Sunday morning arrived beneath a pale, indifferent sky.
Perun and Vaelor were already prepared. Perun wore his usual attire—plain, unassuming, deliberately ordinary. There was no trace of the Raven today. This was not a mission. They were here to pick up Serin from the library.
The heavy wooden door creaked open.
Serin stepped out, a small black crossbody bag resting against her side. Her eyes met Perun's, and the warmth in them quickly turned sharp.
"Hello, Serin," Perun said calmly.
She didn't return the greeting. "You disappeared again," she said. "No explanation. Nothing."
Perun frowned slightly. "Didn't I tell you on the phone call?"
Silence stretched between them, thin and uncomfortable.
Vaelor cleared his throat and stepped forward. "How can you be so insensitive?" he said, his tone unusually gentle as he began to console her.
This sudden emotional awareness was, frankly, unnatural for him. The side effects of excessive television and the tragic tales of Instewl Hollander were showing. It was kinda funny to see him at personality like him to be this kind of behaviour almost too naive.
Perun sighed. "Ah… I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."
He paused, then added, more sincerely, "From next time, if I have to go somewhere far or for a long time, I'll tell you."
Serin's expression softened, just a little.
Vaelor clapped his hands once. "Good. Then let's follow our plan."
Perun nodded. "First, the theatre. There's a new Marvel movie released."
Serin raised an eyebrow. "On a Sunday morning? All the shows must already be booked."
Perun calmly took out three tickets. "I already have them."
They were a gift from Lukman—unused, passed along without ceremony when the theatre owner had handed them over.
Vaelor's eyes lit up. "I've watched some Marvel movies on television," he said. "They were… marvelous."
Serin sighed. "Then let's go. Before you embarrass us further."
They hailed a taxi and disappeared into the city's slow, ordinary rhythm—unaware they were already being watched.
At the Three Families' Union Mansion, the air was far from ordinary.
Caeson stood near the window with Junwell, their voices low.
"The Senate's people are everywhere," Caeson said. "Too many. Too organized."
Junwell frowned. "Have you seen Alfred? I haven't since yesterday."
Caeson's gaze hardened. "What if he's been caught? What if he revealed our location?"
Junwell shook his head. "Impossible. Normal Senate agents couldn't handle him. It would take overwhelming force—someone from the main executive level."
Caeson didn't relax. "Or what if Alfred is planning something? He never takes interest in our plans. He disappears without warning."
Junwell exhaled slowly. "You're right… but he isn't foolish. Let him be."
At somewhere in the Norus.
A man dressed entirely in darkness stood silently in the hall. A magician's hat shadowed his face. On his right hand, five rings rested—one on each finger, each etched with symbols that felt wrong to look at.
"Where are you?" he murmured. "I have searched for you."
He raised his hand, straightened his fingers, and gently rotated the ring on his index finger with his thumb.
"Holy Ring," he whispered,
"grant me a glance of the most loyal servant of our god."
A circular projection bloomed in the air.
Within it—Perun, Vaelor, and Serin stood outside a theatre, laughter spilling freely. Vaelor stared in disbelief at a box of popcorn.
"Salty?" Serin laughed. "You wanted caramel."
Vaelor looked betrayed.
The man in the hat clicked his tongue. "Ah… what a nuisance."
The image faded.
"I suppose," he said quietly, "I'll have to meet him myself."
The man in the magician's hat raised his hand once more.
This time, he rotated the ring on his middle finger—slowly, deliberately—three full turns.
The air around him warped.
Like ink swallowed by shadow, his figure blurred, thinned, and vanished without sound. No ripple. No trace. As if he had never been there at all.
Inside the theatre, darkness wrapped the audience.
Explosions lit the screen. Blades clashed. The action sequence unfolded with relentless momentum, drawing gasps and murmurs from every corner of the hall.
Serin leaned forward, eyes reflecting the flickering light.
Perun watched quietly, his expression calm but attentive.
Vaelor, however, was completely absorbed.
Behind them, several rows back, a man sat motionless.
A magician's hat rested low over his face.
His gaze never left them.
The final scenes arrived—sacrifice, loss, and triumph tangled together. The music swelled. When the credits rolled, many in the hall wiped their eyes.
Vaelor exhaled deeply. "That was intense… especially the last part. Very emotional."
Perun glanced at him. "You're surprisingly emotional for someone like you."
Vaelor scoffed. "Stories exist to be felt."
Serin stretched slightly. "So," she asked, "what's our next destination?"
Vaelor didn't hesitate. "I'm hungry. Maybe a restaurant?"
Perun nodded. "Alright. Let's go."
From the shadows between rows, the man in the hat stood.
Their casual chatter grated on him more than noise ever could.
The restaurant was warm, crowded, and filled with ordinary life.
They ordered their food and waited. Serin checked the menu again. Perun leaned back in his chair. Vaelor scanned the room absentmindedly.
At a distant table, a familiar presence settled in.
The magician's hat. The rings.
The quiet, patient stare.
Then a waitress approached with their order.
Vaelor froze. His eyes widened slightly as recognition struck.
"Crsytie…?"
The woman paused, then smiled faintly. "You remember."
She was no longer the frightened girl from the brothel. Her clothes were modest, her posture confident. Yet the memory lingered—of that day, of help given when none was expected, of her connection to Selena.
"I work here now," she said. "As an employee."
Vaelor nodded, relieved. "That's… good."
She placed the dishes on the table. Their eyes met briefly, both remembering more than words could say.
They smiled.
Perun noticed. "Who is she?" he asked quietly.
Before Vaelor could answer—
A chair scraped against the floor.
Someone sat down at their table. Too close.
"That's enough of you, Vaelor."
The voice was calm. Flat. Unmistakably dangerous.
Vaelor turned.
The magician's hat shadowed the man's face, but the rings gleamed clearly—five silent witnesses.
Vaelor's breath caught.
Shock froze him in place.
For the first time that day, the world felt wrong.