The hallway outside the Office of Special Affairs felt more like a courthouse than a government office—high ceilings, white marble columns, and lanterns fixed in golden sconces that hummed faintly with heat.
Rosario sat with his arms crossed, one boot tapping idly against the stone floor.
Lox sat beside him, shoulders drawn tight, still pale from his release.
Luck slouched a little too comfortably in his chair, as if waiting to get a haircut.
None of them spoke.
Then the door at the end of the corridor clicked open.
Out stepped a young woman—barely older than the trio, all smiles and soft curls. She wore a crisp blue uniform coat with silver buttons and a ribbon-tied folder tucked under her arm.
"Faelix, Steelheart, and Thorne?" she chirped, eyes scanning the trio.
They all stood.
"The Chief will see you now," she said, beaming as she held the door.
Inside was not the war room Rosario had pictured.
The chamber was round and sunlit, its walls lined with heavy bookshelves and imperial banners. A sprawling map of the city stretched across one side, with pins and notes clustered tightly around the third and fourth rings.
At the far end of the room stood a massive iron-riveted desk, and behind it—
A woman who looked like she could lift it.
She was old—white-haired and thick-knuckled, with creases worn deep around her eyes and mouth—but her posture was ramrod straight. Her tan coat was rolled at the sleeves, and her arms were corded with the kind of muscle that didn't come from lifting books.
"Well, well," she said, voice booming like a blacksmith. "Here's the problem, you three."
She stepped around the desk and gave them each a sharp, calculating look. "I'm Chief Hollis. You can call me 'Chief' or 'Ma'am.' Anything else, and I break your kneecaps. Understood?"
The three of them nodded in stiff unison.
"Good." She reached into her coat and pulled out a long chain, on the end of which was a pendant: flat, oval-shaped, black as coal and veined through with silver lines that shimmered faintly like lightning.
She held it up.
The room dimmed.
In an instant, all three of their sigils began to glow.
Rosario's hand burned faintly black, shaped like a sword hilt.
Lox's right shoulder pulsed blue beneath his shirt.
And from beneath Luck's collarbone, a ghostly light shimmered—a sigil none of them had seen before. It flickered briefly, then vanished.
Rosario turned to stare. Lox blinked in disbelief.
Luck just snorted. "Took you long enough."
The silence broke like glass.
"You little shit," Lox muttered. "You've been awakened this whole time?"
Luck shrugged. "Didn't feel like sharing."
Rosario leaned back, still eyeing him. "If Garron were here, he'd throw you through a wall."
Luck smirked. "Yeah. And I'd land in a coffin with a discount."
Chief Hollis barked a laugh.
"Well, at least you've got gallows humor. You'll need it."
She lowered the pendant. The sigils faded.
"This?" She let it swing from its chain, slow and deliberate. "It doesn't glow because it's special. It glows because it knows."
She caught it mid-air with a slap of her palm.
"Most awakened waste their power trying to impress people. Whoever made this didn't give a damn about being impressive. They made a tool. One that tells the truth, whether you're ready or not."
Her voice dropped, low and razor-sharp.
"I've seen people lie with their mouths, their faces, even their sigils. But not this. This cuts through the noise."
She pocketed it, eyes still locked on them.
"If your sigil lit up, that means one thing: you've stepped onto the board. And whether you know the game or not, you're already playing."
She stepped toward the window, gesturing to the city beyond.
"Ten years ago, there was a meteor shower—pretty little thing. Lit up the skies, turned a few heads. After that? The first visions began."
She turned back to face them.
"People waking up in caves they'd never seen. Always the same story—flat on your back, alone, with only one path forward."
Rosario's brow furrowed. He raised a hand. "Has there ever been… more than one path?"
Chief Hollis paused.
"Not to my knowledge," she said, and there was something strange in her tone—a faint shadow under her usual roar.
She continued.
"Since then, it's been getting worse. Or better, depending on your view. More visions. More awakenings. At first, it was rare. Easy to hide. But now?"
She held up three fingers.
"Three awakened boys in one district. That's a trend."
Her voice lowered—not softer, just heavier.
"There will come a time when this is no longer the exception. You hide it now. But soon?" She tapped her chest. "Everyone may carry a sigil."
She walked back behind the desk and sat.
"So. I'm not here to throw you in a cell. You're not being arrested. You're being drafted."
Rosario frowned. "Into what?"
Chief Hollis leaned forward, steepling her fingers.
"Into the office of special affairs."
Chief Hollis didn't wait for questions. She turned on her heel and started walking.
They followed.
The halls of the Office of Special Affairs weren't gilded or polished like the rest of the government buildings in Kartha. The walls were made of plain stone, and the light was dim. Functional. No names on doors. No labels. Just corridors and turns and the occasional glint of a reinforced lock.
As they walked, Hollis spoke.
"This division was founded five years ago. Secret charter. Direct orders from the crown. We operate outside standard jurisdiction—our work doesn't go through the courts or the city watch. We don't ask permission, and we don't wait for approval."
She glanced back at them, boots echoing down the corridor.
"We deal with awakened threats—rogue sigils. Magical disasters. The shit no one else knows how to touch. That's our job."
They turned a corner.
"Your marks?" she continued. "They're more than just tricks. A sigil's power is tied to familiarity. The more a thing is yours, the stronger the bond."
She raised a hand and tapped her coat.
"Objects. Weapons. Tools. You've used them, touched them, worn them—good. That's where you start. But you can also turn it inward. Imbue yourself. Just know… it hits harder. And it burns faster."
Another turn. They passed a sealed chamber behind glass. Inside, a sword floated mid-air—silent, humming faintly with pale fire.
"Some objects, like that pendant earlier, were imbued by masters. Real ones. Their effects last for years. Most of you? You'll be lucky if it holds a charge through lunch."
They descended a set of stairs, the air growing colder.
Finally, she pushed open a thick iron door.
Inside: a room full of weaponry.
Racks lined the walls—swords, halberds, bows, axes. A few strange items sat beneath glass cases: a ring that flickered with ash, a pair of gloves wrapped in frost, a gauntlet with veins of red stone pulsing like a heartbeat.
"This," Hollis said, "is where you start earning your badge."
She walked to a wall panel and flipped a switch.
A section of the stone retracted.
Behind it: a table. Inside, a folder and a small, velvet-lined box.
She didn't sit.
"Your first assignment isn't a patrol. It isn't recon. It's a kill order."
She opened the folder, turned it to face them—a single name, stamped in red across the top.
Marchioness Ismeria.
"The noblewoman responsible for the death of Elandra Vale."
Lox went still.
Rosario's eyes narrowed. Luck just blinked.
"She's awakened," Hollis continued. "Her sigil's blood-based. She's been experimenting—imbuing it into objects. The collar? The one on the dog? That was hers."
Lox clenched his fists.
Rosario spoke first. "You want us to kill a noble?"
"A Marchioness?" Lox said, voice low.
"That's treason," Luck muttered.
Hollis didn't flinch.
She reached into the velvet-lined box and pulled out a metal emblem—black and gold, shaped like a crown surrounded by swords.
She held it up.
"This is the Emperor's seal—direct authority. You act under this, and no one questions your orders—no noble. No general. Not even the city watch."
She paused, letting it hang.
"The Emperor's twelve years old. He signs what we give him. That's all you need to know."
None of them spoke.
She placed the seal on the table, then reached for three small brass cards. Each one bore the Empire's insignia and a stamped clearance level.
"These will get you through every ring in the city—except the royal ring. Don't try to push that line."
She stepped aside.
Then came the masks—plain black, mouthless, shaped to conceal without drawing attention. Alongside them were simple packs containing gear, gloves, and cloaks.
"You're part of Special Affairs now. You operate at the edge of the blade. That means no fame. No parades. You wear these when you act."
Rosario picked it up. Lox hesitated. Luck was already flipping his card.
Chief Hollis stepped forward again.
"And I trust I don't have to explain what happens if you refuse an imperial directive."
Her voice lost all humor.
"You wouldn't be the first to hesitate. But if you turn you're back now, don't expect to walk out free."
She gave them one last glance.
"You've been given power. Use it. Or don't."
She nodded toward the door.
"Your mission starts tonight."
Chief Hollis stood by the open vault door, watching the boys gather their masks and gear. None of them said a word as they turned to leave.
"Fifth ring," she called after them. "There's a bar called Lantern's Rest. Be there tonight. Quiet corner booth, east wall. Someone will meet you."
Rosario gave the nod. Lox lingered half a second longer, jaw tight. Luck already had his hood up.
The door shut behind them.
Hollis exhaled.
"Gods help me," she muttered, rubbing her temple. "They're green as summer grapes."
She made her way back down the corridor, boots clicking against the stone, muttering the whole way.
"A brawler, a bleeding heart, and a ghost who doesn't even try to hide."
She pushed open the door to her office—and stopped cold.
The Prime Minister was already inside.
Standing by the window. Hands folded. Eyes distant.
Hollis straightened. Instinct.
"Ma'am." She gave a crisp salute.
"At ease," the Prime Minister said without turning.
Hollis relaxed—slightly.
The Prime Minister turned to face her.
Her red hair was braided back, the cloak over one shoulder pinned with imperial gold—creased, sharp, not for fashion, but control.
No guards. No secretary. No need.
Her expression was calm. Unreadable.
Eyes cool and clear, like a ledger already balanced.
Hollis straightened before she could stop herself.
The Prime Minister spoke—
Smooth, precise, and quiet enough that you had to lean in or risk missing something important.
The Prime Minister spoke—
Measured and cold as ink on a death warrant.
"Are they reliable?"
Hollis took a breath.
"Rosario and Luck both served four years on the front. Infantry and recon. Came back breathing, which already puts them ahead of most."
She crossed her arms.
"Lox never saw battle. Nobles pulled strings. But he holds the record at the Fourth Ring dojo—top of the board. Precision fighter. Fast hands, sharper instincts."
A beat.
"Rosario's solid. Follows orders. Got the makings of a real soldier if he can hone his blade."
"Lox is twitchy. Smart, but too much emotion behind the eyes. Reads like someone who hasn't been tested—and knows it."
The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow.
"And the third?"
"Luck," Hollis said, tone flat. "Slippery. No presence. You forget he's in the room until he's halfway through your liquor."
She shook her head.
"Creeps me out, honestly. But he's sharp. Doesn't talk unless it matters. I like that. Could be a problem later."
The Prime Minister gave the faintest smile.
"They'll do," Hollis said. "Rough around the edges. But they'll hold together."
She paused.
"For now."
Another pause.
Then her tone shifted—just slightly.
"But sending them after Ismeria… isn't that pushing it?"
The Prime Minister didn't answer.
Hollis went on. "She's not just a mark. She's a Marchioness. And Orion's wife. You know what that means."
Her eyes narrowed.
"If they kill her, he won't stop."
The Prime Minister's smile returned—calm, detached, almost amused.
"Then I suppose," she said, turning back to the window,
"They'll have to seek my protection."