I was shunted. Not just out of The Dagger and The Dancer—but hurled violently from the works of Vex itself. One moment, I was still locked in that tragic kiss, Celeste's blood on my hands. The next—

Hard floor. Cold wall. Real air.

The bitter chill of the mansion's stone wall pressed against my back. It was real in a way that almost felt alien. The world of the book had been dreamlike, but this—this was heavy.

And above me stood Alexandria.

Her gaze was steady. Concern flickered behind it, wrapped in amusement like a disguise she'd worn too often.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, voice low and textured, like silk worn at the edges.

"Horrible," I muttered, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "You knew that already."

Her small, knowing smile confirmed it. A sigh escaped me.

"So… about that conversation?"

"Yeah," she said, motioning with a tilt of her head, "but not out here in the hallway. Come back to the tea room."

I nodded. "Might as well…" I moved to rise, but my body didn't quite cooperate. "I feel so damn heavy…"

Without a word, Alexandria extended her hand. I took it. Her grip was firm, grounding. She helped me up like she'd done it before—maybe even for herself, in another life.

The mansion's halls were dim, lit only by the filtered moonlight bleeding through dust-streaked windows. We moved in silence, boots echoing faintly on the marble until we reached the tea room again. She shut the door behind us, the latch clicking shut with a sound that felt final.

Inside, the atmosphere was warm, but off. The smell of bergamot tea lingered like a ghost. Everything was perfectly still.

"Alright," she began, arms crossing, weight shifting slightly. "So. As you probably figured out from diving into that book—" she motioned toward it, the old leather tome still resting on the table— "I'm you. Or rather, you're me. Same soul. Different time. Different body."

I blinked. "…What?"

She didn't wait for the confusion to bloom. "Let me guess. Big, ever-shifting library. Miles of twisting halls. Demons and archivists that speak in riddles and footnotes. A pressure to belong to that library. Coming from someone you're supposed to trust—an aunt, a brother, maybe even your mother?"

My heart thudded. A bit too loudly.

I nodded.

"Good," she said softly. "That makes this easier."

She walked slowly around the table and leaned forward, hands pressed to the polished wood. Her voice dropped an octave. "I'm hunting the ones who are manipulating that soul of ours. The ones who've been trying to push it toward one fate—over and over again. They've been reshaping reality, nudging us, using books, using plays, dreams, false histories. All to lead us somewhere."

"Somewhere bad," I said quietly.

"Worse than bad." Her eyes locked with mine. "They want to feed you to something. Something old. Something that doesn't care about your name, or mine, or how many versions of you exist. Only the soul. The ink it's made of."

She pointed to my chest. "You're still being written, Alexander. They're not done with you yet."

I stared down at the book, its pages now lifeless. I could still feel Celeste's breath. Still see the dagger.

"And these… manipulators?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper. "They want me to play my part?"

She nodded. "And when the story ends, you won't be you anymore. You'll just be… another verse in their song."

Outside, thunder rolled. The mansion creaked. Something heavy shifted in the walls. Watching. Listening.

But for now, in the candlelight of the tea room, it was just her and me. And the truth we were starting to unravel.

"So… what did you get?" Her voice was laced with genuine curiosity, though her eyes gleamed with something more—expectation, maybe even anticipation.

I sighed and shook my head, running a hand through my hair. "No idea. Haven't checked yet."

"It's over there," she nodded toward the nearby table, where a faint glow still clung to the items I must have brought back with me. "If you don't have the skill to identify them, ask your contracted spirit. That's usually what they're for."

I turned to her, squinting. "Don't you know what skills or skillcubes I have?"

She shrugged, nonchalant. "Nope. While we've probably had the same major events, it's the minor ones that define what you've unlocked. A single different decision? Boom. Different cube. Different branch. Whole different version of 'you.'"

I frowned. "That makes… uncomfortable sense." Then: "Wait. What system are you talking about? To 'discover' skills?"

She grinned like a teacher who was both proud and slightly annoyed at a student asking a basic question. "The system. The one unique to you. Everyone has a personal way of interfacing with their skillcubes. Some people dream their skills. Others hear voices. Some have stat screens, others see tattoos or ghost-script in reflections. You've probably triggered part of it—but not the full version."

I blinked. "That's… incredibly unhelpful."

Her smirk widened. "Welcome to the joy of nonlinear soul convergence."

I narrowed my eyes. "Then how do you know I have a contracted spirit?"

"That one's easy," she said, turning away and grabbing a teacup as if we weren't discussing metaphysical soul trajectories. "It's a major event. A constant. Our soul? It's heavy. Things are drawn to it. Some want to bind us. Some want to serve. And the ones that choose to contract… they will never forget."

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she added, more casually, "By the way, I've been thinking. Since we're technically the same person, this whole name thing is going to get messy real fast."

I raised an eyebrow. "You are Alexandria."

"Sure. But that's too formal. Too historical. If we're gonna be doing this whole tangled-soul investigation thing together, we need something simpler. Cleaner." She tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "You stay Alex. I'll be Ria. Just for us. Deal?"

I stared at her. This person—this reflection—had already accepted me in a way that was eerie, comforting, and deeply disorienting. After a beat, I nodded.

"Deal."

"Good," Ria said, lifting her teacup with a wink. "Now go see what the book left behind, Alex. Gifts from a cursed narrative always come with fine print."

Three items sat arranged in a near-perfect triangle atop the velvet cloth of the table. Each one seemed to hum with a weight far beyond its material shape, artifacts dredged from the story of The Dagger and The Dancer. Ria had placed them with care, but there was no mistaking the reverence in the air—or the danger.

The first was a mask—its porcelain smooth surface was eerily reflective, like it had remembered every face it had ever worn. The sight of it alone made me wince, my fingers twitching with the phantom sensation of Lucien's fractured grief.

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Next, a dagger—shattered into three jagged segments, its hilt still humming with residual energy. It was less intimidating broken… but something about that made it worse. Like a story interrupted just before the final act.

And lastly, a silken cord. Soft and midnight black, threaded with silver veins of light that pulsed like veins. It ended in a weighted knot—a dancer's weapon, coiled like a serpent waiting to unspool.

"I know you're about to ask, Sire," Lumivis said, folding his gloved hands with a flicker of dry amusement. "So allow me to save us both time and breath."

He motioned to each object in turn with theatrical precision.

"Yes. That is the Mask of the Familiar Stranger. You'll find full details in your Gloss—when you're ready to suffer through it. The broken dagger? That's the original blade from the play. Still cursed. Still dangerous. Just—fractured. You're welcome, by the way. And this—" he gestured at the coiled rope like it offended him personally, "—is known as the Dancer's Dervish. Technically a weapon. Practically a liability. But, as you've yet to select a melee style, it's… a choice, I suppose."

His distaste was almost charming.

I opened my Gloss, and like a breath of stale, arcane air, the text spilled across my vision.

Mask of the Familiar Stranger Type: Artifact (Eyes Slot)

ADMIN WARNING: USER NOT REGISTERED FOR ARTIFACT SLOT RECOGNITION. OVERRIDE GRANTED — Authorization: Number 87

Primary Effects:

Identity Reset:

Upon being worn, all skills are sealed. User is reset to a "neutral" state.

Familiarity Engine:

Every sealed skill is converted into

Familiarity Points

(FP).

FP can be spent to unlock skills for the first time.

FP is gained upon defeating monsters, Visitors, Others, or awakened individuals

while wearing the mask

.

You may spend FP to learn any skill you have

observed

.

Secondary Effects:

The mask can mimic the appearance and style of any mask previously seen.

Default appearance: A half-mask covering the upper face, ridged across the brow and nose, echoing the Stranger's haunting gaze.

I exhaled slowly, then turned to the final item. The Dervish. I could already feel its tempo, a rhythm waiting to erupt.

"Let's see what your problem with this one is, Lumi," I muttered, pulling up its Gloss entry.

Classification: Unique Weapon – Flexible/Bladed Hybrid Binding: Soulforged. Currently attuned to: Alexander Duarte Origin: Manifested during the final act of The Dagger and the Dancer Durability: Cannot be reforged, repaired, or replaced. Will mend itself only through narrative closure, or time.

Primary Traits

Weightless Until Wielded

Inert form exerts no weight. Activates upon wielding, dynamically adjusting weight to match momentum and intent.

Responds as an extension of will—moves like silk, strikes like lead when rhythm is found.

Elegance Made Weapon

Attacks with the Dervish are classified as

Graceful

. Predictive defenses are weakened against it.

Successful strikes emit auditory ghost notes—a phantom applause or music felt but not heard. Can disrupt enemy focus.

Strikes Without Malice

Cannot kill unless the wielder wills it with absolute clarity. Emotionally compromised or unstable strikes will divert.

Prolonged use bestows

Moment of Stillness

(1x daily): Clears mind-affecting effects and restores emotional clarity.

Symbol of Release

Enemies defeated by the Dervish experience

Curtainfall

: a fleeting, beautiful memory that eases their pain and fear.

Unlocks

Bow to the Silence

(1x daily): A ribbon-flourish that halts all non-hostile movement briefly, as if time itself drew breath. Useful for parley, passage, or poetic exit.

[LOCKED EFFECT DETECTED] → Final Bloom

Condition unknown. No further data. Suspected to trigger upon conclusion of an unresolved performance.

NOTE from Lumivis: Sire. While I find this weapon dramatically inefficient in the face of, say, a halberd, I must admit—it is beautiful. She gave this to you not out of duty, but grace. I recommend you wield it with the same.

"You said that using this weapon was a choice…" Alexander murmured, staring at the jagged shards laid before him, the broken dagger that called to him with its unsettling power. "But it seems like it has already chosen me."

Lumivis's voice was laced with quiet disapproval. "Yes, as I said, using it is a choice. A choice I would not recommend, given its unwieldy and inefficient design. It is an unstable thing to wield, especially in its current state. But it's yours now—whether you like it or not."

Alexander frowned, his gaze shifting to the shards. Despite Lumivis's reservations, the dagger seemed to beckon him with a quiet, undeniable pull. "But why bring it up at all if it's such a burden?" he asked, more to himself than to Lumivis.

"Because, once you freed it from its prison, it became yours," Lumivis replied, his tone flat. "There's no turning back now. And unless you want to leave your deal with the King of Rats unfinished, you'll need to make a decision about the dagger. It's broken, yes, but its power remains intact. You'd best deal with it sooner rather than later."

Alexander exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of his choices settle over him. Despite his reluctance, he knew what needed to be done. "Right. If it's a choice, I'll make it."

With a grim resolve, he stepped forward, picking up the pieces of the dagger.

[GLOSS UPDATE: ARTIFACT IDENTIFIED] Artifact: Shattered Dagger – The Blade of Truth Classification: Legendary Weapon – Dagger Binding: Mortal Will – Requires the wielder's full acceptance to wield Origin: Forged in an ancient, forgotten time; shattered by a single, irrevocable act of sacrifice Durability: Fragile, cannot be repaired. Each shard has only one use before dissolving into miasma.

Primary Effects:

The Blade of Truth

Anything done with this dagger—whether it's an act of sacrifice, murder, or creation—becomes an undeniable truth. The weapon ensures that no matter the intent, the consequences are irrefutable. Whatever is done with it becomes a marked truth in the world, a reality that cannot be undone.

Each action performed with this blade leaves behind an indelible truth that reshapes reality. The wielder's heart must align with the act to make it resonate as absolute truth.

Sacrificial Perfection

When used in a sacrificial act, the dagger guarantees its completion. No sacrifice can be "failed" or undone.

The act of sacrifice becomes absolute: what is given is gone forever, and what is taken is irrevocably altered. The consequences of the sacrifice are permanent.

Art of Truth

Every act performed with the dagger is transformed into

true art

. It could be murder, creation, or violence—whatever is done with this blade is forever etched into the fabric of reality as a work of art.

The Dagger elevates the significance of every act, turning it into something monumental, something that will be remembered forever. What is done becomes an enduring part of the world, immortalized as art, not just action.

The Unspoken Deal

Each use of the Dagger binds the wielder to an unspoken deal. The terms are sealed in blood and truth, and though the wielder may not know the cost beforehand, they will always find it out once the act is complete.

The deal exacts a toll on the user, taking a part of them each time the dagger is wielded. Every action comes with a price, and the cost is never small.

[LOCKED EFFECT DETECTED] Echoes of the Final Choice

Condition unknown. Rumors suggest that the dagger will demand a final reckoning from its wielder—a choice of irreversible consequence. The cost of this final decision remains unclear, but it will change everything.

NOTE from Lumivis: Sire. Now, your decision awaits. You could offer this dagger to the King of Rats to fulfill your end of the deal—he may be pleased with its destructive nature, it's undeniable truths. Or perhaps you will keep it for yourself, wielding its power in the days to come. But mark my words: there is a price to every use of this blade, and that price will weigh heavy on you.

Lock it away, and you may delay the inevitable, but the dagger's power is not something that can be forgotten. The final choice remains with you, but understand this: nothing done with this weapon can ever be undone, and it will shape your fate in ways you cannot yet comprehend. Choose wisely, Sire.

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