The sun knocked gently on the window, casting a red-golden glow across the room.
Outside, birds sang melodic songs — soft, repetitive — like they were saying, "Time to wake up."
Vaelen rubbed his eyes, still tangled in his sheets.
"Yet another day," he muttered through a yawn.
"I used every insult I could think of to get that guard to leave... and still nothing."
He rose from the bed and walked toward the window. A tall mirror far across the courtyard reflected sunlight straight into his room — too conveniently.
"They're holding a meeting today. Not like I'm invited," he mumbled.
"If that damn guard wasn't shadowing me like a stray dog, I might've made it in."
He turned toward the door, hesitated.
Too risky. The guard would notice.
With a low growl, he returned to the window, raised one hand, and began to chant.
A fireball formed — tight, hot, compressed to the size of a peanut. With a flick of his wrist, it shot out, striking the distant mirror.
A brief shimmer.
Then — sharp shattering sound shrrrnnkk — the mirror cracked and fell apart.
"Done," he said, turning away.
"Now for a bath."
✦✦✦
Two figures sat in a dimly lit room, the flame of a single candle dancing just enough to illuminate the scattered papers across a rectangular table.
A knock tapped twice against the door.
"Come in," one of them said.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure cloaked in a slick black dress, face veiled, a sword at her waist — and another strapped across her back.
"Mirror Number Five just broke," she reported, voice flat.
The one seated gave a subtle hand gesture — dismissing her. She left without a word.
A moment of silence followed, before one of the two remaining figures spoke.
"Guess the Head's not coming."
The other replied, calm and low.
"Intel says the Head's got one of the King's dogs sniffing around him."
A pause.
"Yeah. But he always said we should be ready for a time like this."
An hour passed.
Now, six figures sat around the table — three on each side. The chair at the head of the table remained empty.
One of them stood.
"Apologies for calling you here on such short notice. As you can see, the Head isn't present — for reasons we won't waste time on. The meeting will proceed without him."
Another figure rose.
"Our agenda is simple: we're planning to kill the King. It's expected he'll host a banquet soon—"
Someone cut in.
"The King hosts banquets all the time. What makes this one special?"
The speaker didn't flinch.
"If you'll let me finish. Yes, the King hosts many events. But this one's different. Intelligence says the entire royal council will be busy elsewhere — intentionally so. Which means the banquet's arrangement may fall to the Head himself."
He let that sink in.
"That gives us multiple entry points. Security will be stretched thin. We need to form five assassination strategies. Each one of us will lead one operation."
✦✦✦
Stacks of parchment cluttered the desk, ink still drying in some corners. Sunlight slipped through tall windows, casting golden stripes across the dark wood floor.
Vaelen sat back in his chair, eyes scanning a ledger, quill in hand but unmoving.
He paused — something felt off.
"Someone's at the gate," he muttered, eyes still fixed on the page.
Then he turned to Velza, standing quietly near the door, almost blending into the rich red drapes behind her.
"Do you know how to read?"
She hesitated. "Your Highness, I—"
"Yes or no."
"…No, Your Highness."
He exhaled sharply. "Of course not. And here I was hoping to dump this paper hell on someone."
He slid open a drawer, pulled out a sealed envelope, and held it out without standing.
"Go to the gate. Someone's coming. They'll know to take this. Don't open it, don't speak. Just hand it over."
Outside, faint voices echoed from the distant courtyard. The birds had stopped chirping.
Velza took the envelope and stepped out, gently shutting the door behind her.
The hallway stretched long and dim, lined with tall windows and faded tapestries. Dust motes danced in the sunlight, and her footsteps were the only sound — soft against the polished stone floor.
She glanced down at the letter in her hand.
"I wonder what's in the envelope… not like I'd be able to read it," she mumbled to herself.
As she reached the final archway leading out into the front corridor, the warm scent of the garden air hit her — mixed with something faintly metallic.
Then she saw him.
A figure was already standing near the iron gate — tall, still, hands behind his back, head slightly tilted as if he'd been listening to something only he could hear.
sharp rustling sound of leaves in wind, distant crow call
"I thought I'd have to wait…" she murmured, slowing her steps.
"…but someone's already here."
As she neared the gate, the man turned. His posture stiffened the moment his eyes met hers.
She looked like a gothic aristocrat pulled from a cursed painting — elegant, dangerous, untouchable.
Her long, silvery-white hair spilled like moonlight down her back, soft yet feral, framing a face pale as ice. Crimson eyes, cold and watchful, locked onto him. They weren't just beautiful — they commanded. Piercing. Silent. A gaze that disassembled you before you even realized it.
The black bonnet with deep red ribbons gave her a haunting, Victorian grace.
A doll from some forgotten empire — refined, yet ominously still.
Her high-collared outfit draped her in layers of dark velvet and gold-lined seams. A sapphire brooch sat at her throat, catching what little light there was. Fur rested over her shoulders, subtle but unmistakable in its meaning: power.
Even the way she stood — completely still — said she doesn't run.
She doesn't need to.
His hand began to tremble.
No… no way.
That's her.
The Ghostblade.
Her voice came sharp and low, like frost cracking glass.
"You might be…?"
His mouth dried. "I-I'm a messenger from the capital," he stammered. "I have something for His Highness."
He offered the envelope with both hands like it might explode. Then stepped back.
"I'll be leaving now."
She didn't blink. "Wait."
sharp intake of breath
He froze. "W-What is it, miss?"
She stepped closer. Just one step. That was all it took.
"His Highness asked me to give this to you," she said, slipping a second envelope into his hand.
She turned, black skirts brushing the stone path behind her.
soft thud of boots on marble, sharp hissing sound hissssssss, followed by a slow exhale
Then she paused — just once — under the archway.
Velza looked back at him, just slightly.
Her crimson eyes glinted beneath the bonnet's shadow.
Then she vanished into the shadows.
He stared at the envelope she'd handed him. Slowly opened it. Inside:
"If you suspect this envelope was opened, finish her."
A beat of silence.
He swallowed.
like hell I could even try.
✦✦✦
She returned through the quiet halls, footsteps echoing faintly as she retraced her way to the office.
Her thoughts still hovered around that man.
She pushed open the door.
"Your Highness," she said, and offered the envelope.
He took it, broke the seal, and read it silently. Then, with a flick of his fingers — and no wand in sight — the letter burst into flame. He used its dying edges to light the nearby candle on the desk.
A faint scent rose into the air — spiced, waxy, and oddly calming.
Oh no.
I just used magic in front of her. Wandless. Smooth move, idiot.
Gotta play this cool.
Velza's thoughts raced too.
That flame… I've never seen magic like that. No circle. No chant. Nothing.
Before she could speak, he cut in with a smirk.
"You know… I love the smell of this candle."
She frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Simple," he replied, standing and brushing invisible dust off his coat. "We're heading to the capital. Got errands to run. And on the way back, I'm buying more of these candles."
Velza nodded, still unsure what part of that was supposed to make sense.
"Understood, Your Highness. Shall we depart now?"
"Yes," he said with a smirk. "Before I accidentally show off again."
✦✦✦
Outside, Velza walked with quiet purpose toward the stables. The morning mist clung to her sleeves as she unlatched the gate. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, saddling the horse with smooth, calculated motions — not rushed, not slow. Just… precise. Every strap buckled, every stirrup checked. She moved like someone used to watching her own back.
She paused for a moment, gazing up at the sky — flat and grey. "Capital-bound," she murmured. "Figures."
✦
Back inside, Vaelen stood by the candle, watching the flame flicker low.
"Damn it," he muttered to himself. "Magic without the wand? Really?"
He ran a hand through his hair, internally spiraling.
That was stupid. Show-off-y. Suspicious.
She probably clocked it instantly. Hell, she definitely clocked it.
She's not like the usual clueless servants.
Too composed. Too… observant.
He looked at the mirror and narrowed his eyes.
"Gotta play it cool. No more slip-ups."
He grabbed his coat, exhaled slowly, and headed out.