The second request lingered in the system's queue like a storm waiting for a name.
Client 002. Alias: None. Affiliation: Daemir Group. Language flagged: Old Turkish. Metadata scrubbed beyond standard protocol. Even the System took a full three seconds longer than usual to analyze the request.
Alexis stared at the screen in his apartment, spoon midair with cereal going soggy.
"Daemir Group... where have I heard that before?" he muttered.
System: "They operate outside sovereign regulations. Subtle influence across defense and culture sectors. Historically opaque."
Alexis: "Sounds like our kind of problem."
System: "Note reads: 'Legacy traded for silence. Gold must remember exile.'"
Alexis leaned back in his chair, brows furrowing. "What is it with these poetic cryptids?"
System: "Mirror attracts mirror. Shall I initiate preliminary probe?"
Alexis: "No. Let's give it the same respect. Prep the ghost team. No commitment yet."
Undisclosed Location – Encrypted Conference Node
Three windows blinked to life on a heavily partitioned interface. Each camera showed a familiar face: Camille with wine in hand, Linh cross-legged with wires draped across her hoodie, Marco already sketching something.
Camille raised a brow. "So, we're officially talking to each other now?"
Linh grinned. "Feels like a heist movie. Let me guess—one of you's the silent assassin type?"
Marco looked up and said simply, "I forge silence."
Camille rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."
A modulated voice—Alexis's, filtered and unreadable—cut in. "You've each been briefed in parts. Time to begin Phase II: Coordination without exposure."
Camille sipped her wine. "Meaning...?"
"No names. No direct meetings. Everything routed through the interface. But you'll see each other's progress from here on."
Marco tapped the screen. "Client 002?"
"Yes," Alexis answered. "We're watching. Observing. No direct contact yet."
Linh frowned. "Their encryption is nasty. Not civilian tech."
Camille added, "The Daemir name's come up in litigation circles. They're old money, but not loud. They erase more history than they write."
"Perfect clientele," Marco said. "Haunted and rich."
Alexis nodded from his unseen console. "Prepare frameworks. No names. Think myth, not luxury."
Linh tapped her screen. "Interface revision underway. Blue-gray theme. Sleek. Untraceable."
Camille smirked. "And I'll make sure their gold is laundered with style."
"Good," Alexis said. "And one more thing: Keep the owl in the shadows. Not every buyer gets to know they're speaking to ghosts."
The feed blinked out. Silence returned to the three corners of the world.
Paris – Gala of the Obscure Circle
A few days later, at a hush-hush gathering of elite collectors and eccentric patrons, someone whispered the name "Vaelore."
"Jewelry or cult?" asked a journalist posing as a philanthropist.
"Both, maybe," answered a countess with a feathered mask.
Someone showed a brooch pinned beneath a silk shawl. No explanation, just the shimmer.
One guest murmured, "They say you don't find Vaelore. It finds you."
In a hidden booth, the Copper Mask watched with keen interest.
"They've escalated," he whispered to his handler. "And the vultures are starting to circle."
"Shall we strike?"
"No. Let them rise. The higher they climb, the clearer their silhouette."
University – Campus Shadows
Iris watched Alexis from across the library. He moved like someone hiding in plain sight—no drama, no slips, but too clean.
She scribbled another line into her notebook:
"He's the kind of quiet that listens more than it breathes."
A whisper from behind broke her train of thought.
"You still stalking the golden boy?" a classmate teased.
She smiled thinly. "I'm just studying patterns."
"Yeah, well, your patterns are staring at the guy who wears a gold ring to class like it's totally normal."
Iris didn't respond. But she glanced at the ring again. Subtle. Ancient-looking.
Too deliberate.
Later that day, she overheard a quiet exchange between two classmates at a vending machine:
"I swear he wasn't this sharp last semester."
"Maybe he got rich? Lottery or something?"
"Or maybe he's just... changed."
Vaelore Boutique – Nightfall
Another knock. Another question about availability. Another polite turnaway.
Inside, the showroom manager logged interest. Client types. Demographics. Subtle inquiries about "the designer."
A woman in a designer coat muttered to her friend, "You know something's legit when they don't beg for your attention."
Her friend glanced at the darkened displays. "It's like a whisper in a room full of shouting."
They left their contact cards. No reply came.
Alexis, watching from a café three blocks away, smiled faintly.
System: "Client 003 has entered the queue. Request: Custom heirloom, coded as 'Memory of Dust'. Background: Unconfirmed."
Alexis: "They're coming faster now."
System: "Your myth is growing."
He tapped his ring once. "Let's feed the fire, then."
System: "Buzz report from international trend monitors: 'Vaelore' now trending on five encrypted luxury networks. Requests from high-sensitivity regions increasing."
Alexis folded his arms. "Start tracking potential buzz-leak vectors. No influencers. Keep it primal. Purely referral-based."
System: "Affirmative. Containment integrity remains optimal."
He took a final sip of his coffee, ring catching the city light.
The whisper had become an echo. The embers, lit. And now... the world was beginning to burn with curiosity.