The words hit like a fist to the stomach.

What?

I stared at the woman, mind reeling, trying to process what I'd just heard.

Dead. They think I'm dead. They held a funeral? Would they not be out there looking for me? They gave up so easily?

The meadow seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

What in the High Priestess's name is going on?

"Joke? YOU'RE THE ONE JOKING!" My voice cracked like a whip. "MY FUNERAL? Happened almost a month ago?" Laughter tore from my throat—. "Are you saying this because you people on the island of the Emperor hate us?"

"No, I say it because it's the truth." The guard's expression remained stone. "Now I'm waiting for your truth. Speak. Who are you?"

"Rayah Vandymion." I took a step forward.

I pushed my tied hands forward and raised them, reaching for my power.

A lattice structure formed in my mind—ice, crystalline and perfect, bearing the bird insignia unique to my family.

Show them.

Prove it.

I pulled.

Nothing.

My fingers trembled. Instead of the Vandymion family insignia, a weak puff of frigid smoke escaped from my sickly fingertips, dissipating into the air.

Too weak. Still too weak.

"What are you trying to do?" The guard's voice hardened. "Bring them in for questioning! We'll get our answers sorted!"

"YOU EXPLAIN YO—" My voice rose to a shriek as I lunged forward.

Pressure erupted against my neck.

Then darkness swallowed everything.

—

ZEPHYR

Rotheart, capital of the island of the Emperor.

Outerwalls.

The cell smelled like mildew and rust. Stone walls wept condensation, and the single barred window high above let in just enough grey light to make the cramped space feel more oppressive than total darkness. A rickety wooden bunkbed sagged against one wall, its frame groaning under the weight of nothing. The floor was packed dirt, stained with things I didn't want to think about.

I sat back on the upper bunk, staring at the ceiling.

That was... entirely unexpected.

I'd planned for complications. I'd even planned for dangerous complications. But that orb? That twisted power radiating from their leader? That hadn't been on my list of variables.

Still. We were inside the city now. Faster than expected, even.

I replayed the events in my mind, analyzing each piece like moves on a chessboard.

Yes, it was I who spread the rumors about us. It was I who enticed that bandit group to attack us. My Temporal Echo had become proficient at whispering rumours in the right ears, and with our appearance as beaten, battered outsiders carrying heavy sacks, it made the story all the more believable to the gullible.

Whether Darren's father had orchestrated the ambush himself or the gang had threatened him into acting as bait, I wasn't sure. In the end, it didn't matter. All roads led to the same outcome.

I'd left my wooden arm exposed deliberately. Anyone with eyes would see it and draw the obvious conclusion: a man missing his left arm either had his arcane energy severed or would never awaken it. But I was a rare exception. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that someone had cut it when I was young—deliberately, to prevent my arcane awakening. Perhaps an enemy of 'my' family, the Original Zephyr never knew.

I had theories, but no proof. Only useless speculation.

Regardless.

I'd wanted to kill those bandits. It was a chance to raise the aptitude of my Temporal Echo, to let that hourglass trickle forward just a little more.

The fight would also attract the guards, allowing us faster entry into the city through interrogation rather than camping outside the capital's doors for days, waiting like refugees.

Another option would have been to approach a guard and tell them about Rayah's identity, but that would have skipped out on my arcane spirit's progression.

The more we waited outside, the more dangerous it would become.

We needed to get inside these walls as quickly as possible. Within the city stood an ancient barrier produced by an artifact—one that blocked not only monsters but outside disturbances. I'd theorized it would also suppress my unique property, the arcane energy leakage that drew unwanted attention.

What I hadn't expected was for that bandit leader to possess that orb.

What was it? The question gnawed at me. It felt odd, wrong in a way I couldn't articulate. In a sense, it felt like my Ki… Similar but not similar to arcane energy, as if it did not belong to this world as well…

We'd almost died because of it.

Was this due to me breaking my chains and allowing my arcane energy to leak once again? I pondered.

I sighed, the sound echoing in the small cell.

At least things had worked out in the end.

I had already had my turn to be interrogated. They used that same lie detector orb; it truly was widespread on Sanctum, and I was cleared of suspicion. I also explained the situation about the prison, how we escaped, as well as how we got everything within our bags, so I had to explain the village destruction as well.

All truthful. All carefully framed. I did not leave out the fact that it was I who was the reason behind the prison escape success.

Now it was Rayah's turn. I waited here for her return.

She'd probably figured out by now that most of this had been my doing. I'd been in a rush, deliberately glossing over certain details—like how the bandits knew we carried valuables in our packs. If she asked, I'd simply say it was a way to skip the line into the city. Not a lie, after all. It should all be fine.

"Your family will not come."

Arthur's words echoed in my mind.

"Your funeral was held just under a month ago."

The scarred guard's voice followed right after.

I had a feeling something like this would happen… I had my own theories, but I was not dumb enough to voice them.

I was certain Rayah would come up with her own reasons

Why would her parents so quickly pronounce her dead? And why had Arthur been so adamant about her family not coming to the prison? His suspicion had proven fact in the end.

Rayah's mental state was... unique. I'd recognized that from the moment we locked eyes in that cell.

This whole time, my brain itched.

The sensation crawled beneath my skull like insects burrowing through grey matter. The original Zephyr was anxious about Rayah—I could feel his worry bleeding through the cracks between us.

"Speak to me, damn it!" I whispered to the empty cell. "And stop being worried! She'll be fine!"

The pain subsided slightly.

But still no response. There never was.

I sighed again, deeper this time.

I'll have to be more careful from now on…

Systems given by powerful beings whom I made an enemy of…

Someone powerful enough to destroy that leviathan so close to this city…

The mysterious space of towers with that voice that I have not been able to manifest again…

What was the prison warden doing? Was she still after us?

I wonder where Arthur disappeared to, if he was still even alive.

Samsara as well…

Have other survivors also made it to this city?

What will this city have to offer? If we even stay for long and not be forced back to the island of the priestess…

Was Nina safe?

I wondered.

I wondered about it all.

The questions multiplied, branching like tree roots in my mind.

In the end, I landed on one point:

I must reach the second act. As fast as possible.

—

GUARD LEADER

Rotheart, capital of the island of the Emperor.

Outerwalls.

Telegraph office.

There's no way. There's no way!

My hands shook as I gripped the desk, knuckles white against weathered wood.

That girl really was the youngest daughter of the Vandymions. The lie detector had confirmed it beyond any doubt. And after we'd healed her illness, she'd produced the unique insignia in ice—weak, yes, but unmistakable. The frost bird pattern unique to their bloodline.

There was no denying it.

I disrespected her. Called her a liar. Knocked her unconscious.

Horror churned in my gut. My career was over. Possibly my life, depending on how vindictive the Vandymions felt.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I wanted to slam my head against the wall until the mortification stopped.

I'd heard about the prison escape prior—several children pronounced missing or dead from all over Sanctum suddenly showing up alive and injured, appearing out of nowhere like ghosts. But Rayah Vandymion had been the most high-profile case of all. Her death had been confirmed. Her funeral had been held with dignitaries from across the islands.

That was why I'd been ninety-nine percent certain the girl was lying.

Well. The one percent had come true.

I'd wasted no time sending a telegraph all the way to the neighboring island of the priestess. The message had cost a small fortune in priority fees, but what else could I do?

I had no idea how to proceed. I didn't want the responsibility of announcing to the world that the youngest daughter of the Vandymions was alive—nor did I have the authority. Acting on my own could trigger political complications I couldn't even begin to fathom. Territory disputes. Succession questions. Accusations of conspiracy.

The door burst open.

"Ma'am! We received a message back from—"

"Give me that!" My heart leapt from my chest as I snatched the paper from the messenger's hands.

My eyes devoured the words:

"Lord Vandymion is currently not home and will not be home for a very long time. I am a simple servant, but I did send him a message on your behalf. He is most certainly elated. Oh, the pure joy! To think the people who kidnapped our young heir had left a dead body in the desert identical to her DNA was something we had not foreseen. We will not be able to come and retrieve her currently due to our present situation. What that situation entails is none of your concern. But we urge you to keep her in your custody for now. Keep her safe and flourishing, to see the world outside Galica. No need to keep her identity a secret, but also no need to announce it; let her decide. That prison island scandal had already spread widely throughout Sanctum, and our lord's daughter being a victim would not be surprising. After all, many were after her. In the end, do as you see fit.

Butler Gerad, Servant of the Vandymion Family"

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

They're not coming for her?

Relief and confusion warred in my chest. On one hand, I wasn't about to face Lord Vandymion's wrath personally. On the other hand...

What kind of family doesn't immediately retrieve their supposedly dead daughter? Something crazy must be going down on the island of The Priestess!

Something was wrong here. Deeply, fundamentally wrong.

But that wasn't my problem to solve.

I had my orders: keep her safe, keep her in custody, do as I saw fit.

At least I wouldn't be executed for striking a noble.

Small mercies.

I folded the telegraph carefully and tucked it into my uniform pocket, already mentally preparing the reports I'd need to file.

What a mess.

But at least I'd live to see tomorrow.

Maybe...

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