The chamber was cold — not because of the stone or the air, but because of the man inside it.
King Cedric stood before the tall stained-glass window that overlooked the heart of Yurelda. The colors filtering through cast fractured rainbows across his shoulders, but none reached his face.
Behind him, a cloaked man knelt. Blood dripped from his sleeve onto the marble floor.
"Back so soon?" Cedric's voice was too even — the kind of calm that came just before a storm.
The cloaked agent dropped to one knee, head lowered. A thin trail of blood marked his temple.
"I lost him," he muttered, voice rough with exhaustion. "He resisted."
Cedric didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The silence stretched — long enough for fear to take shape. The marble floor beneath the agent seemed colder now. The air denser. Breathing became a task.
"When I engaged," the man forced out, "he parried cleanly. The spell he used was called Torrent. It—"
"His eyes."
Cedric's voice sliced through the air — quiet, but honed like a dagger.
"Did you see them?"
The man nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Majesty. One green. One black."
Now He turned.
Slowly. Deliberately.
His golden eyes — the untouchable mark of sovereign blood — locked onto the man like a spear poised mid-flight.
"Did anyone else?"
Silence stretched — just long enough to signal trouble.
"…Yes."
The admission landed like a crack of thunder. "There was a crowd. Dozens."
Cedric's jaw clenched.
Then, lower — darker:
"And tell me…" His voice was now just above a whisper. "…why has this anomaly remained buried for so many years?"
The agent swallowed. "He must've been hidden. The lower crescents— we think someone took him in, protected him. We had no records. No—"
"No," Cedric said, standing slowly, each movement controlled like a blade unsheathed. "You lacked vigilance. The consequences stand at our gates. And now you come crawling back… to tell me you lost him?"
His words echoed.
The agent shivered.
Cedric stepped down from the dais. His presence carried authority.
He walked to the desk at the center of the room. Upon it sat a glass sphere — dark water swirling inside, faintly glowing.
Cedric placed one palm gently against the glass.
"A green eye," he murmured. "And a black one."
He stared into the sphere, voice lower now — as if speaking to the world itself.
"Two different eye colors… a pairing that should never have been born."
He paused.
Then added, more quietly: "I should have known better."
A long breath escaped him.
"No more mistakes."
The agent remained frozen, unsure if he was meant to leave… or if this was the end.
Then Cedric's voice came again. Cold and measured.
"Send him."
The agent blinked. "Y-Your Majesty?"
"He doesn't need the details," He said, eyes still fixed on the glass. "He just needs to know there's a threat."
The agent swallowed hard.
He bowed low, deeper than before, and quickly exited — his footsteps echoing like a death sentence behind him.
Left alone, Cedric gazed out across the city that had served him so well.
Now it dared to whisper back.
Torrent…
The word replayed in his mind. Torrent — in water, a sudden surge, a force that sweeps everything aside.
He squinted his eyes. Could it be… Water Magic?
Far above, where lanternlight dwindled and marble replaced stone, Lady Elyria leaned against the balcony rail. Her silver hair stirred in the breeze as she gazed down on the pulsing city — glowing lanterns, crooked alleys, distant voices.
Beside her, a maid poured tea into a delicate cup.
"He looked… lost," Elyria said softly.
"My lady?"
"The boy..."
The maid hesitated. "You went to the lower tiers again."
"I wanted to."
She accepted the cup but didn't drink.
"He wasn't like the others. I've seen powerful men. Arrogant ones. But he wasn't either. He had…" She paused. "Two different eye colors."
The maid stiffened. "Are you sure?"
"One green. The other black. But sharp — like he could see straight through me."
"Should I inform His Majesty?"
Elyria shook her head. Her elven ears twitching slightly "No. He already knows."
She looked back out over the city — over the glowing veins of power and control that stretched through every district like a net.
"How can someone with those eyes still look so kind?" she whispered.
Far below, in the Lower Crescent, an old wooden door waited beneath the textile quarter.
Inside, the tea had gone cold. Neither of them touched it.
The shutters were closed. The lamps were low. The weight in the room was not just silence — it was the kind that came before hard decisions.
"You need to disappear," Gramps said.
Kazuo met his eyes. "How? i can't just leave the Capital."
"I'm not talking about leaving the Capital," the old man replied.
Rei froze, his tone sharp as steel. "You are not talking about the Hollow Veins, are you?"
The name crashed through the air like a locked gate slamming shut.