The next day passed slowly. Not because the lessons were difficult, but because they simply didn't matter.
Roy sat by the window, chin resting on his hand, watching the clouds drift across a pale blue sky. Kieran sat next to him, outwardly listening to the teacher's lecture on basic Prana conduction formulas… but his eyes were unfocused, barely tracking the whiteboard pen on the board. None of it reached them. Not after the kind of battle he'd tasted the day before. Everything felt muted, as if the world had lowered its volume and shifted into another room.
Every so often, Roy's finger tapped against the hardwood desk in a slow, irregular rhythm — not impatience exactly, but awareness. There was always something waiting underneath normalcy, and both of them could feel it—even if the rest of the class blissfully drifted in their own bubbles of ignorance.
By the time the final bell rang, that quiet tension had settled in like fog.
The students spilled out into the courtyard. Tanaka made a joke about homework. Brock complained about stomach cramps. Neither of them noticed when Roy and Kieran slipped away without a word, cutting down a side corridor and out through the back gate.
They didn't speak at first. There was no need. The direction of their steps said enough: away from the bustling streets, away from the station, down through a forgotten street on the edge of the industrial district. Passed rusted warehouses and cracked concrete. Few people walked this way, and those who did kept their heads low.
They turned at an unmarked alley and stopped at a steel service door bolted into the brick wall.
Roy knocked once—slow, deliberate.
Then twice in rapid succession.
Silence.
A faint click. The door slid open.
A narrow stairwell descended into darkness. At the base, muted lights flickered across old stone walls carved with sigils, runes that pulsed faintly when Roy passed, recognising his prana in the air.
This was a place built for comfort and necessity.
Two turns later, they stepped into the central chamber.
An old war table dominated the room, its wooden surface covered in maps, sketches and documents. Iron lanterns hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting shadows that danced across stacks of arcane tomes. On the far wall stood a massive crystal panel — the Luminas pylon — glowing softly as it projected a blue-tinted silhouette of Solenne Vale.
Another figure waited beside the table — a woman with silver hair tied back in a low braid, a pair of brass chimes hanging at her waist.
Malen inclined her head in greeting, her hands already starting to move in a quiet welcome.
"You're late," Solenne said, her voice echoing faintly from the pylon. It wasn't a reproach — simply an observation.
"We came as soon as the bell rang," Kieran replied.
Solenne's fingers moved over a sigil interface. A map appeared in hovering light above the table — rough plains, broken cliffs and a winding valley carved into the earth like an old scar.
"Location: Eloir Valley. Remote, sparsely populated, with no Celestial outpost nearby. Three days ago, a noble villa was annihilated. Entire family killed."
"Celestial Watch is calling it treason and mass murder," Roy murmured.
"Correct," Solenne said. "The official statement claims the culprit tore through the estate without provocation."
Another tap — and the map zoomed in, revealing a blood‐red symbol that marked the destroyed villa.
"He is currently in flight. Last known movement puts him heading north, toward the border forests."
She paused. Something subtle shifted in her voice.
"What is not in the official statement is how the man ended up in that villa in the first place."
Malen raised a hand, signing deliberately.
He was acquired. Sold. Used like a caged animal for their amusement.
Kieran's jaw clenched.
Roy's eyes narrowed — but he said nothing.
Solenne continued, "He was removed from his village two years ago under the pretext of national service. In truth, he was kept and used by the Langworth family — distant relatives of the king. The violence was sudden, born out of desperation. And now that truth has been buried beneath a single headline: 'Terrorist Slaughters Royal Family.'"
She shifted the map.
A different symbol appeared — a golden circle split into ten branches.
The seal of the Celestial Watch.
"They have already dispatched a tracking unit. Which division is unknown? They will arrive within the next twenty-four hours, but we assume it might be the Recon Division."
Roy stepped to the edge of the table. "Our objective?"
"Reach him first," Solenne said. "Learn everything. If his reasons are justified, assist in extraction and escort him out of the region. If not…"
Her eyes sharpened.
"…terminate before the Watch does."
A heavy silence settled over the chamber.
Then Roy reached down and picked up the folder lying on the table — name scrawled in black across the front: Aleron Veris.
"We leave tonight," he said.
Kieran nodded once.
Malen gave a quiet be careful, the ends of her fingers brushing over her heart.
Solenne's projection flickered out.
Night fell like a blade drawn across the horizon.
Within the silent gloom of Nova in Veil's armoury, Roy checked the straps of his black coat, tucked his gloves into place and lifted the collapsable mask from its stand — black steel edges melding into a sleek, curved surface with that single ornate stone hanging from its left side.
He didn't put it on yet. Only held it. It meant something to him.
Kieran finished buckling the straps of his combat harness, sliding his sword into place along his spine.
"You think he's still human?" Kieran asked quietly.
Roy didn't look up. "Everyone stays human… right until the moment something breaks."
They stepped into the upper chamber, past the barrier seal and out into a dead alleyway where shadows swallowed everything. Once the door sealed behind them, it looked like any other cracked wall.
The city above slept. Street lights glowed, and far-off traffic hummed. They moved like ghosts, slipping between lamplight and shadow until they reached a narrow road that connected to the old rail freight line. No guards. No civilians. No eyes.
Kieran reached into his coat and pressed the small sigil orb. The world flickered around them — and their uniforms dissolved into dark, muted field gear, fitted specifically to disperse Prana signatures.
"Disguise ready," he said.
Roy simply nodded and began walking.
They followed the freight road out of the city, moving across open fields under the dim glow of the moon, until ruin and farmland gave way to barren hills. Wind howled gently through dead grass. The air felt colder here — and heavier, like the land itself remembered something violent.
They were there in a mere instant; they arrived at the mouth of the valley. The stone pathway bent downward, disappearing between jagged cliffs. Old wagon tracks lay half-buried in dust.
Roy knelt and brushed his fingers across the ground.
"Three people passed through," he muttered. "Two days ago. One moving wounded." He pointed to a pattern of scuffed prints. "Look at staggered gait. Blood droplets."
"Trail's still fresh," Kieran said. "We're close."
They moved deeper.
With every step, the air thickened — not with prana, but with the weight of something that had happened. The valley walls were silent. The moonlight felt distant, as if slowed.
They came upon the first sign of violence — a blackened scorch on the road. Not a fire… More like raw, uncontrolled Soul Art had detonated in a single, violent burst.
Roy crouched near it, eyes narrowing.
"Boundary fracture", he muttered, running a finger along the edge of the charred stone. "He lost control here…"
Kieran looked ahead — into the folding shadows of the canyon.
"That means he's still running from something."
They stepped forward.
Ten metres.
Twenty.
Then Roy lifted a hand.
Ahead, a small figure sat slumped against the canyon wall.
Torn coat. Blood on his sleeves. Eyes half-open and empty. A broken pocket watch lay in his hand.
This was Aleron Veris.
They approached slowly. Kieran raised his hands, sword still sheathed.
Roy reached him first and crouched, lowering his voice. "We're not here to hurt you."
Aleron didn't move. His eyes flicked up— just enough to see Roy's face in the moonlight.
"I… already know… who you are," he whispered, voice cracking.
Roy's brow twitched imperceptibly. "You don't."
Aleron's gaze dropped to the ground. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, but he forced them back. "They… took everything from me. Used me. And I still thought… I could never escape."
He clenched his bloodied fingers around the broken watch.
"So I made them feel what I felt."
Roy said nothing — but his eyes softened, barely.
Kieran stepped beside him and lowered himself slightly. "The Watch is moving in. If you stay here, you'll die."
Aleron's breathing grew shallow. "It's… already too late. They'll find me."
Roy's jaw shifted. "Maybe. But we'll get you out of this valley first."
He extended his hand.
For a long moment, Aleron just stared at it — almost like he couldn't believe it was real.
Then his fingers reached out… and the moment their skin touched—
BOOM.
A violent shockwave tore through the valley, ripping dust and stone into the air.
The three of them turned — and standing at the top of the canyon wall were three silhouettes.
Black uniforms. Silver insignias.
Celestial Watch.
One of them stepped forward — coat flaring. His gloved hand came to rest on the hilt of his blade. Roy's eyes snapped to the sigil on his shoulder:
Judicator Division.
They were too late.
Kieran's heartbeat hammered once in his ears.
Roy stepped in front of Aleron, his expression turning cold — unreadable.
The Watch member looked down from the ridge. He said nothing. But his gaze lingered on them…
… and for just a split-second, the watch member saw a flicker of focus fall on the small emblem stitched into his sleeve — a cursive, lowercase l.
There was no recognition.
Only narrowed eyes.
Then the Watch figure raised a hand — and the mountainside exploded into movement as multiple seal anchors ignited, forming a rapid extraction assault.
Roy turned sharply to Kieran.
"Move."
The two sprang into motion, dragging Aleron deeper into the canyon — away from the ridge, away from the Watch.
Prana sparks shattered above them as the first anchor struck the ground ten metres behind.
They didn't fight.
They ran.
Because sometimes survival is not cowardice — it is the first part of victory.
Behind them, the Watch did not pursue in full — not yet.
Instead, they watched.
Watched the three disappear into the folds of shadow, leaving behind only a single trailing symbol stitched into a sleeve…
…and for the first time, the Celestial Watch realised:
There is someone else moving in the dark.