The room remained quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers and the distant ticking of a grand old clock.
Jiwon hadn't moved from her seat in hours.
She sat still in the Duke's study, her eyes scanning the table littered with parchment and case files, the air thick with the scent of aged leather and ink. Her fingers grazed over the surface of a worn document. The edges were frayed, the ink fading, but the contents were disturbing — a list of the vanished. People who disappeared without a trace, only to be discovered months later as skeletons buried in shallow graves. Some never found at all.
The details felt hauntingly familiar.
She leaned in closer.
Names. Dates. Diagrams of wounds. It wasn't just murder. This was a message — no, a ritual.
But before she could fully absorb the evidence, the silence shattered.
The door swung open with force, slamming against the wall.
Duke Drake Haint stepped in, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable. His cloak billowed slightly behind him as he stopped in the doorway.
"You're here again?" he asked, his tone clipped with annoyance. "Why haven't you left?"
Jiwon raised her head calmly. "I never left. I've been here since you walked out."
He frowned, stepping further into the room. "Then why are you still here?"
"Because…" she replied, "you never told me to leave."
A pause.
His expression softened slightly, if only for a second. "Fine. What are you reading?"
"This," she said, holding up the file. "It caught my eye."
He approached, his gaze falling to the same paper she held.
"Put it back," he said.
She did, returning it gently to the table. But the thought didn't leave her.
"I think I can help you with this case," she said suddenly.
Drake looked at her, incredulous. "Help? Jiwon, we've been chasing leads on this case for over a year. We've interviewed dozens. Dug up graves. We've found nothing. You just stumbled into it today, and you think you can help?"
"I don't have proof. Just... a feeling," she admitted. "The victims — all found as skeletons, hidden, nameless. Their disappearances… they weren't random. They were hidden deliberately, ritually. This reeks of someone from the Order of Light."
The name fell like poison into the room.
Drake stiffened. "The Order of Light? That's a serious accusation."
"I know. That's why I need you to promise me something before we go any further."
He looked at her intently.
"I need your protection," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "From now until the end. No matter what happens."
A silence stretched between them.
Finally, he gave a short nod. "Fine. But not now. Go freshen up. We'll speak over lunch."
The dining hall was sunlit and quiet, filled only with the clinking of cutlery. Jiwon sat opposite the Duke at a long obsidian table. Neither spoke at first. But the silence between them felt less strained now — an odd truce.
Then a maid entered with a tray and a bottle of wine.
As she approached, her heel caught the edge of the carpet. She stumbled forward, and the bottle slipped from her hand — falling fast, bound for the floor.
Before anyone could react, Jiwon moved.
In a blur of motion, she caught the bottle mid-air, just before it shattered.
The maid gasped. Drake's eyes widened.
Jiwon stood, then turned to the maid gently. "Are you alright? Did you get hurt?"
The maid shook her head quickly. "N-No, milady. I'm fine. I-I'm sorry." She bowed and scurried out of the room.
Drake leaned back in his chair, still watching her. "How did you do that?"
Jiwon hesitated. Her heart thudded. That wasn't a normal reaction — it had been Izar's reflexes, honed through war and survival.
"I… I'm just used to things like that," she said quietly.
"Used to catching falling wine bottles?" he asked, skeptical.
"I grew up at Lorine Mansion. Maybe I developed the habit there."
He didn't believe her. But he said nothing more.
After the meal, as she turned to leave, he called out again.
"Wait. We need to talk."
She paused.
"What you said earlier, about the Order of Light," he began, "I believe there's truth in it. I've seen their reach. Their shadows. If you're offering help, I'll accept it. But in return, I want yours — on the cases that you can help solve."
Jiwon nodded. "Agreed."
He exhaled, then added quietly, "There's another reason."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Go on."
"I'm being pressured by the king. To marry. He keeps sending women — spies, disguised as noble brides. All of them loyal to the Order. If I refuse for too long, he'll strip me of my title. Or worse."
He met her gaze. "So I want you to pretend to be my fiancée. Just for a while. Long enough to throw off the king and the Order."
She blinked, stunned. "You want me to pretend… to be your fiancée?"
"Not exactly," he said quickly. "Just act the part. Once this is over, we will break off the engagement."
She studied him, weighing the risk, the madness, the strategy.
Then she said, "Alright. I'll do it."
Later that day, Drake walked past the training grounds and saw her standing near the fence, watching the knights.
One of the knights swaggered over, sneering at her slender form. "You watching us train, little dove? That fragile body doesn't look like it can even hold a broom."
He reached out, intending to mock — or worse.
But he never got the chance.
Jiwon moved like lightning, her body a blur. In a single breath, she flipped him and slammed him to the ground, using a martial art long thought lost — a fighting style of the ancient Northern Empire.
Everyone froze.
Even Drake.
But within seconds, Jiwon's legs gave way. Her body, too weak to handle the combat, collapsed.
Drake rushed forward, catching her before she hit the dirt.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to her room, eyes clouded in thought.
She wasn't ordinary. Not by any measure.
But rather than fear her… he found himself drawn deeper.
The next night, the Duke's mansion glowed with candlelight and music. The grand banquet had begun — nobles, merchants, knights, and even the king himself had arrived.
Jiwon stood beside Drake, dressed in midnight silk, her hair pinned with Northern jewels. She met the guests with grace, each bow and smile carefully measured.
Then, he appeared.
A man cloaked in light.
Duke Levier Amon.
The man who had once sworn allegiance to Izar… and had betrayed her.
The man who had orchestrated her death.
He approached them slowly, smiling as if he hadn't spilled blood.
"Congratulations, Duke Drake. And to you, Lady Jiwon," he said, bowing politely. "An engagement worthy of song."
Then he moved on.
Jiwon's hands curled into fists. Her breath grew shallow. Her heart pounded with rage.
But she kept her face still. "Who was that?" she asked softly.
Drake's voice turned cold. "Levier Amon. The man who betrayed Izar Ishtar."
Jiwon's rage swelled. Her body trembled.
But Drake gently placed a hand on hers. "It's alright. I'm here."
And just like that, the storm inside her eased. His presence… it anchored her, like it had once before.
That night, long after the banquet had ended, Drake awoke in his chambers, breathless.
He had dreamt of a battlefield, of a fierce woman with silver eyes and fire in her veins. Izar Ishtar. She had stood alone, surrounded, unbroken.
And in the shadows of his memory, he had seen her once before — long ago.
Meanwhile, Jiwon wandered sleepless through the halls, drawn to the mansion's vast library. She pulled out a thick book at random — an old tome on magical weaponry.
As she turned the pages, something stirred within her.
Formulas. Blueprints. Schematics of weapons powered by mana.
A gun. A blade. A sphere that could ignite fire.
She understood them all. Not because of Izar — but because of Jiwon, the body of the girl she is now.
The two souls within her were no longer at odds.
Izar's strength.
Jiwon's brilliance.
Together, they would become something far more dangerous than either alone.
The fire beneath the veil was no longer asleep.
It was awakening.
To Be Continued.....