Grey clouds hung low over Raventhorn, smothering the morning in a dull haze. The palace buzzed like a hive. Servants hustled through corridors; courtiers whispered about the unexpected generosity shown to the Ashen Clans; guards tightened formations at the southern gate. News of bandit attacks and the prince's reforms spread, breeding both hope and unease.
Azrael stood at the window of his study, fingers clasped behind his back. The parchment Shade had delivered lay on his desk, weighted by a bronze raven. A nobleman who claimed knowledge of the system. The idea gnawed at him. No one was supposed to see the interface that hovered in his mind. No one was supposed to know his advantage. Had the system leaked information? Was this a trap? He summoned the translucent panel with a thought.
> **System Notification:**
> *New Sub‑Mission: Investigate the Noble's Claim*
> *Objective:* Meet with Lord Cadmon of Eastreach and determine how he learned of the system.
> *Reward:* +5 Influence
> *Penalty for failure:* Unknown
Azrael snorted softly. "Unknown penalties," he murmured. "Encouraging." He scrolled through his status. Two Influence Points remained after securing Halim. Reforming the army would cost ten; sowing misinformation about Leonid's lineage would cost fifteen. Everything had a price. He hesitated, then opened the system shop.
> **System Notification:**
> *Influence Shop – Available Purchases:*
> *– Minor Skill: Keen Insight (Cost: 2 Influence) – Temporarily increases your ability to detect lies during conversation.*
> *– Item: Shadow Veil (Cost: 5 Influence) – Grants partial invisibility for 10 seconds. (Cooldown: 24 hours)*
> *– Upgrade: Influence Point Gain +10% (Cost: 20 Influence)*
He stared at the options. "Keen Insight" leapt off the list. Two points, all he had, but the ability to sense deception would be invaluable when meeting a man who might know his secrets. He selected it.
> **System Notification:**
> *Purchase confirmed. Skill acquired: Keen Insight. Active for one hour after activation. Cooldown: 48 hours.*
> *Influence Points remaining: 0*
The world sharpened. Colors deepened, and the murmur of the palace seemed to slow. Azrael's heart beat faster as the skill settled over him like a fine-tuned instrument. He exhaled, releasing tension.
"Bring in Lord Cadmon," he told the guard at his door.
A few minutes later, a tall man with angular features and a silver-trimmed cloak entered. Rings glinted on his slender fingers; a crest of a stylized eye adorned his chest. Cadmon bowed deeply, his long hair tied back in a queue. When he straightened, his eyes flicked up, meeting Azrael's briefly before lowering in practiced deference.
"Your Highness," Cadmon said, voice smooth as aged wine. "I am humbled you granted me audience. I come bearing knowledge of great… sensitivity."
Keen Insight pulsed. A faint ripple of light shimmered at the edge of Azrael's vision. As Cadmon spoke, the words glowed green or red—truth or lie—by some subtle magic. At his greeting, the words glowed pale green. Polite flattery, but sincere.
Azrael gestured to a chair. "Speak."
Cadmon sat gracefully, folding his hands in his lap. "Several nights ago, I had a dream," he began, and the words flickered yellow—partial truth. "In it, a being cloaked in flame spoke to me of a *Game of Fate*. It said a new player had entered the board—someone who knew the pieces before they were set. It told me to find that player. It told me to find you."
The words "It told me to find you" flashed bright red—false. Cadmon lied about being directly instructed to seek Azrael. Interesting.
"And did this… being… give you a name?" Azrael asked, keeping his tone casual.
Cadmon tilted his head. "It said you would recognize its mark." He leaned forward and tugged the collar of his tunic aside, revealing a mark burned into his skin near his collarbone: a circle with three interlocking lines—almost like the symbol Azrael saw when the system first appeared. Azrael felt his pulse quicken. That mark had not existed in the novel.
Keen Insight flared; the mark itself glowed grey—neither truth nor lie. It was real, though its origin remained unclear.
"What do you want, Lord Cadmon?" Azrael asked, eyes narrowing.
Cadmon smiled thinly. "To ensure that the world does not fall into chaos. If someone like you possesses knowledge beyond mortal ken, it could be a blessing… or a curse. My order seeks to guide such individuals. We call ourselves the Circle of Weavers. We preserve balance. We have records of others before you—men and women who claimed to know stories before they were written."
Others? Azrael masked his surprise. Keen Insight flashed green. Cadmon believed in this order. "And what do you offer?"
"Guidance. Protection. We have hidden libraries, ancient texts. We can help you avoid the pitfalls that consumed those who came before. All we ask in return is that you consider the greater tapestry, not just your own thread." His words glowed green, red, and yellow in a confusing pattern. He was sincere about libraries and guidance, but he concealed other motives.
"And if I decline?" Azrael said, voice soft.
Cadmon's eyes hardened a fraction, though his smile remained. "Then the Circle will watch from afar and intervene if necessary. The last thing we want is for a reckless player to tear the fabric of reality."
Azrael leaned back. Keen Insight's aura flickered; the hour was nearly up. He weighed his options. Joining the Circle might provide useful information about other reincarnators or system users, if Cadmon spoke truthfully. But it could also entangle him in another web of obligations. Declining might make them enemies.
> **System Notification:**
> *Choice Point Detected – The Circle's Offer*
> *A. Accept Cadmon's invitation. Gain access to Weavers' library (Reward: +1 random skill, potential alliances).
> B. Decline politely but remain on neutral terms (No immediate reward or penalty).
> C. Refuse and investigate the Circle in secret (Hidden reward; risk of conflict).*
The words hovered, waiting. Azrael hid his reaction, giving himself time. "I will consider your proposal," he said. "Return in three days for my answer."
Cadmon bowed. "As you wish, Your Highness. Until then." He withdrew, robes swishing, leaving the scent of sandalwood behind.
Once the door closed, Azrael let out a slow breath. The system prompt faded, leaving him unsettled. Others like him? A secret order? He would need more information. He scribbled a note to Shade: "Gather intelligence on Circle of Weavers. Quietly."
#### Bandits and Battles
News from the south grew worse. Bandits emblazoned with the Dawnfire symbol burned farms and raided caravans, claiming to fight in the name of "justice." Azrael sent General Halim with three hundred soldiers to hunt them down. He stood on the battlements as the column marched out—armor gleaming, standards snapping in the wind. Children waved; merchants cheered. It felt like a scene from one of Emir's histories, except this time the "villain" led the defense.
A day later, a messenger arrived breathless, cloak torn. "Your Highness," he panted. "General Halim engaged the bandits near Stone Hollow. They were better armed than expected. Our losses were minimal, but the leader escaped. He carried a sword that glowed like the sun."
Azrael's blood chilled. Dawnfire—the hero's legendary blade—should still be hidden. Why would a bandit have it? Or was it a copy meant to inspire fear? The system chimed.
> **System Notification:**
> *Event Triggered: False Dawn*
> *Description:* A decoy Dawnfire is being used to rally support for the hero.
> *Optional Objective:* Recover or destroy the decoy.
> *Reward:* +7 Influence
> *Penalty:* Increased bandit activity if left unchecked.*
Azrael rubbed his temples. "They have time to make fakes now?" he muttered. He would have to divert resources to handle it. Every action Leonid's supporters took seemed designed to force his hand before he was ready.
At midnight, Shade returned with information about the Circle. She knelt, offering a leather-bound journal. "Stolen from Lord Cadmon's study," she whispered. "The Circle of Weavers is older than we thought. They believe stories are living threads. They claim to have met others who 'came from beyond the weave.' Some went mad. Others vanished. A few became tyrants or saints."
Azrael flipped through sketches of symbols, accounts of plagues avoided and wars hastened. One entry caught his eye: "The Weaver who refused us died by his own hand, tormented by voices. The Weaver who joined rose to power, then lost everything when his arrogance blinded him." There were no names, only warnings.
The system displayed a tooltip over the page:
> **System Insight:**
> *Allies may provide power, but dependence breeds weakness. Be wary of surrendering your thread to another's loom.*
He closed the book. "Thank you, Shade. Continue watching Cadmon. Make no move until I decide."
As dawn approached, Azrael stood once more on his balcony, eyes fixed on the dark horizon. Snow dusted the rooftops; his breath fogged in the cold air. In the east, the first hint of sunrise painted the clouds pink. Somewhere in the western mountains, Leonid sparred with Master Darius, unaware of the decoys bearing his future sword's likeness. Somewhere in the east, the Circle of Weavers spun their webs.
Azrael's lips curved into a determined smile. "I will not let anyone else weave my fate," he whispered. "Not Leonid, not the Circle, not even this system."
In response, a soft chime sounded—a system acknowledgment or perhaps just his imagination. Either way, the game continued, and Azrael would play to win.