The council chamber was quiet but charged, the air thick with the weight of authority and expectation. Overhead were fluorescent LED panel lights that didn't make the tension any less tight. The table ran twice as long as I expected, carved and scarred from a hundred meetings, and the high-backed chairs swallowed the men and women who sat in them like bodies settling into armor.
At the head of the table sat Mrs. Claw, composed as a statue—the highest authority of Lotus Fang. Her obsidian-dark eyes cut through the room like blades, framed by short, silver hair as sharp as her reputation. Wolf fangs dangled from delicate silver chains at her ears, matching the brooch on her chest: a lotus blooming from a wolf fang, the union's sigil. Her long, black coat, with its high collar and pointed hem, embroidered with creeping silver lotuses and vines, crafted the perfect look of beauty and danger. Slim white trousers and sleek black boots completed the impression. Just like the symbol represents, she is powerful in her elegance.
To her right sat Sir Haejin—broad-shouldered, blunt, the sort of man who looked ready to launch a fleet at a moment's notice. While very passionate and determined, I've noticed from past meetings that he can be a bit of a hothead. Leader of the Crimson Thorn and a branch of the nation's navy, he wore authority like armor. A double-breasted crimson coat trimmed in gold split asymmetrically at the hem, its dramatic lapels and cuffs flickering with embroidered tongues of gold-and-ember fire that seemed to smolder when he moved. A cream cravat softened the sharp lines, but only barely. Fitted black trousers and polished boots echoed the same palette, while a gold emblem of a warship with roses for cannons glinted on his chest beside the brooch of his union—a rose engulfed in flame.
And beside them sat Mrs. Kerolii, the presence who had quietly set the investigation in motion—the head of the Defenders Guild. Where Mrs. Claw commanded through tradition, Kerolii carried the weight of law itself. She wore a midnight-blue gown that flowed like the night sky, sprinkled with silver constellations that caught the light with every subtle movement. The sleeves fanned out like raven wings, their tips fading to steel blue, mirrored in the collar's elegant trim. Along the edges of the cascading skirt, fine steel-blue feathers traced a path of quiet authority. At her throat, a thick black necklace bore the emblem of the Defenders Guild: a silver-and-steel-blue shield with silver wings, a symbol of both protection and command.
They were the three powerhouses of Ryushen—names spoken with a mix of respect and apprehension. Officially, none of them were S-rank, yet in sheer skill and influence, they stood unmatched. Whispers drifted through every guildhall that their ranks had been deliberately concealed, their true strength hidden so as not to provoke or alarm neighboring nations. Rumors, perhaps… but I couldn't entirely dismiss them. Watching them now, seated together in one room, I could feel their presence pressing against me like an invisible tide. Each of them radiated an authority that could rival any defender I'd ever seen—even me—and for the first time in a long while, I felt the weight of being measured in return.
Suddenly, I could feel their eyes land on me. Their gazes felt heavy. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Mrs. Claw had hired me for this; she had her absolute faith in me… I kept my shoulders steady, but I couldn't help but think of chocolate milk at this moment. Only if…
"Present, Detective Ji-Chon," Mrs. Claw said, her voice demanding attention.
With a nod, I set a folder on the table and opened it for them. Photographs, careful notes, and evidence collected from the ritual site—precisely what the room expected and, I hoped, enough to make them see what I'd seen. I began with the site: the charred heart we'd recovered, the pattern of candles, and the blood script on the wall.
"I believe that there is only one thing this could be: a prophecy. Written in Ancient Tōkaigo," I announced, watching all their faces. Murmurs ran like a current down the table.
I continued with my theory: "As you know, the language is based on magical scrolls that only a handful of researchers can fully translate. So… whoever wrote this has access to that kind of knowledge."
Sir Haejin's jaw flexed. "So, it truly is a big conspiracy… Are you suggesting that someone in our ranks could be in cahoots with this serial killing? All for this so-called prophecy?"
"Well, yes, and…" I responded, "There's more. This ritual seems more like a message to this 'Star' being. That does suggest that, whatever this cult is planning, it's nothing small."
Kerolii folded her hands, listening. When she finally spoke, it was with the voice of someone used to cutting through noise. "I agree. We were originally alerted because these incidents echo another pattern. The Rogue monster. However, this seems to escalate into something more significant. These cultists could be trying to contact the rogue monster for their own gain."
A representative from the Forensic Wing chimed in with restraint. "We detected traces of magical residue on the site. It's subtle but consistent with rituals intended to summon or manipulate energy. Helping your theory, Miss Ji-Chon, this has to mean that this is more than a misguided belief. It's as if they are really trying to summon something!"
The room shifted. One of the younger union leaders, eager and blunt, slammed a fist on the table. "We should hit them hard. Sweep the districts. Arrest anyone with ties to those neighborhoods. Show them consequences."
Mrs. Claw's hand rose, small and precise. "And cause a panic? Force the cult deeper into hiding? No. We must be surgical. This thing uses spectacle. Responding with spectacle hands them exactly what they want."
Kerolii's eyes cut across the table to the young man who'd suggested aggressive raids. "And don't mistake the best of intentions for wisdom," she said. "Forceful action risks civilian casualties. These… rituals are being staged in poor, crowded sectors. If we spook the populace, the cult will bury its work among the chaos. Perhaps causing more damage our eyes won't see."
She turned to me then, her expression unreadable. "Megara, the evidence you recovered is damning. Thank you for bringing this to light." She turned to Mrs. Claw, then back to me, "We brought Lotus Fang into this because we cannot afford missteps. You'll continue fieldwork, yes, but I'm putting you on the advisory thread for containment strategy."
That last sentence landed like a hand on my shoulder. Containment. Of course, after all, I am the S-rank 'wind dancer' or something… I suppose it doesn't matter as long as I get the job done.
Mrs. Claw set her palms flat on the table and looked at each of us in turn. "We will track, contain, and dismantle their operations. We must shield our citizens and uncover their plans."
Sir Haejin grunted. "Then we do both. Intelligence and force. Cleanse the ritual sites, then clean house."
Kerolii's mouth thinned. "No. Cleanse the ritual sites after they are mapped and contained. A brute sweep risks destroying the only clues we have."
The meeting swelled and shrank around procedural minutiae—resource allocation, surveillance teams, and sanctions for leaks. They argued in the language of priorities and risk, a language I had learned to hear above the rhetoric. But beneath it all was a hum of unease: someone—something—knew how we operated.
When the formal part of the meeting wound down, Kerolii called me aside in a way that meant she wanted to be off the record. We stepped into a small alcove lit by a single lamp, the muffled debate of the council like distant waves.
She lowered her voice. "I pulled this into Lotus Fang because I trust them to be thorough. However, there's something else." Her gaze was steady. "I told you the basics before—be careful—but there is one point I have not disclosed publicly."
My skin prickled. "Go on."
She exhaled. "You know of Tristan Bao from your investigation?"
I hesitated, caught off guard with the mention of him. "Um… yeah? Is this about the change in appearance?"
"I believe this is the reason for such a change." She answered, putting her hands behind her back. "One of my staff informed me that they did a verification test for his sudden physical appearance change since he wanted a new Defender Identification card. However, the results weren't normal. His DNA result shifted; it supposedly said he is half human and half something that our technology cannot detect."
"What!?" I gasped; however, Mrs. Kerolii quickly put a hand to my mouth.
"Shush… I am not telling the council this. Not yet. Considering that this may be false information and just a malfunction. However, I worry for you since you will be in proximity to him during questioning. I need you to proceed with discretion. Do learn more for me, but be safe." Mrs. Kerolii took a deep breath as she took her hand from my lips. As she did, my face faded from red.
A thousand tactical calculations ran through me. With the interrogation still ahead, the Tower raid he was in, and the cult's interest in whatever the Star was—if Kerolii was right, the stakes had just doubled. Could Tristan play more of a part than I expected?
I ran through contingencies the way a musician runs scales—fast, precise, each possibility folding into the next: how to steer the questioning, which questions to deflect, and how to call Kerolii if things went sideways. For a second the room narrowed to that list and the printout in my hands; everything else became background noise—the murmur of departing voices, the scrape of chairs. I squared my shoulders as if setting a shield in place and let the professional part of me click into place. Then I closed the file Kerolii had given me, the paper heavier than it should have been.
Outside the alcove, chairs scraped, boots echoed against tile, and the rest of the council dispersed like a tide going out. I felt a prickle between my shoulder blades—the familiar sense of being watched—but when I glanced back, the corridor was empty.
"Megara," Kerolii said softly. "Do not underestimate him. Or yourself."
I nodded once. "I'll handle it." The words sounded steady, but they felt like a promise I might regret.
When we stepped back into the corridor, the city's night pressed against the windows like a living thing. Neon light from the lower sectors cast fractured patterns across the marble floor, and for a moment, I saw them like constellations—the same kind scattered over Kerolii's dress. Down there, somewhere, Tristan Bao was waiting in a holding room, unaware that the ground beneath him was shifting.
I turned away before I could think too hard about it. "Where is he now?"
"Sublevel three. Interview chamber four." Kerolii's answer was precise and clipped. "He's cooperative. For now."
Of course he is, I thought. Everyone's cooperative until they're not.
By the time I reached the elevator, the file still tucked under my arm, my pulse had steadied into something cold. The doors slid shut, and the hum of the descent felt like the rumble of a storm.
If Tristan was really half-something, and if the cult's prophecy was more than a hoax, then the next few minutes would decide far more than one man's freedom.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened onto the sublevel—a concrete warren of narrow corridors, reinforced doors, and the faint smell of antiseptic. A security officer nodded at me but didn't meet my eyes. Through the small glass panel of Interview Chamber Four, I caught my first glimpse of Tristan Bao. He sat perfectly still, hands folded, head slightly bowed, as if he were listening to something only he could hear.
I exhaled slowly and opened the door.