ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
"Before we go any further, I need you to promise me something."
We had hardly taken a step through the door when Raamiz turned to face me. His expression was stern—the kind he only wore when something truly mattered. His amber eyes always shifted with his mood, and right now, they burned with purpose.
"I'm not making any promises until I hear what it is," I said with a soft smile.
"But given everything you've done for me, there's a good chance I'll agree to it." I added with a wink.
Raamiz looked up at the ceiling for a moment, offering no verbal response. Then, without a word, he walked over to the bed and collapsed onto it with a sigh. I quietly pulled a chair from his desk and placed it across from him, sitting down so we were face to face. He rested his chin on his hands, clearly turning something over in his head.
I've known for a while that something's been eating at Raamiz. He hides it well, but every so often, the tension slips through the cracks.
It was about two weeks ago when I first noticed something was off. At first, I thought it was just the lead-up to the Prose Summit. But it became clear pretty quickly—that wasn't what was on his mind. Not really.
Tonight confirmed it. It was unlike Raamiz to ignore something as enticing as spying on noble aristocrats—and even stranger to leave it entirely to me, with no plan at all.
Something else is happening in Mahindra.
Something that, for Raamiz, matters more than anything I'm dealing with.
I think I have a decent idea of what it might be—but no matter how many times I've brought attention to it, Raamiz still won't give me a straight answer.
"Hmm, promises, eh." Raamiz gave a quiet chuckle. "Funny—I'm here asking you for promises when I haven't even fulfilled all of mine to you."
My eyebrows lifted slightly. Was he serious? What was he getting at?
"I don't really understand what you mean. You've stood by me through everything—you don't owe me anything."
"You say that," he murmured, "but still. I don't like failing to deliver on my promises."
As he said it, his expression darkened. A shadow passed through his amber eyes.
"And lately, it feels like I've been failing more than I'd like to admit."
I leaned forward slightly.
"Raamiz, don't be cryptic. Just tell me what's going on."
His eyes shifted—no longer guarded, but pleading.
"Look, Zeliot… as much as I hate to say this—I need your help."
"Help with what?"
Raamiz looks up to the ceiling for a second as if contemplating if he should actually speak. His mouth was twitching and mumbling small incomprehensible words to himself. Then he suddenly looked back at me.
"I have a plan on how to trick Alba."
A confused look appears on my face. It was hard to tell where this conversation was going—he seemed like he was rambling.
"Raamiz, you're jumping all over the place…"
"Let me finish. I have a point to make."
I open my mouth to respond but Raamiz's expression made me close it.
It was clear he was stone cold serious.
"Like I said, I have a plan on how to trick Alba. But if we're going to go through with this plan—if I'm going to help you execute it, and believe me, you'll need my help—then I'm going to be selfish."
He paused, distinctly keeping his eyes on me.
"I need you to forget any ideas or objectives you had for the Prose Summit. Forget about my mother. Forget about investigating who's trying to assassinate you. I want you to forget about the Summit entirely."
"What? You were telling me just hours ago that this was a good opportunity to learn and gather intel. What's changed?"
"I've realized something," Raamiz said quietly. He twiddled his thumbs together as he continued to talk.
"I always try to make plans assuming I can carry them out alone. That way, I tell myself, I can minimize risk."
He looked up at me.
"At least, that's what I've convinced myself."
"The truth is—I find it hard to trust people. I keep information to myself like a shield. It makes me paranoid, but it also gives me a strange kind of comfort."
He let out a long exhale and slumped back into his chair.
"But this time... things have to be different."
"I've been lying to myself—not just about minimizing risk, but about who those risks affect. If I stay in this mindset, someone else will get hurt. And I won't let that happen."
"So I'm asking—no, I'm telling you—I need your help, Zeliot. Not for me. For someone else."
I looked at Raamiz intently, studying his face to see what his eyes might say behind the words. There was, of course, that intense stare—clear proof of how much this meant to him. But behind it was something softer. A kind of pleading I'd rarely, if ever, seen from Raamiz. At least not this genuinely.
After a few quiet moments, I glanced up at the ceiling and let out a soft chuckle. Raamiz tilted his head, caught off guard.
"What's so funny? I'm being serious, Zeliot."
"Oh, it's nothing," I replied with a grin. "I just find you funny, that's all. The way you act, the way you talk about yourself—you're a person of contradictions, Raamiz."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, first you say you're being selfish—but then you tell me you need my help not for yourself, but to help someone else. Doesn't sound very selfish to me. Then you claim you don't trust people, but I've spent months, even years, with you—and that's clearly not true. Even just today proves that."
"I—I am being selfish by asking for your help! Helping me means throwing away your own goals—that is selfish! And you don't know everything, Zeliot—I've been keeping things from you for a long time. So don't just assume—"
Raamiz looked flustered, his voice catching as he stammered for a response.
"Can you honestly say you've kept things from me because you don't trust me?" I raised an eyebrow, letting a coy smirk slip. "Or is it because you're trying to protect me?"
Raamiz opened his mouth, paused, then sighed. No words came.
"Honestly, Raamiz, if anyone's been selfish in this room, it's me, not you. And from my perspective, you trust the people who've earned that trust."
Raamiz, defiantly, still fought back with the little he had.
"That's just you," he muttered. "You're most of the time the exception. It doesn't change—"
I cut him off with the finishing blow.
"So… is this other person you're trying to help also an exception?"
He gawked at me, then shut his mouth again without a word. I had read him perfectly. My smile continued to grow.
"Tsk tsk." I waved a finger at him. "Too many exceptions, Raamiz—and you're not talking about exceptions anymore. You're talking about contradictions. And like I said—you're full of those."
I leaned forward in my chair, pressing Raamiz a little. He met my gaze.
"So, in the end, it's as simple as this: Just like you're trusting me by telling me this, I trust that you truly need my help. And as your brother—no, as your friend—how could I turn that down?"
A couple of seconds passed. Raamiz put his hands to his face and exhaled with a heavy sigh.
"You could've just said, 'Yes, I'll help.' I liked it better when you couldn't hold your ground and I got to do all the teasing."
I chuckled. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."
"I guess you've earned the right. We'll have to postpone your little assassination investigation," Raamiz said with a mock sigh. "Tragic, really."
"You'll have to live with the guilt," I muttered. "Not that I had much of a plan anyway. Regardless, I'm honestly more curious about this whole Alba thing."
"Speaking of Alba," I added, shooting him a sideways glance, "are you ever going to explain this plan you keep teasing?"
"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," Raamiz replied, matching my look with one of his own.
I answered in kind—with a glare so sharp it could cut through stone.
Raamiz rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll lay it out—before I get into the other stuff."
He stood up with an exaggerated grunt.
"Zeliot, you see that clock behind you?"
I turned around to see a rather inconspicuous clock ticking the time away—a circular, brass-rimmed fixture with exposed gears behind a glass pane and smooth black hands gliding over a dark wooden face. I realized upon looking at it that the time had escaped me tonight—it was nearly midnight.
"Yeah, what about it? Does it have to do with Alba in some way?"
"You'll see. I need you to go over to it, and open up the glass panel. Give it a look."
Obediently, I walked over to the clock, reaching for the latch at the base of the glass panel. It clicked open with a soft snap. I peeled it back gently and peered inside.
Nothing. Just the standard arrangement of gears and cogs. A fine mechanism, sure, but nothing really stood out about it. I glanced back over my shoulder.
"What exactly am I supposed to be seeing here?"
Raamiz raised an eyebrow. "Have you not noticed? Take a closer look."
I turned back to the clock, narrowing my eyes as I leaned in.
The inner workings were exposed in full—cogwheels turning in sync, the balance wheel oscillating steadily, each part meshing with the next in perfect timing. But something felt off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at first, but then—
Wait.
My eyes moved from the escapement to the mainspring housing. That was the problem. There wasn't one.There wasn't a coil, nor a keyhole. And wait…there wasn't a counterweight either. Basically there was nothing that would power the mechanism. No visible source of energy. And yet—
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It kept running, smooth as ever. I stared at it for a moment longer, then slowly stepped back.
"…How is this thing even running?"
Behind me, I heard Raamiz let out a satisfied breath. "Take a guess."
I didn't answer right away. My mind was still parsing through every piece of its anatomy—every wheel, axle, pivot, and pinion. It was a closed system, its process fully self-contained. The craftsmanship was exact, the components in perfect alignment. Mechanically, it was a beautiful clock. And also—entirely impossible.
Unless—
I turned back to him. "Raamiz… is this magic?"
His wry smirk returned. "Yes, Zeliot. Yes it is."
My eyes lit up. A grin broke across my face—so wide it felt like it might fall off. This was magic. Real magic. Not the quiet, sterile healing spells I'd seen used on me. No, this was something else. This was the kind of magic people whispered about but never got to see. And now it was right here, ticking away on the wall like it had always belonged there.
I stepped forward again, practically glowing. "This is incredible."
Raamiz walked up beside me, hands tucked in his sleeves, watching my reaction with a faint, amused smile. "Pretty cool, isn't it?"
I spun toward him, eyes still alight. "How did you get your hands on this thing? What kind of magic is it? Is this your magic? Can you control it? Does it do more? Wait—how long have you even had this?"
Raamiz raised an eyebrow. "Easy, brother."
I held back the dozen other questions forming in my head and let him speak.
He paused, then answered calmly. "It was a gift given to me around two years ago. A birthday present from a friend."
"And now you just casually have a magical clock hanging in your room?"
Raamiz shot me an irritated look but didn't bother answering the question directly.
"Regarding whether it is me controlling it, I don't know how to use magic," he said, brushing it off. "This has nothing to do with me. It's just a magical tool—an object imbued with a spell to serve a particular function."
I looked back at the clock, then back at him. "And that function is… telling time?"
"I mean," I muttered to myself, "having a magical item is cool and all, but it feels kinda... underwhelming. Incredibly complex magical engineering for punctuality?"
Raamiz smirked, then stepped forward. "No, no. That's just one of its functions."
He reached up and turned the clock hands, gently and deliberately moving the small one to six, and the long one to twelve.
Tick.
"Six twelve, huh…" I murmured.
I squinted at the dial. The moment lingered—one tick, then another—and then it hit me.
That's Raamiz's birthday.
Of course it is.
I turned slowly toward him. "Wait… that's your birthday."
And as I said that, a low rumble rolled through the floor beneath us. The wall shuddered. I took a step back instinctively.
The clock began to shift—metal gears retracting, wooden panels folding and realigning. A soft hum pulsed from its center as components rotated inward, rearranging with uncanny precision. Small notches spun like tumblers in a lock, until finally—
Click.
A keyhole slid into view at the center of the clock's face. The whole structure had reshaped itself into a narrow arched doorway embedded within the wall.
I just stood there, stunned. My brain hadn't caught up yet.
"…What was that?" I finally asked.
Raamiz's smirk deepened. "That, Zeliot, was the clock's real function. To hide this."
I turned to look back at the door—smooth, dark wood now embedded cleanly into the wall, with faint traces of the clock's old gearwork still etched into its surface. The outline was subtle, almost flush with the wall, save for the brass keyhole glinting near the center. It was less like a door and more a collection of puzzle pieces that had clicked perfectly into place.
All I could do was shake my head with a quiet chuckle. "Gods… that is cool."
"If you think this is cool," Raamiz said, fishing a small silver key from his pocket, "wait until you go inside."
He stepped forward, slid the key into the lock, and with a satisfying turn and soft click, pushed the door open.
Raamiz took a step back and extended his hands in a mockingly formal gesture, inviting me to go first. Before I take a step inside, I cautiously peer into the tunnel that had been brought to life before us.
"After all that bluster about trust, Zeliot, you mean to tell me you don't trust me enough to stroll through a suspicious, vaguely terrifying tunnel I just conjured out of thin air?"
Raamiz must have noticed the hesitation in my face. I turned toward him—his expression glowing with that signature wry smirk, clearly enjoying himself.
"What is this?" I managed to say.
"I'll explain on the way," he replied smoothly. "Don't worry. It's nothing dangerous."
I peer back into the eerie burrow, take a deep breath, and step into it.
I don't have to look back to know Raamiz is following. His quiet chuckle echoes off the stone behind me.
After a few steps, he comes up beside me, grabbing a torch from a metal bracket on the opposite wall. Without saying a word, he raises it and gives a short wave—casting light through the narrow passage.
The tunnel wasn't earthen like I expected. It didn't feel like we were underground. The walls were smooth, fitted stone—cleanly cut and tightly set. The floor beneath our feet was tiled in narrow slabs of slate, worn only slightly by time. This wasn't a cave or a secret cellar. It was something deliberately constructed.
We were in the walls of the Valorian Estate… somewhere hidden within its bones.
What the hell is this...
As if reading my mind, Raamiz spoke.
"I can tell from that look on your face you're wondering what this is," he said as we walked forward, the torchlight flickering across his face.
"Well, I'm guessing this is a secret passageway that leads somewhere," I replied.
"What an astute observation, Zeliot," Raamiz replied mockingly.
Annoyed, I shot Raamiz a glare. Raamiz replied with a light chuckle.
"Anyways, were you the one who created this whole… thing?" I asked, not even sure what to call this oddly crafted passage.
"Did I have anything to do with this construction? Sadly, I have to inform you I did not."
Weirdly, he sounded almost proud to admit it.
"The truth is, throughout the castle—and the estate as a whole—there seem to be a lot of these secret passageways and hidden rooms."
"Really? How do you know that?"
"You'll see in a moment or two."
And as if reality had been eavesdropping, the tunnel bent sharply—and then opened. A narrow band of light stretched across the stone as we stepped into a room.
It was compact, slightly smaller than my bedrooms, but not by much. At the center stood a wide wooden table, worn at the edges, with a map unfurled across it—held down by a dagger at one corner and a candlestick at the other. Storage crates lined one wall, while an odd collection of items decorated the space: a rack of weapons, a few fancy pieces of jewelry hanging from hooks, and tucked into the far corner, the strangest addition of all—a bed.
"Huh. So all this is just for your ideal nap spot?" I asked, gesturing toward the bed with a raised brow.
Raamiz looked around theatrically, eyes lingering on the dust in the corners and the musty stone walls.
"Oh absolutely," he said with a grin. "Nothing quite screams luxury like a bed tucked inside a glorified broom closet. Really clears the mind."
I rolled my eyes and gave the room another once-over. I waited for him to offer some kind of real explanation of the bed and glanced at him—but he remained silent. Whatever. There were more interesting things to look at anyway.
My gaze settled on the central table, drawn to the map spread across it. I stepped closer.
It was a 3D map—well, something close to one. Slightly raised diagrams gave depth to what otherwise would've been a simple blueprint. I immediately recognized familiar areas: the corridor leading to my quarters, the main training yard, the east wing balcony. It was impressively accurate. Every wing, hallway, and chamber laid out in perfect proportion. But, other than that, it just seemed like a normal map.
At least, that's how it appeared.
But it was never that simple with Raamiz. I mean, he had just revealed a magical clock embedded in his bedroom wall.
I narrowed my eyes. "Raamiz… is this map more than just simple parchment?"
He tilted his head, playing the fool. "Oh? Whatever do you mean?"
I gave him a flat look. "You know exactly what I mean."
He chuckled, giving up immediately on the act. "What gave it away?"
"Basic logic. And intuition," I replied. "Mainly the part where you said there were other hidden passages in the estate—implying you had some way of finding them. And lo and behold, there's a massive map of the estate sitting here in your secret hideout."
Raamiz let out a faint sigh, a touch of exaggerated sadness in his voice. "Well, when you put it that way… you really do ruin all the fun, don't you?"
"Yeah. So…" I leaned in, grabbing the edge of the map and examining it closely. "How does this thing work? It's magical, right? Does it, I don't know… change to reveal more of the estate? Like secret passages or something? Do I have to say some special phrase to activate it? Abra cadabra?"
Raamiz narrowed his eyes, lips twitching. "What was that?"
I looked up. "Uhh. Don't worry about it."
"Huh," he muttered, still smirking. "Anyway, you don't need to chant anything—but you're close. How about I show you… after we talk about the real business?"
I sighed. "Fair enough."
Raamiz placed his hands on the table, leaning into it.
"First, let's discuss our plan with Alba."
I nodded.
"We're going to create a rumor in Mahindra," he said.
"A rumor?" I repeated.
"Yes. Or something to that effect. It needs to be something the Duke knows is false, but still casts you in a bad light. Bad enough that Alba becomes a believable suspect for having started it."
The logic was sound. There was a perceived competition between us for succession—it wouldn't be strange for someone to think he was trying to discredit me.
"Something like… Duchess Amelia and her bastard son are foreign spies?" I offered.
Raamiz smiled. "Exactly. That's perfect."
"Okay… so how do we actually spread this rumor? We can't just shout it around like the town crier."
"No, of course not," he said. "We want as little connection to the note as possible. I know a third party who can handle the job."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is this third party trustworthy?"
"Hardly. But he owes me… and this job won't be difficult. He doesn't need to shout it from the rooftops. He just has to let the right ears hear it—and the Duke definitely has spies in the capital with their ears to the ground for this sort of thing."
I crossed my arms. "So when Father hears about this rumor out of nowhere, you think he'll go after Alba immediately? And if he does, how are we supposed to gather information?"
"I can almost guarantee he'll confront Alba. He's the only one he can immediately question. And once that happens, Alba will almost certainly come straight to you."
"And that's when I have to hope he shows his hand."
"Exactly. I doubt we'll get anything definitive to confirm whether we can trust him or not… but it's the only shot we have at getting something."
I nodded slowly. "I don't disagree. It's a solid plan with the cards we've got. But… there's one final thing. When Alba confronts me, I need to act clueless, right? Or at least let him think he has the upper hand? People only show their real intentions when they feel like they're in control."
Raamiz gave a half-smile. "I had the same exact thought. And I've already got a solution cooked up. But… it's up to you whether you want to go through with it."
"Get to the point," I said.
"If you look at the walls in this room, you'll notice a few items."
I glanced over and gave a slight nod.
"Well, if you were able to guess that this map in front of you is magical, then you should be able to guess what the rest of these are."
"These are all magical tools?" I asked.
"Yep." Raamiz walked to the wall and took down a necklace set with a dark red ruby. "This one right here… it can store and manipulate memories."
My eyes widened. "Wait—what?"
"Yeah. Pretty crazy. I've never actually used it, but I know it works."
He held the necklace up, letting the ruby catch the light.
"There are a few rules," he continued. "It only works if both people agree to it. Both have to say the activation phrase—don't worry, I'm not about to say it right now. It has a limited memory capacity. Max it can hold is three days."
"That's more than enough," I said. "So we use it to wipe the memory of this conversation?"
Raamiz nodded. "Exactly. We tweak what you remember. You'll think you've been focused on prepping for the Capital visit and following through on some other plan—a false one. The real plan—this—gets tucked away."
"And the memories come back?"
"If I'm not wearing the ruby necklace for six hours, yeah. Your memories will return exactly as they were."
I stared at the gem for a long second, then looked back up at him.
"…Let's do it."
Raamiz let out a light chuckle and shook his head. "That didn't take much convincing. But I shouldn't be surprised."
"If this plan is going to be worth anything, we have to take every measure that can help us," I replied.
"I don't disagree. Still…"
He trailed off. Clearly, there was something else he wanted to say, but he decided against saying it.
"So… is that it?" I asked. "When we activate it, am I going to be confused about why I'm even in this weird hideout? Will I lose my memories right away?"
"Yeah. The activation is immediate. But don't worry—we'll do it back in my actual room. I'll adjust the memories to make everything make sense."
"Alright. I'm ready when you are."
I turned toward the tunnel to head back up—only for Raamiz's voice to stop me.
"Zeliot. Wait."
There was a shift in his tone. Serious.
I turned back around. "What is it?"
"There's still something I need to discuss with you. Something I need your help with."
I shook my head, almost embarrassed. "Right. Sorry."
"It's fine," he said with a sigh. Raamiz took a few steps away from the table and turned his back to me. His foot started tapping—quick, restless. He was nervous.
"To keep a long story short, Zeliot… I need your help saving someone."
I blinked. "…What?"
"You heard me," Raamiz said without turning around.
I stared at his back, trying to piece together if I'd misheard or if he was just being vague on purpose.
"That… that seems like a lot. What do you mean by saving someone? Is their life in danger?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes. If I don't do something at the Prose Summit, this person will most certainly die."
I took a half step forward. "Okay… Who is this person? And why are they in danger?"
Raamiz finally turned to face me. His eyes flicked around the room, landing briefly on the walls, the racks of weapons, the map, the necklace. "You see all these magical tools in this room?"
"Yeah?"
"Every single one of them was given to me by the person I'm trying to save."
That made me pause. Whoever this was, they had serious power—or at least serious connections.
"Really?" I asked. "Who is this guy?"
Raamiz shook his head. "This guy is a girl. And her name is Fys."
He paused, his expression softening.
"And I would do anything to save her."