Ludvik Dorn never liked to share.
It was a trait that was so deeply etched into being that even as a child, it had required no encouragement. No sibling rivalry, no scolding. Just an instinctive aversion to loss. His mother used to say it like a joke, but she always meant it.
"You were born with your fists clenched and your eyes on someone else's plate."
He remembered it well, her sharp voice, her endless commentary, each meal like a tribunal. And even now, decades later, those words still echoed in the back of his mind, not with guilt, but with irritation. She never understood. None of them had.
When his older brother came crawling to him, neck-deep in debt and stinking of desperation, Ludvik had said 'no'. Not because the money was tight. In truth, the amount he was asked for wouldn't have made a scratch on his account.
But he didn't believe in bailouts.
His brother made the mistake, so he was to pay the price. It's what he would have done.
The price, as it turned out, had been a bullet through the back of his brother's head, courtesy of some back-alley syndicate. Ludvik had read about it in a single paragraph on a crime blotter. No names. No fuss. Just another statistic.
He hadn't felt sad.
He had felt annoyed.
Annoyed that his mother wouldn't stop calling. That every message dripped with grief-tinted venom. That every family dinner became a trial, his sister watching in silence while their mother discussed him, his choices, his ambition, his coldness, as if grief gave her moral superiority.
She would call his belated gifts "guilt flowers." His polite silences, "cowardice." And worst of all, when he tried to move on, she would act as though he was desecrating a grave.
He had offered her kindness once, out of sheer exhaustion. She spat it back like poison. He hated her.
And so, Ludvik came up with a plan.
He invited her to lunch, he went to collect her from her workplace, somewhere public. He even smiled. Like he had done many times in their past. And when she fell into her well-worn script, when she sneered that money couldn't buy absolution. When she said he had no soul, that was when he escalated it. Every barb was meant to strike deep.
About how she raised a fuckup. About how that son of hers that died was in every way a failure, that it was her fault due to her coddling of him.
The shouting wasn't part of the plan. Nor was the shove. Nor the sudden weightlessness as he turned as he tumbled down the escalator, neck snapping at the base like a broken wooden doll.
But Ludvik Dorn had always landed on his feet, even when he landed on his head.
He woke up with an Ego.
A power that suited him so perfectly, so intimately, it felt like a tailored suit stitched to his blood. Deeds Done Cheap. A passive revenge system, a trap laced into his very skin. Now when others tried to hurt him, their efforts turned inward, pushing them for their audacity.
He sued his mother. He sued the building. He sued her workplace. He played the grieving victim so well the court leaned into his favour like a bowing orchestra.
Two months later, he walked away wealthier than before. His mother lost everything, job, reputation, pension. He hadn't spoken to her since.
Shortly after that he became a Paladin.
Not out of honour. Not out of justice either. But because the title protected his assets. Getting into certain circles that benefited him even more was easier too.
At thirty-two he became a Gold Rank and was given the golden badge of honour which he appreciated and made sure to clean every day as he woke up.
He stood now atop a shattered walkway of the resort's west wing, sunlight glinting off the three gold stars above his breast. He adjusted his collar, tugged at a speck of lint, and watched the debris below as medics and scouts swarmed like ants.
The clean-up had begun.
Somewhere in the crumbling mass of stone and shadow, Vincent Coulby was still unaccounted for. That was a concern, but not his concern.
Ludvik pulled out a unique communicator that was created with a rune placed on a special metal. "HQ," he said, voice oiled in professionalism. "We've made contact. Trials have been compromised. Multiple Paladin on site. I have taken command." This message was for a specific character. One who he had been working with for some years now.
He paused just long enough to make it sound urgent. Then ended the call and watched the paper talisman like object burn away from the metal with a lighter in his other hand.
Elea had been reluctant to give over communication. Poor girl. She was young and in some ways still naive. She put too much trust in rank and order. But Ludvik had a gift for persuasion.
He smiled at the thought.
Now all that remained was to ensure the area was secure, the applicants were alive, and Coulby was found, and preferably shackled, before Alfred Stein arrived.
More importantly, he needed to keep a very close eye on the boys, Ruben Rayo and Corbin Monet. Alfred had taken a sudden curious interest in whatever Alfred had planned for them. It was all to intercept Dario Kosta he was told.
He didn't care what the reason was, he just needed to be on the winning side. Usually that would be Dario's, but he was feeling confident in whatever Alfred had planned for him.
If Alfred's plan had worked, well, Ludvik would never have to hide his accounts again. And he could even ask to be put in a place that is all his, with enough land to do as he pleases and ignore his standard Paladin duties and leave it to those truly ambitious in the effort. No more shell corps. No more offshore laundering. No more favours and dirt transfers.
Power, true power was coming.
And Ludvik Dorn was a professional survivor, and he would be standing with the ones who made the rules. Not enforced them.
He surveyed the damage one last time, since it was within a game the area that they had arrived was relatively normal except for the few torn down trees that came from the break with nullification runes. There wasn't much payout he could receive in property loss and false reports here.
"Sir," A paladin said, running up with a scroll. "Medical wing is stabilized. We've confirmed two fatalities. One applicant is still missing. We also found this…"
It was a cracked insignia of a bird, a robin to be exact. Ludvik was told to keep an eye out for that since it was what Vincent would leave behind to signify his safety exit.
Ludvik took it delicately between his two fingers. "Well," he said, studying it. "That's convenient. But it is also profitable."
He pocketed the insignia.
***
The bodies lay side by side beneath linen sheets, their stillness made more poignant by the murmuring around them. The rustling of leaves from the light breeze in their psuedo-camp set up by an ego user.
Elea stood at the foot of each stretcher, hands pressed together in a prayer gesture that looked too soft for someone in such a ruthless and menacing line of work. Her lips parted slightly in a silent invocation.
In her mind, she prayed to the sage, the guiding spirit to the afterlife.
"May your burdens leave you in death. May your next world ask less of you than this one did."
She bowed her head and held it there.
A beat passed. Then another. She had no tears to spill for the lost life, but her stillness was enough, it felt reverent. The moment was broken by the voice of a younger Paladin, hesitant and low but still audible.
"You're praying for her?" he asked. "Vera Solokov? She was the enemy."
Elea didn't turn immediately. Her hands fell slowly from her prayer posture, folding neatly behind her back before she spoke. Her voice was level and calm.
"She was also a child."
That silenced him.
She stepped toward the two bodies, lifting the corner of each sheet for confirmation. First Vera, with dull, laden eyes and a face slackened into a kind of tired peace, if it could be called that. Her shoulder was wrecked where Rosette admitted to impaling her. And a single bullet wound in her chest area, penetrated through the heart.
Then Darius, a heavier body, but still and hollow now. Whatever fury he had fought with was gone for good now. It ended here, at the foot of her oversight.
Elea sighed. "I only hope," she continued, voice softer now, "that in whatever afterlife awaits them both… they don't have to fight for people who cannot appreciate their efforts."
The younger Paladin looked away, chastened.
She turned toward the new row of occupied beds on the far end of the chamber. Her eyes immediately found Ruben Rayo, stabilized, bandaged, chest rising in a shallow but steady rhythm. His wounds were healing. His complexion looked better now, more colour returning with every passing minute.
Corbin Monet, who sat beside him, had a face that was a wall of granite. His scowl was not one of petulance but ferocity. It was the kind of expression that made lesser medics detour rather than approach. Arms crossed, jaw set, his eyes remained fixed on nothing, they were burning and unreadable. There was no gratitude in his silence. He wasn't acting on comfort.
She looked away and to the opposite side of the room where a girl stood, arms folded, watching everything with an odd and empty expression. She was harder to read.
Rosette St. Jon.
The name alone sent a ripple of awareness through Elea's mind. St. Jon. A family etched in marble and elegance, old aristocracy dressed in newer virtues.
A lot of Rosette's life can be pieced together to an avid reader of online forms when it is related to the wealthy leaders of the nation.
Her life for the most part… came out of nowhere. People only knew the family had a child when she was eight years old. Many rumours had gone around that she was adopted, even though it went against the law for those in high aristocratic positions like them to adopt unless it were blood relations.
She was the trophy daughter of a family that seemed desperate for a child. Of course she was never named in public, no pictures were ever made public either. It wasn't until it was found out that she was an Ego user that those within that world started to clue themselves in.
She had wanted to become a paladin. The family spared no expense. Private tutors. Sparring halls built for her needs specifically. Entire squads of trainers to suit specific areas of combat, all in the price range of one of the world's richest families.
And luckily enough, that money even bought her Oscar Wolfe as her private instructor for a period of time as she got older. Oscar Wolfe, the nation's last great juggernaut, the only one whose name had ever seriously entered conversation within the nation when it came to Dario Kosta and his potential replacement.
Elea's chest tightened. She remembered watching Wolfe as a girl. She remembered watching him when she had woken up for her second life in a hospital room. She remembered wanting to be like him. Before the real world and her own Ego chipped away at her ideals.
Now Rosette stood like a sculpture, arms folded across her blood-streaked top, face unreadable. The look in her eyes seemed uninterested. That somewhat unnerved Elea more than the cold fury coming from Corbin.
Elea opened her mouth to speak, to inquire about the others, the rest of the opposing team.
"All accounted for?" she asked the nearest medical officer, a clipboard paladin with a crisp uniform and trembling hands.
"Ah, no ma'm. Apart from Vera Solokov, the rest of that squad are unaccounted for."
"What do you mean unaccounted for?"
"We can't find them. We've combed every wing. No face. No bodies. There weren't any traces of Ego use left either."
Before Elea could respond, the air changed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't even sudden. But everyone felt it.
A movement, like the hush before a verdict.
From the far corridor, where daylight filtered in through high arches, what she would call, a small fleet appeared.
Their movements were ghostlike, black figures with cloth over their faces, they were masks and each one had runes etched onto them. It was to obscure their faces and stop one from guessing who… they walked in with no sound either, which was most likely the play of more runes. They were Paladin though… well that was Elea's most likely thought.
And at the center, walking like a hunchbacked scarecrow who had long ago learned to love the role, was Alfred Stein.
A legend of the wrong kind. Whispers trailed his name. Scholar. Advisor. War consultant. Architect of many successful coups in border states. His face looked like weathered parchment, with deep shadows pooling beneath his silver eyes.
Trailing behind him were emerging ghosts.
Elijah Neri.
Vincent Coulby.
Laszio Kovácks.
Elijah was the first to step forward. This all gave Elea a bad feeling in her gut. Alfred was usually explained by many as a power hungry fascist who on top of wanting all power at his beck and call was deeply war hungry.
Elijah bowed deeply. Then when his eyes flickered toward her, Elea felt it. A sort of hierarchy. Not power or arrogance. Just that he had internally placed her somewhere on that ladder. Below Alfred.
Alfred raised a hand and spoke in a tone meant to soothe, though it failed to disguise the unshakable control in it.
"These are my people," he said, voice creaking like old timber. "They were selected for a special assignment under my direction. One that I will explain… to those willing to listen."
More Paladin were walking in. Those that had completed their earlier search and were also watching the trials with Elea. The candidates were still stuck in a waiting room wondering what was going to happen.
The silence was a breath held across the room.
Elea's fists tightened at her sides.
Elijah looked away first, turning to stand behind Alfred with hands neatly behind his back, the picture of obedient composure. Laszio followed, eyes darting between medical officers like a child who'd wandered too far. Vincent, however, looked hollow. His face was unreadable. Guilt never touched him to begin with. That was what Elea assumed.
Rosette straightened. Corbin looked up.
Elea almost forgot they were still here. They shouldn't be exposed to the oncoming conversation, but she had a feeling Alfred wasn't willing to wait about it. He seemed to be following whatever personal script he had written.
"Alright. Let's hear it then."
***
Corbin didn't like the strange atmosphere of the room.
There were too many people here. Too many who were standing stiff-backed, like they hadn't just been thrown into something that reeked of malice. The paladins flanking the walls were still, like statues trying to pass as soldiers.
Elea stood facing them, unreadable, her posture straight and composed, but Corbin could see the pressure in the tension behind her shoulders. Even Rosette, the icy aristocrat with eyes of a lizard, held herself more guarded now.
The man who spoke, Alfred Stein, gave a light cough and stepped forward through the crowd of masked paladins that looked more like assassins than agents of the people. Corbin hated that too. The drama. Alfred's voice, when it came, was calm, refined, as if he were introducing a lecture.
"Two years ago," Alfred began, folding his hands behind his back, "a Paladin trial was abruptly cancelled due to tragedy. All of you here, to some extent or another, know or even live close to the place of the incident." His eyes scanned the room slowly, like a snake measuring its distance before it struck. "The Gresham district."
Even without turning his head, Corbin could feel the shift in the air. Everyone knew it. Everyone remembered it. The story had been a big one, it happened just as he and Ruben landed in this unique and strange world.
An incident involving the release of many Phantasm of a lower grade meant to be used for the trials of that year. They overwhelmed the people and caused a significant loss of life. It was ruled as a technical malfunction.
"It was believed for years to be a failure of technology. An unfortunate error," Alfred continued. "That is… until today. Because I've uncovered evidence that suggests it was not at all a malfunction. No, the real cause… was a cover-up orchestrated by none other than Dario Kosta."
Corbin clenched his teeth as he listened to what he only could fathom was a lie.
Lies.
That was the first word that snapped into his mind with such force that escaped his mouth. But he held it. Just.
Elea narrowed her eyes. "You're accusing a national hero of treason, Alfred. What evidence makes you think Dario Kosta was involved?"
Alfred's smirk was almost invisible, but it radiated. "He's been moving… carefully. Strategically. For years now. And I believe he is laying the groundwork for something large. I don't know what. Not yet. But I do know… that two boys appeared at the exact same time of the Gresham incident. Both critically injured. Both undocumented. With no history. No records. No past."
Corbin's jaw locked so tight it ached. His fists curled.
Don't speak.
Don't.
"And those two boys," Alfred said with delicate venom, turning his gaze fully toward him now, "Were Ruben Rayo and Corbin Monet."
A ripple passed through the room like wind across wheat. Murmurs rose and died just as quickly. Paladins shifted. Rosette's head tilted slightly, just enough to show that her gaze had sharpened. One of the other gold-ranked Paladins leaned forward, squinting.
Alfred continued, casual now, like he was reading from a report he had written for a class.
"They were found in a hospital shortly after the breach. No files. No family. No citizenship record. Nothing. On top of that they had pretty powerful Egos. I believe they were experiments. Conducted in secret partly with Dario Kosta and even some of the pillars themselves. And I believe that they caused the Gresham incident."
"You son of a…!" Corbin stepped forward, rage blinding him, every nerve in his arms screaming for action. "Shut the fuck up!"
His voice cracked the silence like a whip, but Elea turned toward him with a calm so sharp it cut. Her eyes, serene but commanding, met his. And he stopped.
He didn't want to, but something in her gaze held him.
Composure.
He dropped back half a step, chest heaving. His entire body trembled, not with fear, but with fury. He could taste bile. He could feel the lie being sewn into him like a disease. Rosette's glare shifted from Alfred to Corbin and back again. She said nothing but it was clear she was surprised at the revelation and having a hard time taking it in.
Anyone would. They were talking about the nation's hero, the star wished upon by humanity. There was no way he could do something so vile. She said nothing, but to Corbin, her silence along with everyone else's just told him that they were at least more than suspicious.
Alfred smiled gently. "Of course they most probably do not remember. Maybe someone with a mind Ego tampered with their memories."
He turned toward the crowd now, addressing them all.
"And that's why, though I take no pleasure in it, I must conclude… that these two were not only present at Gresham, but they likely were the cause of the Phantasm breach that claimed the lives of sixty-two people. The same boys are now conveniently under the protection of Dario Kosta himself."
The silence that followed was ice. No one moved. No one dared.
Corbin stood trembling, breathing hard, but the silence wasn't space for his rage anymore.
It was space for fear.
Because then, if the people were so submissive this quickly then what could he even say to refute it. Just saying no, or that there was nothing done to his mind wouldn't work of course.
But then, without a warning or flourish, he arrived.
A low gust of hot wind, the faintest echo of pressure in the air. Then his presence, not sound, not movement, not light. Just weight.
Behind the small fleet of black-masked Paladins, stepping through like he had always been there, was Dario Kosta.
And everything changed.
Corbin spoke before he even knew he had.
"...Dario."
The name came out breathless. Half in relief. Half in disbelief. The rest of the room was struck with the kind of hush reserved for Gods and monsters. One Gold-rank Paladin near Alfred shifted back involuntarily. Another lowered his eyes.
The man who stood before them was carved from myth. Towering. His body was lean but massive, every inch of him, radiating strength without effort. His shoulders were broad, his posture precise. And his face, stone-cut, still, unreadable, scanned the room with such cold clarity that every breath Corbin took felt like a risk.
Alfred spoke quietly.
"Speak of the devil…"
Dario said nothing for a heartbeat. Then, in a voice that was almost gentle, he spoke.
"I would like for the boys to be let go."
No inflection. No demand. Just a statement that could make the ground split.
Elea, impossibly composed, stepped forward. "Sir, with all due respect, I am the acting trial leader. We're still evaluating the trial's suspension and classifying the incident."
Dario's gaze turned to her. Not threatening, just direct. Like he was waiting to see who she really was.
"And," she added, voice thinning slightly now, "there are allegations being levied against you. Serious ones. By Pillar of Law, Alfred Stein."
Dario looked around the room. Slow and deliberate.
Then… "I have nothing to say."
It wasn't defiance.
It was just a cold indifference, like none of this mattered enough to justify his speech.
One of the Gold rank paladin behind Alfred stepped forward. "Then we have no reason to hand over the two possible enemies of the state. They may be due swift justice."
That was the spark.
Dario turned his head toward Alfred, just a little. "Really, Alfred? Why here? Why this stage?"
Alfred didn't flinch. "Because this is what someone with integrity would do."
Dario's eyes flickered back to the group and then to Corbin. Then to Alfred again. "Then as someone with integrity, tell me why two people had to die today. By all accounts they were innocent children. And I am sure that neither of my boys struck to kill."
Corbin swallowed a lump.
There was silence but Alfred still looked as calm as ever. He looked like he was going to be staying silent, so Dario spoke up again, looking to Elea and the rest of the Paladin that may want to speak back to him.
"Then allow me to use my integrity." There was a light pause as he let out a cough. "As acting head of the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs, I am issuing a direct order. These two boys, under my guardianship, are to be left undisturbed."
No one moved. They couldn't. He was the warlord. The strongest Ego user alive. The man who carried the memory of dozens of cities in his fists. This wasn't a man to be argued with. It was a man you didn't breathe too loud around.
Alfred didn't give up. He raised his voice, trying to reclaim the theater.
"Your time is coming, Dario." He said loud enough among the scuffle of feet now leaving the room. "People will soon see everything lying deep in your closet."
Dario didn't look at him again. He looked at Corbin.
He looked to see the boy shaking in exhaustion and anger. Anger that was constant in Corbin's character ever since he appeared that fateful day two years ago.
Dario pitied him.
And when the room had cleared, he embraced the boy.