📍 Crocus — Domus Flau — Upper Corridors & Rooftops
📅 July X791
While battles raged beneath the stone halls, the evening sky above Domus Flau turned to molten gold. The cheering crowd thundered in celebration—completely oblivious to the danger whispering just beyond their sight.
Along the arena's upper corridors, cloaked figures moved in silence, each carrying a humming device that glowed with dark energy. Their footsteps were cautious, calculated. Every breath measured.
Teresa stood alone on the highest walkway, wind skirting around her white cloak. Her silver eyes were sharp and still—like a blade cooled in moonlight.
She sensed the disturbance before she saw it: subtle ripples in ambient magic, like ripples across still water.
A saboteur pressed a cursed device against the stone. Another tucked a glowing orb under a support beam—purple and pulsing, like a heartbeat laced with poison.
They hadn't noticed the predator watching.
"Amateurs," she whispered.
In a blur, she struck.
The first operative turned too late. Teresa's hand clamped around his wrist, snapping the device from his grasp. The metal hit stone with a jarring echo.
"Who—?!"
He never finished. A sharp twist of her wrist. A dull crack. His body hit the wall, collapsing before he even felt pain.
Another clung to a knife, panic spreading across his face. He swung wildly—Teresa sidestepped like a shadow, and snapped his wrist. Screaming, he crumpled at her feet, silence swallowing his cry.
Two more fiddled with their orb near the balcony. Teresa appeared behind them—silent as breath.
One turned, wide-eyed.
"P‑Please! I—I was just paid to—"
Her voice cut through the plea like steel.
"Excuses are echoes of the weak."
A single chop snapped his spine. He collapsed.
The last one tried to crawl away. She followed him casually, footsteps soft against stone. His trembling voice pleaded over and over.
Teresa raised her hand—then paused. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly.
Instead, she pressed him gently to the floor. Deep breaths. Quiet defeat. She left him unconscious, unmoved.
She stood over him, staring down at her trembling hand. A flicker of something crossed her face—not pity. Not regret. Something sparsely human.
Then it vanished.
Below, the crowd's cheers vibrated through the arches—unaware of how close disaster had slithered.
At a side entrance, Macao and Kinana spotted Teresa walking back. Behind her, unconscious figures trailed in silence.
"Teresa… what happened?" Kinana whispered, voice taut.
She brushed her cloak straight, expression unreadable.
"Insects. Nothing more."
Macao frowned.
"Sabotage?"
Teresa gave a bland nod.
"Yes. Poorly done. They relied on scares, not precision."
Kinana stepped forward, voice trembling.
"You took them all out—alone. Weren't you scared… or angry?"
Teresa's eyes flicked to her.
"Fear is an echo. I have no use for it."
Kinana's expression fell.
"When you do that… it feels like you don't feel anything."
Teresa looked away.
"Emotions cloud the edge. I cut them away long ago."
Kinana's voice cracked.
"But you're more than a blade. You're a person too… even if you don't want to be."
Something shifted in Teresa's silence—just a flicker. Then it snapped shut.
She stepped past them.
"Inspect the beams. They might've left something behind."
Macao watched her depart, voice low.
"Closest ghost I've ever seen."
Kinana wiped away tears.
"Maybe someday someone can reach her echo."
Teresa paused in the moonlight beneath a high arch. Stars glittered overhead. The city below pulsed with noise.
Her hand rested near her chest—tentative, searching.
She turned her face upward, eyes closed.
"Echo… or chain…"
She spoke so softly the wind didn't carry the words.
When she reopened her eyes, they were calm again: sharp, cold, impenetrable.
She turned and vanished. Her cloak drifted into the dark like a fallen shadow.
Below, the arena lights bounced against marble. The crowd roared like waves.
But above it all, on the rooftops and empty corridors, one figure moved silently—guardian, hunter, or perhaps echo itself: deep, secret, and beyond reach.