he did… he froze.
There, stepping out from the hallway, stood a woman.
Hair white as snow.
A scandalously perfect silhouette.
And that smell…
That smell of wilted lilies.
It couldn’t be coincidence.
Silas politely stepped aside to let her pass and kept walking.
I stood up immediately, palms slightly sweaty, my stomach in a knot. The woman didn’t look at me. Didn’t say a word. She just walked by as if everything belonged to her. As if she already knew.
I followed her with my eyes until she turned down another corridor.
No proof.
Just intuition.
But something deep down already knew.
And suddenly, Neyra’s warning didn’t seem so far-fetched after all.
I stood up immediately, my palms slightly sweaty, my stomach in a knot. She approached with elegant, measured steps. She looked like someone who didn’t belong in a military academy. Or perhaps precisely like someone who knew how to blend in anywhere.
—Can I help you with something? —I asked, voice firm.
—Oh, not at all —she replied in a velvety tone that could almost hypnotize—. I’m here as a diplomatic observer. I was supposed to have an appointment with Captain Vehlor from the Inner Command, but I’m afraid I arrived too early… or was mistaken for another delegation. You know how messy registries can be at this hour.
The name did ring a bell. Vehlor… someone who existed, but whom I’d never met personally.
—I see —I said, keeping my tone neutral—. However, this library is only accessible with proper clearance.
—Of course. I wasn’t planning on staying —she added with an almost indulgent smile—. The place just caught my attention. And, well, I’ve always been interested in military history. Especially in academies like this one.
—May I see your diplomatic ID?
—Unfortunately, my assistant has it. And… I should get going. I wouldn’t want to cause trouble.
Her smile curved dangerously. Like someone who had just trapped me in a game I didn’t know I was playing.
—Thank you for your time, Professor Wren.
And without giving me a chance to reply, she turned on her heel. Her heels echoed down the steps and soon disappeared from view.
But something wasn’t right.
It wasn’t just her attitude.
It was everything about her.
I turned toward the shelves. A couple of books were arranged with absurd precision. Millimetric. As if someone had measured them with an invisible ruler. One of them was a volume on ancient tactics that hadn’t been touched since last week.
And the scent...
Her perfume —wilted lilies— still lingered in the air.
Far too long.
As if she hadn’t actually left.
Outside of the Academy
The midday light bathed the sidewalks of Seravenn in a pale glow, filtered through the artificial mist that shielded the inner districts from the erratic climate. Silke Engel walked between the buildings with elegant strides, the echo of her heels setting a serene yet deliberate rhythm. She adjusted her coat with practiced grace, as if she’d just stepped out of an embassy meeting or a diplomatic luncheon.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Halfway down the street, she stopped beneath the shadow of a discreet awning. She activated her wrist communicator, disguised as an antique piece of jewelry. The screen cast a faint glow, almost imperceptible from the outside.
—Additional target detected —she whispered in a low, velvety voice—. I couldn’t detect a clear magical signature, but there’s… something. Something dense, repressed. Either she’s a concealed magical girl… or one who hasn’t awakened yet.
A pause.
—The librarian. Curator of the military archive. “Professor Wren.”
Her tone turned more serious —the kind that signaled she was about to eliminate an unpredictable variable.
—I’ll add a stress test. I’ll detonate a lateral section of the academy in two days. If she’s what I think… she’ll survive. If not… one less.
A flicker from the communicator confirmed limited tactical authorization.
Silke smiled —the kind of smile that never promised anything good.
—Glory to Eiswacht.
And the communicator shut off with a soft hum.
As the world carried on, the most dangerous agent of the Wei?spiegel squad had just set her next move in motion.
One hour later in the academy
The white-haired woman had left over an hour ago. But her presence still lingered. Not in the air… in me.
It didn’t matter how many times I reviewed the surveillance protocols or the diplomatic observer handbook. Nothing about the way she spoke, walked, or looked felt “normal.”
But technically, she hadn’t done anything wrong.
Then again Neyra did told me about this strange woman, and I think I will apologies when I see her again.
I sat at the auxiliary desk, staring at the stack of index cards waiting for me. Just a few steps away, behind the hidden panel under shelf 2-G, was what I actually wanted to read: the lfile on Seravenn’s foundation. I’d managed to go through just a few pages before—enough to realize that it didn’t add up and a lot of things didn’t exist in any other record.
Every page left me with more questions. But now, of course, rearranging shelves took precedence over uncovering the rotting roots of this city.
With a sigh, I picked up the heaviest stack of books I could carry and made my way to section 3-F. I climbed the rail ladder with less care than I should have. My mind was elsewhere.
I didn’t hear the creaking until it was too late.
One of the upper volumes tilted, slipped off the edge… and hit something soft below.
Or rather—someone.
—Hey? —murmured a familiar voice, equal parts tired and mildly amused.
I peeked over the edge.
Silas.
I covered my mouth, holding back a guilty laugh.
—Sorry… I didn’t mean to... The book staged a revolt, I guess.
He held the volume in both hands like it might explode. Then handed it back to me without looking up.
—If you wanted my attention, Lyria… there are less violent ways.
—I’ll keep that in mind next time.
He stood there for a moment, like he was waiting for something more than the end of the incident. I climbed down carefully, still hiding a smile. It didn’t surprise me that he was nearby—he often came by to check archive routes or drop off forgotten forms. He always appeared during the quietest parts of the day. Almost like he preferred not to be noticed.
—You here to punish this traitorous shelf too? —I asked, pointing at the metal structure.
—Just came to drop off these reports… but if punishment’s communal, I’m in. Though I declare myself innocent —he said, then lowered his voice—. I swear it on the classification code.
I don’t know why that made me laugh. But it did. And he laughed too, just a little. Then looked away quickly, like he regretted having looked at me too long.
—Saturday… still good? —he asked after a brief silence.
—Yes. Unless the city collapses beforehand —I replied.
—Wouldn’t be surprising. But… if that happens, we could take shelter in the lost documents section. No one ever goes in there.
—Not even me —I admitted.
He nodded like we’d just sealed a secret pact.
—Nine o’clock at the stop, then.
—I’ll be there.
He didn’t say anything else. Just turned around a bit awkwardly, as if his body couldn’t quite figure out how to say goodbye, and vanished down the hallway with the reports in hand.
I watched him go.
Then looked back at the shelf.
And finally, slowly, turned toward the corner where the file was hidden.
I couldn’t read it today. Not with these tasks piling up. Not with her voice—the white-haired woman’s—still echoing like an off-key song in my head.
I rubbed my wrists.
There was no scent on my skin.
But I could still feel her perfume.
The tasks didn’t end.
Every time I thought I’d reached the final batch, another group of files appeared on the console. Cross-verification requests, duplicate reports, formatting errors, unsigned entries… an endless parade of things no one else wanted to deal with.
I spent hours in that cycle. My mind split between the hidden file, the white-haired woman, and a name I didn’t want to keep repeating.
Silas.
He was usually around by the time my shift ended. I never had to look for him. Sometimes he pretended to “just be passing by” the archive, and other times he simply waited in the hallway with that silly look and a piece of paper he clearly didn’t need to deliver.
But today he wasn’t there.
Not when I left. Not in the halls. Not at the corner where he usually dropped his favorite line:
“You leave just when the air starts to cool down?”
Nothing.
And I noticed.
I registered it.
And I overthought it.
I laughed to myself. Why did it even bother me? Why did I care whether he was there or not? Why did I expect him to walk me out like it was some unspoken habit?
Maybe because I liked his company.
Or maybe… because it distracted me from everything else.
I sighed, left the campus behind, and walked to the transit stop with my shoulders heavy—not from physical weight, but from that suffocating mix of pride, discomfort, and accumulated silence.
By the time I reached the station, the sky had already turned that dirty violet shade only Seravenn could produce through its artificial filters. I boarded the tram without expecting company, and got off one stop early, as always, to avoid forming a detectable pattern.
The apartment building looked the same from outside. Neutral. Gray. Just another piece of the cover.
Only this time, it wasn’t empty.
Neyra and Velka were waiting for me outside.
Neyra had her arms crossed, her back rigid, chin slightly raised. She didn’t look directly at me. Velka, on the other hand, smiled like everything was normal, waving with her fingers in that theatrical way she used to cut through tension.
—Lucky you made it, Wren! We were about to send a carrier pigeon —Velka said cheerfully, like they hadn’t been waiting there more than ten minutes.
—We’re heading straight to the sector? —I asked, careful not to meet Neyra’s eyes too long.
—Yes —she answered before Velka could, voice firm, almost dry—. Unless you’ve got something better to do.
I swallowed hard.
I could’ve told her the truth. That I believed her. That the woman, that presence, that perfume… it was all real. I could’ve told them she wasn’t just real, she was probably a magical girl—and not one of ours.
But I didn’t.
Out of stubbornness. Pride.
Or maybe because I was scared they’d think I was only saying it now to patch things up.
—No, I’ve got nothing better —I said.
Velka looked at both of us. Her smile faltered a bit, but didn’t fall apart.
—Well then, let’s go, girls. The night won’t wait, and you know how much shadows hate new shoes.
Neyra walked ahead without looking back.
I followed in silence.
Velka walked between us.
Like a fragile thread.
Like a truce, half-signed.
On the way to the odd sector...
The ride on public transit felt longer than it was. Not because of the distance—because of the silence.
Neyra hadn’t said a word since we left the apartment. Velka tried, of course—a couple of stray comments, an exaggerated grimace when the tram screeched to a halt—but no one answered. Even she gave up after the second attempt.
I just stared out the window.
As we moved farther from the central zones, the city seemed to shed its filters. The lights grew dimmer, more uneven. The buildings looked older, like they belonged to a different version of Seravenn—one you didn’t find in official records or shiny recruitment ads. Sometimes I wondered if the center’s glow was just a fresh coat of paint over something far more ancient. Now I was sure of it.
The streets we passed had cracked sidewalks, rusted signs, loose cables dangling like exposed nerves. It wasn’t ugly, exactly. But it was raw. Too raw.
When we stepped off the tram at the assigned station, the air shifted.
There were maybe three people in sight on the entire street. And yet I felt like eyes were watching us from every empty window.
—Is this normal? —I asked, unable to keep it in.
—Normal for this sector —Velka replied, still walking—. Not many cameras here. No scheduled cleaning. It’s an older zone.
Older. Not ruined. Not broken. Just… older. As if time here moved differently.
We headed toward the marked coordinates. Each step made something in me coil tighter. Not because there was immediate danger—because the air itself felt dense. Like the walls remembered things no one dared to name.
Neyra walked in front, but her pace had shifted. She wasn’t just marching with resolve now. She kept glancing sideways. Watching the balconies. The rusted gates. The fractures in the stone. Like she was looking for something.
Or like she recognized what she saw.
—Have you been here before? —I asked without thinking.
She didn’t answer.
She just walked faster.
Velka looked at her, then at me, but said nothing either. Her smile was gone. All that remained was the crunch of our boots on aging concrete, and the quiet certainty that at any moment, something—or someone—could emerge from a misaligned shadow.
It wasn’t fear.
It was premonition.
And all three of us felt it.
The location Caelia had marked wasn’t a specific building—it was a radius. A zone with altered records and incomplete activity logs. So when we arrived, we started moving slowly, following surveillance patterns and comparing signals to available data. Nothing moved. Nothing sounded off.
And yet everything felt… wrong.
Most storefronts were closed or abandoned. Some doors hung slightly open, revealing bits of old furniture or piles of scattered trash. It all felt frozen in time, like someone had hit pause on an entire life and never came back to press play.
Velka logged details on her wrist reader while Neyra walked with careful but unhurried steps. It was her who stopped first.
—Here —she said.
We were standing before a gray wall, tucked between two low buildings. What had once been a child’s mural was now washed out by time—colors faded, shapes barely recognizable. It wasn’t pretty. In fact, it looked more like a stain on the wall than a real drawing.
But Neyra stared at it like she’d just found a treasure.
—We painted this… when I was six —she whispered—. There were four of us. We lived two blocks from here. We thought if we drew something on the wall, the adults wouldn’t see us. Like the art would make us part of it.
She crouched down and touched a faded patch of green paint. Some sort of creature with crooked legs and an absurd smile.
—I painted this one. He was a gentle monster. Always protected the ones who got lost.
She didn’t sound like someone recalling a childhood game. She sounded like someone trying to remember a story only she had ever known.
—And your friends? —Velka asked, gently, without teasing.
Neyra took a moment to answer.
—I don’t know.
The silence grew heavier, but not uncomfortable. I looked at the mural. It meant nothing to me. Just a scribbled wall. But to her…
…to her it was proof that once, she had something like a home.
And for a moment, she forgot she was mad at me.
She didn’t say anything. But when she glanced at me, the edge she’d been carrying since the morning wasn’t there anymore.
We walked on for a few more meters in silence, as if trying not to disturb whatever we had just stepped through.
But then, something changed.
Not the ground. Not the buildings.
The air.
A vibration. Subtle. Like pressure behind the ribs. Like a voiceless whisper brushing past us.
We stopped at the same time.
—Do you feel that? —I said, barely above a whisper.
Velka nodded, her expression serious.
Neyra was already looking at a small house at the end of the street. Lights off. Door closed. Peeling paint. No sound.
But something was concentrated inside.
—The emotional signature is… thick —she murmured—. Not natural.
We approached in silence. No one drew a weapon, but our steps had shifted into something closer to an operation.
And for the first time in this mission…
…the air smelled like magic.
The door wasn’t locked. Just resting in place, like someone had left in a hurry and didn’t care to close it properly. Velka pushed it open with a gloved fingertip, and the creak that followed sounded more like a warning than a welcome.
No one said a word.
We stepped inside slowly, one by one.
The interior was drenched in shadow. Not total darkness—one slit in the blinds let in a line of streetlamp light—but just enough for every corner to look larger than it should.
The air was heavy. Not just emotionally. Physically thick. Like the dust, the magic, and something else—older, sadder, stickier—had built up in every corner.
—This isn’t regular magic —Neyra murmured, breaking the silence.
—No —I replied—. It feels like we’re breathing through a wet curtain.
We passed through what must’ve once been a cozy living room. A low table with uneven legs, a toppled mug with dried residue at the bottom. A couch half-covered with a folded blanket. Everything felt like it had been abandoned too fast… or too resigned.
Then something moved.
A sharp sound, like claws on wood.
An animal—too fast to see—bolted from under the couch and shot out through a broken window at the back.
Velka flinched hard.
—Och, bloody hell! —she shouted, hand on her chest—. Scared the fuckin’ soul outta me!
Her northern accent hit the air like a slap—raw, unfiltered. Neyra and I turned in unison. Not because of the scare—because of her voice.
—Again with the accent? —I said, raising an eyebrow, smirking—. I thought you’d tamed it by now.
Velka shrugged with mock dignity.
—Only comes out when I get spooked. Comes from the soul, y’know?
We kept moving, following a narrow hallway that ended in a half-open door. Neyra was the first to peek inside.
There were no beds. No furniture. Just piles of personal belongings: worn backpacks, ID cards, bracelets, combs—even shoes lined up with unsettling precision.
Velka started snapping photos with her wrist device, while Neyra picked up a few IDs to scan later.
—These belonged to the previous team —Neyra said—. All of them.
—Any active signals? —I asked.
—None.
We didn’t need to say more.
We moved toward the farthest corner of the room. There, as if someone had tried and failed to hide it, a wall was covered in drawings.
Damp earth.
Dried blood.
Twisted figures. Faceless heads. Bodies bent in impossible shapes. A series of symbols none of us recognized—but they were far too precise to be random.
They weren’t magical.
They weren’t functional.
But just seeing them...
...we all felt the same thing.
A jolt in the gut. A metallic taste at the back of the tongue. That primal urge to take a step back.
—This… shouldn’t be here —I said, unable to look away.
Velka stepped back instinctively.
—It’s not magic. But it’s worse. Feels like something’s screamin’ without makin’ a sound.
Neyra said nothing. But her face said everything. Whatever had been etched there had touched something deep—and ugly—in all three of us.
Then we heard footsteps.
Fast.
Someone bolting out from the back of the house.
We locked eyes. No words needed.
Velka moved first. Neyra followed. I went after them.
We didn’t know who it was.
But we were going to find out
We ran after the figure without thinking.
He jumped a broken fence, cut through a narrow alley, nearly tripped over a pile of debris—but he didn’t stop. Neither did we.
No words were needed. We weren’t ordinary soldiers. We were magical girls, trained to move under extreme conditions, with sharpened reflexes and heightened senses. For every step he took, we closed three.
We caught up to him halfway down a dead-end street.
Neyra was the first to intercept him, blocking his escape. He tried to turn around, but Velka was already there, gloves humming faintly. I stayed behind, ready to act if needed.
There was no real fight.
Just a useless struggle before we slammed him to the ground.
Velka yanked the backpack off his shoulders while Neyra restrained his wrists.
—Name? Unit? Who sent you? —Neyra demanded.
He didn’t answer.
—Come on. You’re not in a position to play mute —Velka snapped, already rifling through the bag.
Documents. Tracking devices. A bracelet with the pale crest of the North. And an ID card bearing the seal of Eiswacht.
—He’s an agent —Velka muttered—. No diplomatic insignia.
We looked at each other. This wasn’t just a stray intruder.
It was active espionage.
—We bring him back —I said.
No one argued.
We dragged him back to the house. Sat him in a wobbly chair near the hallway. Neyra stood over him, her face taut, like she was trying to read his mind with a glance.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t resist. Didn’t even blink.
Velka was the first to break the silence.
—Last chance. Tell us what you were looking for. Tell us who you report to. We don’t have time for games.
Nothing.
—We can make this a lot harder, you know? —she added, her accent slipping back into place as her knuckles flexed.
—Velka… —I said, not fully convinced. Not out of mercy—out of inexperience. I wasn’t used to interrogating people who were still breathing.
—Relax, sweetheart. Just a warning shot.
She crouched down in front of him, her voice low.
—Are you afraid to talk? Or do you already know you’re not walking out of here?
Still nothing.
Velka punched him.
A clean, brutal hit. Right to the face.
The crack echoed.
The agent dropped without another sound.
No one celebrated.
—That was too convenient —Neyra said quietly, flipping through the papers again—. Way too convenient.
—Yeah —I whispered—. Like someone wanted him found.
Velka clenched her jaw, eyes closed.
—A trap… or a message.
Neyra stood up. Pocketed the documents.
—I’m heading back to my room. There are records I didn’t check. I need to find something before they bury it deeper.
—Neyra… —I started.
—Don’t try to stop me. This doesn’t feel right.
And just like that, she was gone.
Velka and I stayed behind, alone with the unconscious body.
And only then did I remember we were still waiting for Seravenn’s internal authorities to arrive.
But the worst part wasn’t the silence.
It was the feeling in our gut.
Like something, somewhere, was already watching us.
But there was no time to make question or even try to stop Neyra
Velka and I left the body secured with basic restraint ties. We couldn’t stay.
The house had already triggered its internal alerts, detecting multiple magical traces and abnormal vital signals. Sirens began to wail in the distance—not the sharp public emergency ones, but that low, restrained tone used by internal forces when things were meant to stay quiet.
—Let’s go —Velka muttered—. If they find us here, everything we did could turn against us.
I didn’t hesitate. We slipped out through the back door, melting into the damp shadows of the sector.
As we walked away from the patrols, the question returned.
The drawings.
That wall covered in earth and dried blood. The shapes that seemed to beg without mouths. Figures that weren’t magical, symbolic, or ritualistic.
And yet...
They felt like someone’s soul had been trapped there. Like an echo was screaming with no voice, begging to be remembered.
—What was that...? —I whispered, more to myself than to Velka—. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t logical. But... it hurt.
Velka didn’t answer right away.
—Sometimes —she finally said, voice low—, what scares you most isn’t what can kill you... it’s what shouldn’t exist.
The air grew heavier. The sirens were getting closer.
And in the silence we shared, the suspicion stayed alive.
It had all been too easy.
Too clean.
Like someone wanted us to be right there, right on time, to find exactly what we needed to find.
And that...
That was worse than any ambush.
Not far from there...
As the city began to fall silent with the descent of night, Neyra walked with firm yet erratic steps, as if following a melody only she could hear.
She had left behind the blue lights of the central district, crossed wide avenues where the cars had all but vanished. She passed cafés as they closed, the steam from their cups dissolving against the windows. With every step, the noise grew fainter. More distant. More alien.
Flashing advertisements blinked without sound. The recorded voices of the subway echoed like remnants of another life.
And then, the city disappeared.
Not literally. But something in the air had changed. Thicker. Older. As if the concrete had forgotten how to be modern.
Neyra no longer heard the street. No longer saw the people. She only felt that magical trail.
She knew it wasn’t normal. Not residual. It was fresh, dense, full of intent.
She had felt it before. That morning. In that woman in white.
But now… now she was following it with her entire being.
Her obsession guided her like a broken compass, always pointing to the same point.
That woman… that presence... was an anomaly.
And Neyra needed to know what it was.
Or who.
She took alleys, cut through narrow paths, ignored signs.
Her hands were trembling. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes, wide open. Her breath, uneven.
Then, the trail led her to a dead-end alley.
She stopped.
Looked both ways.
The magic ended there, but it made no sense.
—No… —she whispered.
Her voice shook. Something didn’t add up.
And then she heard it:
—Lost your way?
The voice came from behind her.
Cold. Slow.
A blade wrapped in velvet.
Neyra spun on her heels.
There she was.
A short woman, with metallic lavender hair and impossibly violet eyes that glowed under the light of a distant streetlamp.
Those eyes shouldn’t exist. They gleamed like a poisonous gem.
Violeta Raumer.
There was no trace of emotion on her face. Only that theatrical, contained air… like everything she did was part of a carefully rehearsed act.
—I was following someone —Neyra thought in shock—. Was it me?
But she couldn’t show weakness.
—A friend sent me this location —she said, forcing a casual smile—. Must’ve been a mistake.
Violeta tilted her head, leaning lightly against the brick wall. Then, as if recalling the perfect closing line, she added:
—Too bad. Maybe they didn’t really want to see you after all.
Her tone was almost kind. But everything in her body language said otherwise.
Neyra understood instantly: this woman wasn’t just some actress.
She was a predator dressed in civilization.
Violeta stepped slightly aside, leaving the path “open,” like someone offering a polite way out of an awkward conversation.
But Neyra wasn’t going to back off.
This was her chance.
If she got close enough—if she let the obsession take over just a little more—she could land a strike so sudden, so precise, the other wouldn’t have time to react.
She moved slowly.
Measured her distance.
Controlled her breath.
Her magic began to stir beneath her skin.
One wrong move, and she’d have her. That’s how ambushes worked.
But then…
A sharp sting. A prick.
At the nape of her neck.
Almost like an insect bite.
And in the next second, everything shattered.
Neyra’s body went rigid.
Her vision blurred.
Her muscles stopped responding.
She tried to scream.
Nothing.
She tried to run.
No chance.
She collapsed forward, still conscious, eyes open, completely paralyzed.
The venom was doing its work quietly.
She wanted to shout her name. To scream she had been right. But even her breath disobeyed.
Behind her, Violeta walked with calm steps.
—I was just confirming something —she said, her soft tone freezing the blood—. Thank you for cooperating.
She crouched down with precise elegance and took Neyra by the arms.
Dragged her gently. Unhurried.
Like a dancer moving a sleeping body across the stage.
The moon was the only witness.
And it said nothing.