Vivan stepped closer to the bedside, the warm morning light tracing lines of fatigue across Thomas Clevon's pale features.
"Sir Thomas, I know you are still recovering," he began, voice low and steady, "but time is not our ally."
At his gesture, a maid slid a cushioned chair into place beside the bed.
Vivan lowered himself into it, his gaze drifting briefly over the chamber- polished wood, heavy drapes, faint incense lingering in the air. Then his attention sharpened.
"I have a few questions," he continued, his tone dipping lower, "but not all of them are soothing. I want this discussion private."
From his coat he drew the parchment, the wax seal of King Arathen glinting in the morning light. Thomas's eyes flicked over it, recognition sparking in his weary gaze.
With a silent nod, he signalled to the butler and maid. They bowed and withdrew, the heavy door shutting with a creak that seemed to lock the world away.
Silence lingered, heavy as stone.
Thomas leaned back against the headrest, studying his visitor. "So, Lord Ghostwalker," he said with the trace of a smile, "what questions trouble you so deeply?"
For a moment, Vivan held the quiet, as though arranging thoughts like pieces on a board.
Then his eyes lifted and the Eye of Veritas stirred. Rings of azure code spun in his pupils, clockwise, the shimmer casting faint reflections in Thomas's gaze.
"What do you believe was the true reason for your father's death?"
The blunt weight of the question cracked the stillness. Thomas's breath caught. His composure wavered for a heartbeat before he let out a strained chuckle.
"You warned me your questions would not be gentle… but to open with my father's murder?"
His voice faltered, and for the briefest moment his hands tightened around the bed sheets.
Vivan inclined his head slightly. "I'm sorry, but I meant what I said - time is not our ally."
The Eye of Veritas flared again. Across Thomas's outline shimmered the familiar blue of an NPC's code - steady, consistent.
Yet there was something else, faint as a ghost in the stream: a ripple of distortion, as though his very being carried a buried fracture.
Thomas drew a long breath, steadying himself.
"Considering the signs of the crime…the culprit was likely the Dark Guild. Father had been tracking their movements closely, under direct orders from King Arathen. He was…too close, perhaps. So…"
Vivan's eyes narrowed, the Eye of Veritas pulsing faintly.
"Any details? Did he ever share what he'd found?"
Thomas shook his head, a shadow of regret crossing his pale face.
"No. I was too busy trying to prove myself to him. Training, fighting, chasing his approval."
A sigh slipped from him, pained and hollow.
Vivan didn't press the silence for long.
"Alright. Next question. When you woke, you shouted a name. What was that about?"
Shock flickered through Thomas's eyes. "How…how do you know that?"
Vivan smirked, leaning back slightly. "I have my ways. So?"
Thomas swallowed, forcing down his nerves. At last he spoke, voice low and taut.
"Our Cursed Mother of Clevon. The wife of our first ancestor, Gabriel Clevon. Her name was Marciella Clevon."
The words hung heavy, and for a heartbeat the room was silent but for the rustle of curtains in the daylight.
Vivan smirked, his tone sharp and unyielding.
"Convenient name. Now care to explain, how is that relevant here?"
The edge in his voice was clear: Ghostwalker wasn't going to accept anything without relevancy.
Sweat gathered along Thomas's brow. His voice wavered.
"While I was trapped in that cage…I saw something. A past event."
Vivan's gaze sharpened. "An event?"
Thomas nodded, wiping at the moisture on his forehead. "More like a memory. But it wasn't mine. It was…hers."
That drew Vivan forward, the intrigue flashing in his eyes. "Go on."
Thomas reached for the glass on the bedside table, taking a slow sip as though bracing himself. His hands trembled faintly.
"She was carrying a child in her arms," he whispered. "The night was drowning in snow. Wind howled across the cliffs as she entered a cave."
He paused, and tears spilled freely now, cutting pale lines down his cheeks.
"She set the child on the cold floor of that cave. A knife glimmered in her hand- silver, sharp. She raised it high, both hands shaking. But she couldn't do it."
His voice cracked. "She couldn't end what she meant to end."
The memory seemed to choke him, his breath uneven.
"Tears poured from her eyes like a river breaking its banks. She fled instead- wrapped herself tight against the storm as she stumbled out. And behind her…the infant's cry echoed through the cave, carried into the forest by the wind."
The chamber fell silent, the weight of the vision pressing between them, until even the daylight seemed colder.
Vivan's eyes narrowed as Thomas's words faded. The daylight pouring through the chamber's windows felt suddenly colder, as if the memory itself seeped into the air.
"So this vision," Vivan said slowly, "you're certain it was hers? Not some trick of the veil?"
Thomas shook his head, wiping his damp cheeks.
"No. It was her. Marciella Clevon. Our cursed mother. The pain, the hesitation, the grief… I could feel it. As though I was the one holding that child."
The Eye of Veritas spun faintly in Vivan's eyes, blue code flickering across Thomas's frame. The shimmer wavered- steady NPC code, but carrying that faint distortion again.
Something fractured. Something inherited.
Vivan sank into silence, gaze sharpening. The Eye of Veritas whirred, threads of blue unraveling as he pierced deeper into Thomas's code.
Beneath the steady shimmer of an NPC's framework, something else pulsed - a knot of twisted glyphs, like corrupted roots buried inside clean soil.
It resisted him. The logic was layered, recursive, bound in loops older than Novarim itself. But slowly, piece by piece, Vivan unravelled the distortion.
Fragments surfaced in pale blue script, cascading across his vision:
| For (Blood.Pristine = true)
{
If (host.trauma = True)
{
Play.Video(Gene/memory/video.mp4);
}
else
{
Hide.Video(Gene/memory/video.mp4);
}
};
// Hereditary seal placed by Azerion Wolfred Pristine |
Vivan's breath caught. A blood-bound trigger. Trauma as the key, memory of the gene as the payload.
He leaned back slightly, studying Thomas with new weight in his eyes.
"It's not just a curse," he murmured under his breath. "It's code. A genetic lock. The blood of Pristine carries it and pain pulls the memory into life."
Thomas noticed Vivan's silence, his brow furrowing.
"Pardon, Sir Ghostwalker… what did you say?"
Vivan blinked, pulling himself back from the code's spiral. "Nothing, Sir Clevon."
But his mind kept racing.
Azerion… the binder? The very name from the diary page that gave me Sigilforge and the Eye of Veritas. Azerion Wolfred Pristine… how are they related to him?
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
"Sir Clevon- how exactly are you related to the Pristine bloodline?"
Thomas's face drained of color, as though struck by a blade. There was no way, no possible way, for Ghostwalker to know of that link.
His mouth fell open in shock before he forced it shut again, struggling for composure.
"How…" he whispered, then steadied himself with a trembling breath. "Well… before her marriage to Gabriel Clevon, Marciella was not Clevon at all. She was Marciella Pristine."
Vivan was left speechless.
Every instinct urged him to tear deeper into Thomas's code, to peel apart every hidden line until the truth stood bare.
But he clenched his jaw. As a player in this world, cracking open an NPC's essence by force… that was no different from breaking them. It would be immoral.
He forced himself to relent.
The Eye of Veritas dimmed, its glow receding as Vivan rose from the chair.
"That's all for now, Sir Clevon. I wish you a swift recovery."
Thomas could only stare, jaw slack, stunned by the GhostWalker's uncanny insight.
From the estate to the main gate, the head butler walked at his side. As they neared the waiting carriage, Vivan glanced at him.
"I never caught your name."
The butler bowed with crisp precision.
"Jeremy Wilner, my lord."
Vivan nodded, stepping into the carriage. As the wheels clattered to life and the horses pulled forward, sunlight slanted westward through the open window.
The glow warmed his face, but his thoughts churned cold. Doubts spiralled, looping endlessly as the hooves echoed against the stone road, carrying him back toward Novarim castle.
Vivan sank deeper into thought.
"Azerion the Binder… he was a Pristine. And Marciella, too, bore that name. But how were they connected? Close blood, or distant branch? And why would a kinsman chain her grief into the veins of every future generation? Was it vengeance?"
He shook his head.
"No… that doesn't fit. Azerion sought the truth, sought the very coder of this world—to demand why mortals must suffer these cruel games of morality for the creator's amusement. That was not the will of a petty avenger.
So why would he…?"
His thoughts snapped as a sudden shadow slashed across the window, the sunlight dimming for an instant as wings passed overhead.
Vivan's eyes lifted. A great eagle swept low from the sky, its wings cutting the last rays of afternoon sun.
The driver jerked the reins in surprise as the bird descended, talons clinking against the roof before it thrust its head inside the window.
Tied to its leg was a scroll sealed with the mark of the royal ministry.
Vivan's breath caught. He loosened the cord and unfurled the parchment. The script was hurried, ink blotched as though written on the move.
**"The key of the murder mystery remains in Almadus. Now I know the true motive- not only behind the death of the Clevon head, but also Prince Kendrick.
If this eagle reaches you, Ghostwalker, remember: speak not a word of this to anyone. Not even to King Arathen. I trust you with my life… as a brother from the same world.
If I don't reach the castle by the time of the council meeting for the Grand Festival—look for me. They are already on my back, watching.
Veldrick Hollowart"**
The words seemed to burn against the page.
Vivan stared, pulse quickening. "A brother… from the same world?"
For a moment, the letter shook in his grip. Does that mean Hollowart knows? That I'm an Otherworlder just like him?
His eyes flickered with the glow of the Eye of Veritas.
"I could see his golden code, that of a player, but how could he possibly know about me? Unless…"
A dozen doubts clawed at his mind, each heavier than the last.
Before he could unravel them, the eagle gave a piercing cry and tore itself free, vanishing into the reddening sky.
The carriage rolled on, Novarim's gates still distant, and Vivan sat frozen with the letter in his hand- knowing that whatever waited in Almadus was far darker than court politics.
…To be continued