The official opening of Vaelore Atelier made about as much noise as a feather hitting carpet. No signs. No fanfare. Not even a press release. Just a quietly activated site with a password-protected referral page and a digital lock so dense even Linh called it "paranoid-level encryption."
Which, honestly, was a compliment coming from her.
In a remote, secure location—far from the public eye—an encrypted console glowed gently before Alexis. He wasn't in the store. He had no official link to Vaelore Atelier. In the public world, he was just a quiet college student who clocked hours at Axis Goods and tried to pass his midterms without raising suspicion.
But here, in the dark hum of shadow systems and layered encryption, he watched the first ripple move.
System: "Referral gateway online. First request received."
He raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
System: "Client 001. Masked ID. Verified wealth profile. No IP leaks. Encrypted note attached."
He tapped the screen. A minimal interface blinked open.
Note from Client 001:"Seeking something no one else owns. Must reflect legacy, but speak of ending."
Alexis read the message twice.
"Poetic little thing, aren't they?" he muttered. "Or just dramatic."
System: "That makes two of you."
He smirked. "Watch your tone."
System: "I do not have a tone. I have parameters."
Across the world, three people received alerts.
Buenos Aires – Camille Vossa
She was reading a book titled Corporate Sabotage: A Memoir, sipping red wine when her secure laptop blinked.
She opened the file, scanned the structure brief, and raised an eyebrow.
"Royal trust fund... offshore layering... and inheritance litigation? Oh, this one's got baggage."
She poured more wine. "I like baggage."
Da Nang – Linh Tran
Linh was half-asleep under a pile of snack wrappers when the portal pinged.
She blinked, then grinned.
"Ooooh, encrypted gift request. Is it Christmas already?"
The note loaded.
"Legacy and severance? Dang. That's either a retired warlord or a billionaire divorcee with taste."
She cracked her knuckles and whispered to her PC. "Alright baby, let's build you a private castle in the clouds."
Florence – Marco Di Volterra
Marco stood before a blank sketchpad. The message printed on fine paper sat beside him. He stared at the words:
"Legacy... Severance..."
He began to sketch, slowly. Rings. Not flashy, but strong. Threads of design that spoke of empire and exile.
He didn't speak. But in his mind, the hammer of design had begun to ring.
Back at Alexis's console, he reviewed the alignment.
System: "Design team mobilized. Timeline initiated."
"Good."
System: "Public reactions logged. Five observers have paused at storefront. One has attempted to Google the brand. Search returned no results."
"Let them wonder."
Meanwhile, outside the Vaelore storefront—a pristine, glass-front boutique in an upscale alley of the city—curious civilians whispered.
"I heard it's for royalty," one man said.
His girlfriend snorted. "It doesn't even have a sign. Probably just a scam with nice flooring."
Inside, a civilian manager—trained quietly through Nova's vetting—greeted potential clients with calm elegance. Not once did they mention the owner. Not once did the Founder's name appear.
Alexis, seated at a park café across the city, flipped through a textbook and sipped iced coffee. From a distance, he might've looked like any other college student wasting a weekend.
System: "Client 002 has entered queue. Affiliation: Daemir Group. Source: Unknown. Language flag: Old Turkish."
He frowned slightly, adjusting his glasses.
"Too soon. Curious."
System: "Shall I block?"
"No. Let it wait."
He closed the book, ring cool against his finger.
"Let's see what kind of ghosts we attract."