The morning of the next day passed quietly, too quietly.
Jack entered the hotel room with his usual calm, the door clicking shut behind him. He wore the same dark red suit he'd favored these last few days, a sharp silhouette framed by the faint sunlight bleeding through the curtains. Charlie followed him in, arms laden with modest groceries of bread, a bottle of milk, a few apples, a strip of salted pork.
Jack moved smoothly through the room, checking drawers and corners, his mind not really on the motions. Nothing had changed, with no tampering and no disturbances. The hotel room remained untouched.
That was when the light dimmed.
The shadows curled at the edges of the ceiling and then twisted. Strange, fur-covered legs unfolded from the void, stretching outward. They lined the silhouette of a massive spider, its body forming in pieces. Upon its swollen abdomen, multiple layered faces blinked open, each lined with clusters of unblinking, glistening eyes.
The spider dropped a small envelope onto the side table, then vanished as silently as it arrived. Jack reached for it without hesitation, already recognizing Selene's seal.
The letter was brief, penned in Selene's sharp, unmistakable hand. It reported that Lumian Lee had been seen investigating the Samaritan Women's Spring.
Jack's eyes lingered on the final line a moment longer. Then a slow grin stretched across his face.
"About damned time," he muttered. "Now I get my payment for that Cane."
The letter ignited in his palm with a flick, curling into ash that dissolved into the air.
He raised his hand again, his fingers prickling on the void to pull a projection. A moment later, such a projection followed.
A strapping lad in his late teens, with long limbs and chiseled features. He has short, jet-black hair and bright, blue eyes, looking aesthetically pleasing. This was Lumian before the disaster at Cordu Village.
Jack's expression twisted.
"Lumian Lee," he said bitterly. "Still pretending to be useful."
Lumian then moved towards the drawers, getting a fountain pen and a piece a paper, moving them towards the table, sitting on the chair, starting to write a letter.
The letter had a tone of urgency. He claimed to hold crucial information regarding the Samaritan Women's Spring and requested a meeting with Lady Hela at the Mason Café, scheduling it for shortly after lunch. He emphasized the need for haste and discretion, suggesting the matter was both sensitive and potentially dangerous. Though concise, every word was weighted, carefully chosen to ensure Hela would not ignore the invitation.
Then Lumian finished the letter, sealing it tight. Jack took a moment to stare at it before muttering another incantation.
"The spirit wandering above the world,
The friendly creature that can be subordinated,
A messenger that belongs solely to Hela."
The room darkened immediately.
From the far corner, a silvery gleam stirred. A humanoid skull materialized, forged from luminous silver, its eye sockets burning with cold white flame. The air turned chill, the walls almost seeming to warp in its presence.
The skull turned, first toward Lumian, recognizing her as it flickered, then turned to Jack, pausing very briefly as it did.
Lumian stood silently, then offered the sealed letter with a smooth motion.
The skull bit down on the letter and vanished without fanfare.
Jack leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair.
"You still have your uses," he told the projection, not looking at him. "In more ways than one."
Then he started approaching Lumian's projection, his expression cooling as he did. With no warning, his fist shot forward, clean and practiced. It passed through his chest, and the projection burst like shattered glass.
Jack lowered his arm without a word.
A moment later, Jack extended his hand again, fingers curling as he pulled another projection from the void. The shadows rippled, and a worn, palm-sized notebook appeared, its copper-green exterior catching the dim light with a dull sheen.
The notebook looked ancient, etched with weathered lettering in high Feysac: "I came, I saw, I recorded." It was Leymano's Travels.
Jack opened it with practiced ease, flipping past the newer, white sheets and the aged yellow-brown parchment. His fingers paused on the brown pages. Each was a meticulously inscribed record of formidable abilities, frozen in time.
His eyes scanned the three he'd already wanted: Lightning Storm, Hurricane, and Angel's Embrace.
His smile returned.
"Now… let's put this next piece into motion."
…
The afternoon sun glinted off the café's wide windows, casting faint golden lines over the dark green walls and ivy-covered exterior. Inside, Mason Café bustled with post-lunch patrons lingering over their drinks. Conversations floated through the air like drifting feathers, until the front door opened, and everything shifted subtly.
A woman stepped inside.
Clad in a widow's black dress, her figure drew attention and evaded it in the same breath. Her light golden hair fell loose past her shoulders, soft but dim, as if drained of sheen by something deeper. Her skin was unnaturally pale, untouched by sunlight, and her eyes… they drank the light whole. No hue revealed itself, only the cold depth. She moved with calculated grace through the café's interior, heels silent on the tile floor, past crowded booths and noisy tables.
She had chosen a corner.
One of the more secluded booths nestled beneath a wall sculpture of intertwined vines and flowers. She sat alone and silent, crossing one leg over the other as she waited. Her face was impassive, yet beneath the still mask, her thoughts shifted steadily.
Moments later, a man arrived and seated himself opposite her.
His suit was obsidian-black, neatly pressed. Two rings marked his right hand: one a polished golden band set with a bright, crystalline gem that pulsed softly like sunlight captured in stone; the other, a dark metal ring with an obsidian jewel, glossy and smooth like liquefied shadow. His hair was short, gray-tinged. His face bore the blandness of someone whose every feature seemed deliberately forgettable, save for the eyes. Those black eyes were not void, but dense and heavy.
The moment he sat, the air darkened around them.
Not the café's interior lighting, but something deeper. The brightness dimmed unnaturally across the booth, and even the murmur of distant chatter faded into a low hush. Hela's expression remained calm, but her thoughts raced. Her surroundings had been concealed and sealed, most likely, and her senses told her this was no amateur trick.
The man spoke first, his tone smooth and respectful.
"I apologize for the precaution," he said, folding his hands atop the table. "But the circumstances demanded certain… safeguards. I hope you understand, Lady Hela."
Her brows narrowed slightly, and she shifted in her seat, tension rising like a blade half-drawn. "You're not Lumian Lee," she said coolly. "Where is he and what did you do?"
"Nothing," the man replied lightly. "He's well. I gave him a few gifts. That's all. We share a small debt. But this meeting is mine alone."
Hela didn't relax. She was already working through possibilities in her head. What Sequence was he? How did he breach her senses so easily?
"I understand your suspicion," he continued, voice steady. "So, before we speak of anything else… let us level the ground."
He raised his right hand.
The golden ring on his index finger glowed. Symbols burst forth, etched in radiant light, forming a circle in the air between them. They spread and spun, solidifying into text. Clauses, signatures and terms. A full contract, woven in abstract symbols took form. Every line shimmered with power and precise stipulation.
"This," the man said, "is our safeguard. A Contract. No harm between us, direct or indirect. No divulgence of this conversation's content to any party but the Evernight Goddess herself. I offer only the truth."
Hela's gaze swept over the floating document. Her mind processed each detail with mechanical clarity. Her fingers tapped the table once. She raised an eyebrow.
"A Notary Artifact," she muttered. "Expensive."
The man smiled faintly. "I like certainty."
"And if I refuse?" she asked.
"Then you walk away," he said. "And the matter festers. But this matter… concerns the Goddess directly. Refusing it now will not shield you from its consequences."
There was a long silence.
Then Hela inhaled once, deep and quiet, then pricked her finger with the edge of her nail. A single drop of blood welled up.
She extended her hand and pressed the droplet into the glowing contract.
The symbols flared. The contract spun once, then vanished.
The instant the contract flared and vanished, both parties felt the change, not in their bodies, but in the weight behind their thoughts. A subtle pressure anchored itself to their very souls, binding.
Hela leaned back slightly, her gaze cold but alert. She gave no indication of discomfort, only the poise of a woman measuring every breath.
The man across from her smiled, just a twitch at the edge of his mouth.
"You may call me Mr. E," he said. "Even with this contract, there are things I prefer to keep in secret for now."
Hela said nothing.
"I am," he continued smoothly, "a believer of The Fool."
The words hung for a moment, heavy with layered implications.
"And I believe," he went on, "you've already made inquiries into the Samaritan Women's Spring. I've also heard… that you asked Lumian Lee to investigate it on your behalf."
Her brows twitched faintly.
"I won't waste your time," Mr. E said. "The Spring is dangerous, saturated with the spiritual remnants of those who died inside. But…"
He rested his hand atop the table, fingers tapping once.
"…you and Lumian are capable. So long as you take only what you came for and no more."
Then, he reached into the inner pocket of his obsidian coat.
A moment later, he slid a small object across the table toward her.
A green notebook.
It was old, palm-sized, encased in worn copper-green plating. Hela picked it up, flipping it open with gloved fingers.
Each page was written in a different style. Some crisp and sharp, others flowing and looping with symbols. Her eyes caught on the brown parchment pages first, three of them.. The moment her gaze brushed across the first symbol, her breath hitched.
Demigod-level.
Mr. E folded his hands neatly before him. "Leymano's Travels. Each page corresponds to a recorded Beyonder ability. The brown pages are the more powerful ones."
Hela didn't respond immediately. She scanned a few more lines, then closed the notebook and laid it carefully on the table beside her.
"Why not give it to Lumian directly?" She asked coolly.
Mr. E's smile deepened, but his eyes remained unreadable.
"Because Lumian is delicate. Volatile. There's already tension between us. It would be unwise to risk more. You, on the other hand…"
He let the sentence hang.
"…you're reliable."
He reached into his coat again and placed two more items on the table. Small golden bottles, sealed with symbols.
"These are empty containers for the Spring's water," he said. "Two, for me. Lumian will already take his own besides these. That much is expected. I only ask for these two in return."
Hela ran a thumb along one of the bottle's ridges.
"After using the notebook," Mr. E added, "you'll need to spray a little of your blood on the page. The effect will disorient you briefly. You'll feel lost, confused. But it will pass."
She gave a short nod and slipped the bottles into a small hidden pouch beneath her dress, invisible from sight. Her expression hadn't softened in the slightest.
"Understood," she said. "Now tell me about the second matter."
Hela's question hung in the air like a drawn blade.
He didn't flinch.
"I need you," Mr. E said, voice quieter now, "to deliver a message to the Evernight Goddess."
She studied him, expression unreadable. "You said you follow the Fool. Why not speak to "Her" yourself?"
His answer was immediate, without embellishment.
"Because I fear "Her"."
The words were too plain and too real. That alone made Hela straighten slightly.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
Mr. E continued, his tone even: "You, Hela, are Blessed by the Evernight Goddess. Your connection runs deep. I hope that by communicating to "Her" through you, I can both gain "Her" attention… and "Her" goodwill."
Hela's brows knit, her eyes narrowing faintly, but she didn't speak.
That was when he said it. "The Eternal Blazing Sun," he said softly, "is deeply corrupted."
The words cleaved the moment in two. The hum of the concealed space around them seemed to freeze.
Hela's eyes widened, not in dramatic shock, but in measured, growing alarm. Her lips parted slightly. "What are you talking about?"
Mr. E didn't answer directly. Instead, he slid a letter from within his suit jacket and laid it on the table between them. The envelope was plain, sealed with an unfamiliar wax crest.
"This is not something you can, or should, know in detail," he said gravely. "Even hearing too much could endanger you. That letter contains the relevant information. It's for "Her" eyes alone."
His tone grew sharper, colder.
"You are not to open it. Not to read a single word. It must be sacrificed directly to the Evernight Goddess in a protected space, one that cannot be traced or interfered with."
Hela's fingers hovered over the envelope for a long second, then took it silently. Her face had become hardened, stoic, but undeniably tense. She gave a single nod.
"I understand."
But Mr. E wasn't finished.
"There's more," he said, drawing out another object.
From the folds of his coat emerged a dark golden mask, ornate, its surface engraved with curling symbols that seemed to shimmer in and out of focus.
"Tell "Her" I possess this. Tell "Her" it may help in what's to come."
He held it for a moment longer, as if letting her imprint its image to memory, then tucked it back into his pocket.
Only then did he lean back once more, the shadows around their booth still holding fast.
And silence settled between them.
As their conversation came to a close, the tension in the booth thinned slightly.
"I'll contact you again within the week," Mr. E said, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "Through your messenger. When I do, respond to me with the location of our next meeting. That's where you'll return the bottles… and where I will get an answer for the second matter."
His eyes glinted beneath his gray lashes. "I'll be expecting company then. Hopefully not hostile."
Hela didn't answer immediately. Her lips pressed into a tight line. Eventually, she gave a reluctant nod.
He smiled faintly. "Then we had a fruitful meeting."
With that, she leaned forward and retrieved the green notebook, tucking it inside her coat. As she rose, the heavy veil of silence around them lifted, the booth brightening as sunlight spilled back through the café's windows, voices and clinking cups returning like the tide.
Hela paused, turning slightly as if to ask one final question.
But the seat across from her was empty. Mr. E was gone.
Her gaze sharpened, but she said nothing. After a quiet moment, she turned and strode toward the exit, heels clicking softly against the tile.
…
Not far away, in a quiet restaurant just one block down, a gentleman in a well-cut dark red suit sat finishing the last sips of his wine.
Jack Layne set the glass down with delicate care, his expression bored.
From the hallway, the man in the obsidian suit, Mr. E, emerged from the restroom, walking with steady, unhurried steps toward the exit.
Jack flicked a glance up at the waiter. "Check, please."
Moments later, both men left the restaurant's front entrance, only for their silhouettes to blur and vanish without a sound. The passersby never noticed a thing.
A hidden illusion rippled and collapsed behind them.
…
The air in Dylan Castle was still and dim, the vast stone hall veiled in flickering candlelight.
Jack stepped inside without a word, boots tapping gently against the cold floor. At his side, his marionette projection stood.
The obsidian-black suit peeled from the Botis's projection, transforming a single black-velvet curtain. The two distinct rings on Botis's hand detached and drifted into the air, their glow intensifying.
One pulsed gold and reformed into the stern figure of Justice Mentor Derrick Berg.
The other flickered into the presence of the Earl of the Fallen, Qonas Kilgor.
Together, all three projections lingered, then dissolved, melting away as Jack dispersed them with a single breath, except for the projection of Botis.
He walked calmly toward the raised pedestal at the center of the room.
Jack reached into his coat, grabbing the mask once more, and laid it onto the stone.
Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, Jack covered it in shadows, shrouding it once more in concealment.
He sighed.
"Well," he said, voice dry, "that went rather well, didn't it?"
A thin smirk curled at his lips. His eyes, sharp and glinting in the dark, turned toward the depths of the castle.
"Now… we wait."