"What’s this...?"
The banquet hall had emptied hours ago.
Laughter and clinking glasses had faded into distant echoes, replaced by the quiet hum of enchanted lanterns lining the walls.
Servants were clearing silverware in the far corridor, their footsteps soft, careful not to disturb the noble guests who had already retired.
In the corner of the hall—where a temporary library display had been arranged for prestige rather than reading—something shifted.
A porcelain doll sat slumped between two stacks of antique tomes.
At first glance, it was harmless. Decorative. Forgotten.
Then its glassy eyes flickered.
A thin crack traced along its painted cheek.
And from the seam of its body, a shadow seeped out like spilled ink.
"...Strange."
The voice was low, distorted, as if filtered through fabric and dust.
The shadow slid down from the table and pooled behind one of the taller bookshelves, where thick encyclopedias hid the wall from casual inspection.
"There should be a response."
A pale hand formed from darkness and brushed along the spines of the books.
It stopped at one.
Pressed.
A soft click sounded—
—but nothing followed.
No vibration.
No shift in mana.
No opening mechanism grinding beneath the stone.
Silence.
The shadow froze.
"...No response?"
It pressed the concealed button again.
Harder.
Still nothing.
Behind the shelf lay the concealed passage leading to the ruins of an ancient Lich—an entrance forgotten by most, erased from official records, preserved only in fragments of black-market maps and stolen archives.
And yet—
"It’s already been activated."
The shadow’s voice sharpened.
"Recently."
A tremor ran through the bookshelf as a fist of condensed darkness slammed into the wood.
-Bang.
The shelves rattled violently, several books toppling to the carpet.
But the mechanism did not respond.
"It was supposed to be dormant for another cycle," the shadow muttered. "We waited. We watched. We confirmed the timing."
A pause.
"...Who got here first?"
Footsteps echoed faintly from the corridor beyond the hall.
The shadow stilled instantly, dissolving thinner, blending into the dim light.
Two young nobles passed by, laughing quietly about the banquet’s political theatrics. They didn’t so much as glance at the library display.
When they disappeared down the stairs, the shadow reformed.
"...Unacceptable."
The plan had been simple.
Use the distraction of the gathering.
Slip away while attention was scattered.
Enter the ruins quietly.
Retrieve the relic.
Leave before dawn.
Clean.
Efficient.
Invisible.
But now—
Someone else had triggered the mechanism.
Someone with knowledge.
Or worse—
Someone guided.
The shadow’s form flickered, unstable for a brief second.
"Could it be the Draken girl?"
Unlikely.
Too straightforward.
Too loud.
"...The human boy?"
A longer silence followed that name.
Julies.
Reports had mentioned him. A minor retainer. Recently active. Frequently in proximity to abnormal incidents.
The shadow’s eyes—two faint pinpricks within the darkness—narrowed.
"...If he entered the ruins..."
Then either he was dead—
—or far more troublesome than anticipated.
Another thought surfaced.
"The seal could have been broken from the inside."
That possibility lingered unpleasantly.
If the Lich’s remnants had awakened on their own...
The shadow exhaled slowly.
"No. The mana signature I felt earlier tonight was different."
Not undead.
Something else.
Something parasitic.
Its head turned slightly, as if listening to something far beyond the manor walls.
"...So the board is already shifting."
The shadow crouched and carefully picked up the fallen books, restoring them to their original positions with meticulous precision.
The button was concealed once more.
Hidden.
Untouched.
"As much as I would like to investigate further..." the shadow murmured, voice calmer now, colder, "there are more urgent matters."
The banquet had not been a mere social event.
It had been reconnaissance.
A survey of alliances.
A measurement of mana signatures.
A quiet evaluation of who might stand in the way when the time came.
And now—
A demon noble had appeared in the North.
That complication alone could not be ignored.
The shadow drifted back toward the porcelain doll, slipping inside it like smoke returning to a bottle. The crack along its cheek sealed slowly, leaving no trace.
The doll’s glass eyes dimmed.
Moments later, a servant entered to collect stray decorations.
She paused briefly.
"...Was this here before?"
The doll stared blankly at her.
Unblinking.
The servant shrugged and tucked it into a box of discarded ornaments.
As the lid closed, darkness swallowed the room again.
---
"...The warmth of the central regions wasn’t bad," Alice said as she stepped down from the carriage, drawing in a long breath of frosted air, "but this cold... this feels right."
She stretched her arms over her head without a trace of restraint, shoulders loosening as if she had just slipped out of something tight and suffocating.
Behind her rose the North’s fortress walls—massive, black stone layered with centuries of history. Snow clung to their edges, and the wind that swept across the plains carried the sharp, clean scent of ice and iron.
"It seems you felt suffocated," I said, stepping down after her.
Alice shot me a sideways glance, faint amusement flickering in her blood red eyes.
"Not moving properly for days will do that. And that dress..." She tugged lightly at the embroidered sleeve. "It was designed to impress old nobles, not to let someone breathe."
I couldn’t argue with that.
The fabric was layered, decorated with silver thread and frost-shaped ornaments—beautiful, yes. Practical? Absolutely not.
Alice had always trained in the North, running drills in armor, practicing sword forms until her palms blistered. Compared to that, a formal dress must have felt like a cage made of silk.
"Unless a dress is comfortable," she continued dryly, "it’s just decorative armor. Worse, actually. At least armor lets you fight."
I laughed softly. "I’ll make sure a new uniform is prepared for you as soon as we’re inside."
She paused mid-step and looked at me more directly.
"You don’t have to rush."
"I want to."
A faint pink touched her cheeks—not from embarrassment, I thought, but from the cold.
Truthfully, she looked beautiful either way.
The dress highlighted her elegance—the way her silver hair flowed against dark fabric, the sharp contrast against the black walls behind her. She looked like a winter noble straight out of an old legend.
But her knight uniform—
That was something else.
Tailored to her frame, clean lines, high collar, fitted waist. It carried a quiet authority. Strength without showiness. When she wore it, she didn’t just look refined—
She looked unstoppable.
"Why are you staring?" she asked suddenly.
"I’m not."
"You are."
I coughed. "I was just thinking the North suits you."
Alice’s expression softened. She turned to face the fortress again, wind catching her hair.
"It’s home," she said simply.