Auric frowned faintly.

  “…What?” he asked, the single word edged with confusion rather than anger. "Mana Crystals? In the Wilderwood? Niles, what are you talking about?"

  Warren’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “That’s quite the accusation, Niles.”

  Niles raised a placating hand. "I merely have concerns, my lords. I’ve been notified of suspicious activity near the forest's edge. Unusual wagon traffic. I thought it prudent to bring it to your attention before—"

  Lucon rushed forward, but Auric raised a hand without looking at him.

  “Don't interrupt.”

  Niles smirked behind Lucon’s back.

  Lucon had no choice but to be silent. Yet, as he stood there, he felt it—a tug at his senses.

  The Flow shifted.

  The sense felt…wrong.

  Something hollow seeped into the world’s currents. Like ink dyeing water.

  The shadows in the corner of the study deepened, then bulged.

  A form pushed through. A man stumbled out—one-armed, blood soaked through torn clothing.

  The room recoiled.

  Niles flinched as the one-armed man seized him, leaning close to whisper into his ear. The portly merchant's face went through a journey—confusion, then dawning horror, then something frantic and desperate.

  Lucon’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the man.

  Auric squinted. “Aren’t you Garet? One of Genevieve’s—”

  “I still have time!” Niles suddenly snapped, turning on the wounded man. “You can’t do this—!”

  Garet’s remaining hand gripped Niles’ sleeve, staining it red.

  “Time’s up,” he hissed. “She’s coming.”

  Lucon did not hesitate.

  Opportunity flashed like lightning.

  “One of the assassins from last night!” Lucon declared.

  [Flash Strike]

  Holy magic accelerated his body as he lunged forward with an outstretched fist.

  Garet was too weak—too battered—to defend properly. The glowing blow struck his chest and hurled him backward across the room. He rolled, flopping like a landed fish.

  Auric shouted, “Lucon, stop!”

  Warren moved.

  Niles stepped forward. “Stop him!”

  But Lucon was already moving again, grinning. If Niles wished to accuse him, then let chaos drown the accusation.

  Sorry, Aunt Genevieve, he thought. I’m going to beat up your subordinate as a distraction.

  [Twin Boulder]

  Both of Lucon’s fists ignited in golden light as he drove forward with twin, crushing blows aimed at Garet’s torso.

  The air shifted.

  A sickly sweet scent bloomed in the study.

  Thick.

  Cloying.

  Inviting.

  Garet’s eyes flashed open, a strange multi-faceted glint in them.

  Power coiled through his ruined frame. His hand clamped around Lucon’s—a sudden, unshakable vise—and he shoved.

  Lucon skidded back, boots scrambling for purchase. He was inches from a collision with his father’s heavy desk when a hand caught onto his shoulder. Klara. Her Arisen strength anchored him instantly, killing his momentum.

  The strange sweet scent lingered.

  On Garet’s hand, where Lucon’s holy light had made contact, the skin blistered and hissed like meat frying in a pan.

  Auric stared at the smoking flesh.

  Then at the radiant glow still clinging to his son.

  His voice dropped.

  “Holy magic only has such an effect on…a Demonic Curse.”

  Warren took a step back in shock, Klara dazed where she stood.

  All color drained from Nile’s face, leaving him a pasty, sweating wreck. He lashed out at Garet, his voice rising to a near-shriek.

  “Why are you showing that side of you?! I still have time, damn it!”

  Garet’s diamond-bright eyes flicked toward him.

  “It’s already too late,” he said.

  He grabbed Niles by the collar.

  “Time to go.”

  [Dark Depths]

  Their shadows clinging to their feet became like quicksand.

  Before anyone could react, the darkness swallowed them both whole.

  The floor stilled.

  The scent faded.

  Silence returned to the study.

  Lucon stared at the patch of floor where Niles and Garet had vanished. The polished wood reflected only the morning light from the tall windows.

  He had intended a simple misdirection—a move on the board, nothing more. Niles insisted the game was still in play, but the sight of Garet’s Demonic Curse changed everything. The board hadn't just shifted; it had splintered.

  Warren broke the silence.

  “My Lord,” he said carefully, "what you just said…was it truly demonic?"

  Auric did not turn. His gaze remained fixed on the empty floor, his face carved from stone.

  He nodded once. “I’ve seen Gareth’s party fight enough demons to know how holy magic affects the creatures—and the humans who serve them.”

  Klara's hand wouldn’t leave her greatsword. “I…I didn’t think anyone would willingly accept a demon’s curse in this day and age,” she said. “The moment they receive it, their days are surely numbered.”

  Lucon’s Ambrosia-fueled mind spun.

  “We have to send word to the royal court,” he said. The game had changed.

  Auric nodded immediately.

  “Yes.”

  Warren straightened. “I’ll handle the correspondence personally.”

  Without waiting for further discussion, he strode from the study, already calculating which channels would move fastest without causing panic.

  The door shut behind him.

  Lucon turned to Klara.

  “It seems we’ll have to postpone our betrothed trip to Teleris.”

  Klara almost nodded but his casual use of “betrothed” so openly gave her pause.

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  The door opened again.

  Hilda stepped inside, perking up at the sight of Lucon. She was about to give her respectful greetings to all when she saw Klara.

  The Flow around her prickled with displeasure. Klara noticed the sudden stiffness but said nothing.

  The maid merely bowed to all in greeting.

  "Hilda," Lucon said, "prepare the carriage. We have somewhere to be." To Klara, he added, "We will return shortly."

  Klara seemed to be deliberating. “I will come along.”

  “Inseparable already. People will start to talk,” Lucon replied with a slight grin.

  Her brow furrowed, but she said nothing in retort. It was apparent she was taking their deal seriously.

  Hilda's eyes flicked to Klara before returning her gaze to Lucon.

  "I will be waiting at the stables."

  Klara followed after the maid as Hilda pushed through the door.

  The door clicked shut behind them.

  Auric remained behind his desk.

  He stared down at the wood grain as if it might offer answers.

  “Niles…” he murmured. “What have you done?”

  There was no anger in it.

  Only disbelief.

  Lucon watched him carefully.

  This was the opening.

  “I have long suspected that Niles has been interfering in our barony,” Lucon said evenly. “I wished to speak with you about it.”

  Auric exhaled, long and slow.

  He straightened slightly.

  “Niles is still my friend,” he said. “I will hear his side of this.”

  Then his eyes hardened.

  “Still, I will hear what you have to say.”

  Lucon smiled faintly.

  Finally. We can remove this pest from these lands.

  Auric suddenly halted the momentum.

  “But first,” he said, “tell me about this Mana Crystal business he mentioned.”

  Lucon stilled. His enhanced mind swirled with possible excuses, diversions, anything.

  Then a shift in the Flow.

  Subtle. Delicate. But unmistakable.

  Someone was there.

  Lucon's expression smoothed back into his typical lazy nonchalance.

  "First," he said, "I think Aunty would like a word with you. Alone by the looks of it."

  Confusion creased Auric’s brow.

  “Who?”

  Lucon stepped back toward the door.

  “You’ll see.”

  He exited the study.

  Auric’s expression became stern. “Lucon, you don’t just walk out—”

  The air in the corner of the room fluttered, like a banner caught by an invisible wind.

  [Hidden Curtain]

  Shadows peeled away from the wall.

  Genevieve stepped out.

  Maskless.

  Her expression was soft, wistful.

  She looked at Auric with a faint smile.

  Her expression kept Auric silent. It was not one she ever wore.

  But as expected, her revealed face…

  “I knew it,” Auric said with a grin. “You’re still—”

  “Don’t,” Genevieve cut him off. “Don’t say those words to me. Don’t mention my beauty. Don’t charm me, Merchant Hero. Henceforth, we speak as peers, distinguished in our respective fields.”

  Auric nearly choked. “What is all this then? Did something happen?”

  Her eyes never left him, her tone emotionless, but behind her composure, her heart faltered.

  ***

  Hours earlier.

  The sickly sweet scent clung to everything.

  Genevieve stood beneath branches silvered by the moon, the world softened by quiet longing.

  Stalking her between the darkened trees, Garet watched with faceted eyes like cut jewels.

  Even the Hidden Matriarch, he thought with savage satisfaction, has unspoken desires. And those desires...they trap her so wonderfully.

  Tarea lay several paces away, smiling at nothing, fingers throwing invisible gold coins into the air. Brodier stood proudly, intoxicated by imagined power, basking in the respect and awe of phantoms.

  And Genevieve—her mask now gone—couldn’t be more vulnerable, standing there wide open.

  Garet grinned, raising the daggers in his hands.

  Once her head fell from her shoulders, he would become legend—as the man who killed the queen of shadows.

  He rushed out of the darkness toward her, cackling gleefully.

  “I’ll carve my name into history with your blood!”

  His steel arched for her neck.

  Her shadow moved despite her remaining still.

  It leapt at him.

  [Unstitched Silhouette]

  The darkness at her feet poured upward like liquid silk and solidified into her exact figure—face, posture, cold eyes and all.

  A black blade formed from shadow sliced toward him.

  Garet twisted, just in time to keep his life.

  But something spun upward into the air.

  His eyes widened seeing it.

  His arm, still clutching a dagger.

  It landed several feet away with a dull thud.

  For a heartbeat, there was no pain.

  Then he screamed.

  Clutching the ruined shoulder, he stumbled back frantically, blood pouring down his side.

  “She—!” he gasped. “She is still aware?!”

  Genevieve still stood facing the illusion.

  But her eyes—they were glancing back at him.

  Cold.

  Judging.

  Her [Unstitched Silhouette] advanced without hesitation.

  Garet raised his remaining dagger, shrieking, forced into a desperate retreat as the shadow version of the Hidden Matriarch pressed him with relentless skill and ferocity.

  Steel clashed against shadow. Shadow bit through flesh.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Genevieve’s attention returned to the illusion.

  Auric stood before her, holding her gently.

  "You know," Auric said, his voice warm as aged brandy, "I still remember the first time we met."

  She smiled, resting her head against his chest.

  "You tried to pick my pocket." He chuckled. "Slipped your hand right into my coat without me even noticing. Would’ve gotten away if you hadn’t become distracted by a mirror on the wall."

  Genevieve knew it wasn’t the mirror; it was the young man she saw reflected in it. His smile. That was what got her caught.

  “If you hadn’t chased after me,” she murmured, “if you hadn’t recognized my skill…if you hadn’t offered me a place at your side…”

  Her voice softened.

  “I would have lived and died a pickpocket in some alley. I would have never become the Hidden Matriarch.”

  She looked up at him.

  "I always think of you," she whispered.

  Auric's smile softened.

  "And I you," he murmured. "Always."

  Genevieve shook her head.

  “No. You don’t.”

  Auric paused, put off-balance.

  A pained smile broke across her face.

  “That’s how I knew you were an illusion.”

  Auric shook his head. “I don’t understand…”

  “Auric never looks back,” she continued quietly. “He has never once glanced over his shoulder to wonder what might have been. I used to admire that trait—until I became part of what he left behind.”

  The illusion hesitated.

  Faltered.

  She wanted it to continue. It was a song she didn’t want to end.

  “Tell me again you want me.”

  Auric smiled with aching sincerity.

  “Like breath,” he said. “Like a heartbeat. I need my pickpocket. My friend. The one I love most.”

  Genevieve closed her eyes.

  “I wish I dreamed so well.”

  The illusion began to fade.

  Auric reached for her, his hand ghosting through her like empty air.

  His details thinned.

  The edges frayed.

  “No,” she whispered softly. “Not yet.”

  But the illusion unraveled.

  The real forest bled back into existence.

  The sickly sweet scent dispersed into the night air.

  Genevieve stood alone.

  Garet was gone. But his blood painted the leaves, the earth, the trunk of a nearby oak—a dark, spreading stain that marked his desperate flight.

  The shadow version of herself dissolved, shrinking and flowing back below her feet.

  Behind her, Tarea gasped.

  Brodier staggered, clutching his head.

  The curse had broken.

  Both blinked in confusion, as if waking from vivid dreams.

  Genevieve retrieved her composure immediately.

  “You allowed yourselves to be trapped in an illusion,” she said coldly.

  Tarea flushed in shame.

  Brodier bowed deeply despite his dizziness.

  “My apologies, Hidden Matriarch.”

  Genevieve glanced around.

  “Do either of you see my mask?” she asked evenly.

  They searched briefly.

  Neither found it.

  Genevieve exhaled once.

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "We go without it."

  [Fleeting Shadow]

  Their forms melted into darkness, flattening against the ground before streaking through the forest at unnatural speed.

  They did not speak.

  But Tarea and Brodier could not help but notice—the strange, quiet, forlorn look lingering on their Hidden Matriarch’s unmasked face as she led them through the waning night.

  ***

  Auric’s study was quiet again.

  Not with the stunned silence from moments before—but with something heavier.

  Auric sat behind his desk, one hand pressed thoughtfully to his chin as he digested everything Genevieve had told him.

  “Garet…” he muttered. “Garet, who was working under you, is actually working for Niles?”

  His gaze lifted.

  “And it is true—he bears a Demonic Curse…”

  Genevieve did not answer immediately.

  She was watching him.

  Tracing the familiar line of his jaw. The pale blue of his eyes—clear, steady, still too earnest for a man who personally funded a Hero’s Party and negotiated with kings. Even now, not a hair of his mustache was out of place.

  He looked the same.

  Older, yes.

  But unchanged in the ways that mattered.

  He noticed her silence.

  “Genevieve?”

  She blinked, straightened slightly, and cleared her throat.

  “The Midnight Watch may be involved,” she said evenly.

  Auric paled slightly.

  "The Midnight Watch?" His eyes became distant. "I take pride in granting lopsided deals that help the realms’ allied forces in the Eternal Line—except for that ruthless bunch. It's the look in their eyes. Zealots, the lot of them.”

  He shook his head. “A bitter taste, watching a third of the soldiers I helped arm pledge loyalty to them. What are they doing meddling this far west?"

  Genevieve met his gaze. “We’ll have to find out.”

  Auric rolled his fingertips to tap on the desk, then stopped, exhaling slowly.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes…with you here, we can.”

  He looked at her fully.

  “I’m grateful you’re still with me, Genevieve.”

  Something flickered in her eyes.

  For a fraction of a second, it was naked.

  Forlorn.

  It gave him pause.

  And she hated that she did not have her mask to hide it.

  She turned away first.

  “We should prepare,” she said quietly.

  Auric nodded at once, already moving toward the door.

  They stepped out into the corridor together, the study door closing softly behind them.

  Morning light spilled across the stone floors, catching in Auric’s dark hair and along the edges of Genevieve’s unmasked profile.

  Auric exhaled heavily.

  “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Niles…possibly working against me.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, agitation breaking through his usual composure.

  “He has always believed profit came first,” Auric continued. “But never at the expense of others. Not since we became partners in trade. We built everything on that understanding.”

  Genevieve walked beside him, hands folded neatly behind her back.

  “Yes,” she said. “Niles would always run at the first sight of true danger. He preferred coin over conflict.” Her eyes darkened slightly. “Involving himself in demonic dealings does not fit the man I knew.”

  Auric shook his head.

  “Colluding with the demonic…” he murmured. “What could possibly drive him to do such a thing?”

  They walked in silence for a few steps.

  Then, almost absently, Genevieve said, “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  Auric glanced at her, surprised by the shift.

  A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

  “I caught a thief,” he said.

  She smiled to herself.

  “And that thief,” he went on, “is the only reason I ever got as far as I did. I wouldn’t have survived half my ventures without her slipping through cracks I couldn’t even see.”

  Genevieve kept her gaze forward.

  “You still remember...”

  Auric looked at her fully now.

  “I’m glad we’re still together,” he said simply.

  The words were unguarded.

  Honest.

  They reached the corridor’s split.

  “I’ll put the guard on alert,” Auric said. “If the Midnight Watch is involved, there’s no telling what this means.”

  Genevieve inclined her head.

  “I’ll find what I can from the shadows.”

  Auric paused only long enough to squeeze her shoulder once—brief, familiar.

  He then went one way.

  She the other.

  Genevieve suddenly stood still.

  Don’t.

  She told herself firmly.

  Don’t do it.

  But she did.

  She looked over her shoulder.

  Auric was walking away, posture straight, steps purposeful, already thinking ahead.

  Just look back once, she thought.

  Her chest tightened.

  I’m without my mask. It’s me. Your pickpocket.

  Look once.

  He didn’t.