The bells of Omnia tolled at midnight.
Each chime shivered across the stone avenues like the last heartbeat of a dying god.
Tifa knelt beneath the temple spires, the wind tugging at her white mantle. Her lips barely moved as she prayed, yet every syllable struck the heavens like a blade of fire:
"Show me the truth."
Her voice did not echo. It dissolved into the cathedral's silence—
and somewhere deep in the veins of the city, another voice answered.
Soft. Malevolent. Almost amused.
"You already see it."
It was not a sound that passed through ears.
It was a caress against her soul.
A murmur beneath the veil of breath.
Tifa's eyes snapped open, golden irises burning in the dark. The spires quivered above her like spears about to fall. She turned her gaze toward the palace, where the marionettes swayed on invisible strings, their sewn mouths rippling against the night breeze.
And then, impossibly, lips that had no lungs parted.
The wind carried a single name across the courtyard.
"Tifa."
She did not flinch. She did not pray again. She simply rose.
The game was beginning.
The Silver Thread Trembles
Far from the spires, in a forgotten chamber beneath Valerius's estate, the boy called Milos sat with Nini.
Candles burned low. Their flames bent, like servants bowing to an unseen master.
Nini sat by the wall, knees drawn to her chest, silver hair spilling like strands of light across her face. Her head tilted in that uncanny, doll-like way, watching the wax melt in silence.
Mormond—no longer smiling, no longer the mask of a child—rested his hand beneath his chin. His silver eyes were lidded, thoughtful. For hours he had heard it: the hum. A resonance threading through Omnia's bones, not of his weaving.
And now… he saw it in her.
Nini's finger traced shapes in the dust. Circles, spirals, stars. No one had taught her these. Not him. Not anyone.
At first he thought it coincidence. Then, a lullaby drifted from her lips. Low, soft, broken.
His blood froze.
He had never sung that song to her.
Mormond's hand tightened around his knee, knuckles whitening. He reached forward, seizing her wrist mid-motion.
"Where did you learn that?" His voice cracked, sharp as a whip.
Nini blinked. Her pale lashes fluttered, and for an instant—just an instant—something behind her glassy gaze flickered. A shimmer of recognition. Not of him, not of her role, but of herself.
Mormond's stomach twisted. His perfection—his creation—was fracturing.
He yanked her closer, fingers digging into her skin. "Answer me!"
But she only stared at him, lips trembling. Then, almost rebelliously, she whispered, as though to the shadows and not to him:
"Mother…"
The word shattered him.
The Puppeteer's Fear
Mormond recoiled as though struck. His heart thundered, not with anger, but with a terror he had not felt since the night he tore her soul from the grave.
"Mother."
That was not hers anymore.
That was gone.
Nini was not a child.
She was his weapon.
His puppet.
Yet here she was, humming forgotten songs, drawing forgotten sigils, remembering.
He gripped her shoulders so tightly her bones threatened to snap. "You are mine."
The words spat from him like venom.
"You are not hers. You are not you. You belong to me. Do you understand? To me!"
For the first time, Nini's eyes widened with something close to fear. Not because of his grip. But because his voice trembled.
Mormond's control had cracked.
And she saw it.
Omnia Trembles
Across the city, Tifa walked the midnight streets. Every step was silence, yet the air around her pulsed with holy light. The aura she carried did not burn—it revealed.
Shadows recoiled. Rats stilled. Men and women who passed her turned away, guilt gnawing at their hearts without knowing why.
Yet it was not mortals she sought.
It was the hum.
She had felt it in her prayer.
A discord beneath the city's melody, like a spider plucking at its web.
And tonight, it grew louder.
At the edge of the noble quarter, she stopped. A faint whisper curled from the estate of Lord Valerius.
It was not sound.
It was resonance.
And she knew, with certainty, that the heart of the rot beat there.
The Glitch
Back in the hidden chamber, Mormond paced, a beast in a gilded cage.
His mind spun with threads, with contingencies, with whispers. But no amount of calculation silenced the echo of that word:
Mother.
He turned, ready to bind her tighter, to lock her mind down, to rip apart the last shreds of whatever ghost lingered inside her.
But then—he froze.
Nini was staring into a shard of broken glass on the floor. Her reflection stared back.
For the first time, she did not tilt her head like a doll.
She leaned forward. Eyes wide. Breath shallow.
And whispered, "Who… am I?"
Mormond's heart clenched. He lunged forward, kicking the shard aside, seizing her by the throat.
"You are Nini." His voice thundered, shaking with wrath. "You are mine. There is nothing else. There never was."
She clawed weakly at his wrists. Her lips parted, and what came out was not a scream, not a sob, but a laugh—fragile, human.
It was not the laugh he had crafted.
It was hers.
For a moment, the chamber was no longer his dominion. It was hers.
And he felt powerless.
The Near Exposure
Above them, the estate stirred.
Tifa had arrived.
Her steps carried her to the outer courtyard, where Valerius awaited her, draped in velvet and arrogance.
"My lady Inquisitor," he crooned, bowing low. "What honor graces my halls?"
But Tifa did not glance at him. Her gaze swept the stones, the walls, the windows. Her golden eyes narrowed, catching threads unseen.
A hum.
A pulse.
Like strings vibrating in a storm.
And beneath her feet—buried in the cellar—she felt it.
Something unnatural.
Something wrong.
"Milos," Valerius said with a proud smile, beckoning the boy.
The door opened.
The orphan stepped forward. Wide-eyed. Silent. The perfect child.
Tifa's heart stopped.
The moment their gazes met, she felt it: a ripple in the song. A discordant note.
But all she saw was a boy.
And that was the trap.
Mormond's Terror
Inside the mask of Milos, Mormond's pulse thundered. He felt the weight of her gaze like sunlight piercing a coffin.
Did she know? Did she see?
Beside him, Nini lingered in the shadows of the chamber, trembling. She had almost broken in front of him. Almost shattered everything.
If she had spoken while Tifa was near…
No.
He could not allow it.
He smiled shyly, lowering his head like an obedient orphan. "My lady," he whispered, voice trembling with the innocence he had perfected.
But inside, his silver eyes seethed with rage. Not at Tifa.
At Nini.
She was the flaw.
The fracture.
The ghost that could undo his empire before it began.
And if she dared betray him again—
He would burn her soul to ash.
Epilogue: The Whisper That Should Not Be :
That night, after Tifa's departure, Mormond bound Nini tighter than ever before. Strings wrapped her wrists, her throat, her mind.
But as he turned to leave, a sound froze him.
Nini was humming again.
Soft. Haunting.
But this time, the words formed.
Not nonsense.
Not a lullaby of his making.
A prayer.
The same prayer Tifa had spoken beneath the spires.
"Show me the truth…"
Mormond's blood turned to ice.
The threads quivered in his hands.
The marionettes in the courtyard swayed as if caught by an unseen wind.
And for the first time, Mormond realized:
The ghost inside Nini was not fading.
It was growing.
🕸️ TO BE CONTINUED 🕸️