The Vellor estate was a stage.
Kael understood that as he moved silently through its corridors, his form cloaked in the veil of shadows. Every noble estate wore masks—painted portraits, gilded halls, polished marble meant to display stability and power. But behind those masks were cracks. Fear. Greed. Secrets.
Viscount Daren Vellor was no exception.
Kael drifted unseen through the manor's second floor, pausing before a study. Candlelight spilled through the crack beneath the door. Inside, muffled voices argued.
He pressed a palm against the wood. Shadows seeped through, carrying sound back to him.
"…this is madness," Vellor hissed. His voice trembled, though he tried to steady it. "The Cult's demands grow heavier each season. They drain my coffers, endanger my household—"
"You benefit from the Veil's protection," a woman's voice interrupted. Calm, steady, commanding. Selene Varadis.
Silence stretched. Kael imagined Vellor shrinking beneath her gaze.
Selene continued, her words precise, every syllable a blade. "Do not mistake this for negotiation. You do not serve the Cult. You exist because we allow you to. Without us, your estate falls, your name is erased, and your children are sold to pay your debts."
Vellor choked. "You wouldn't—"
"I would," Selene said coldly.
Kael's lips curved faintly. So she rules by fear, not loyalty. Useful.
Selene's tone shifted, lighter. "The Monarch is awake. If we claim him, the Veil will rise beyond kingdoms. If we fail, the Cult will devour itself. And then…" She let the words trail, heavy with promise.
Kael leaned back. Every thread she spun confirmed what he suspected: Selene was ambitious. Dangerous. But also playing her own game.
Later that night, Kael slipped into the servant's wing. Unlike the grand halls, these corridors smelled of candlewax and sweat. Doors creaked, floors groaned.
Here, secrets flowed more freely. Servants whispered in corners, traded rumors, carried letters unnoticed by their masters. Kael's shadows moved ahead of him, invisible scouts that pressed their ears to doors.
He overheard fragments.
"…Lady Varadis meets the viscount in secret…""…crates arriving again, but none of us are allowed near them…""…the silver-haired one, she frightens even the captain of the guard…"
Kael collected each piece, weaving them together like threads in a web. By dawn, he knew this much: Selene's influence stretched far beyond one noble. She commanded shipments, gatherings, silences. She wielded the viscount as her puppet, and through him, she pulled on threads of Midgar's economy.
But he also learned something else.
Tomorrow night, a shipment would arrive at the manor.
Something Selene herself would oversee.
Kael retreated to the ruined cathedral, where his army of shadows awaited in silence. The Eye of Dusk pulsed faintly at his chest, warm, insistent.
He summoned a single knight. Its armor bore the crest of a long-dead soldier, its presence heavy and loyal.
"You will wear another face tonight," Kael said softly. Shadows curled around the knight, reshaping it into the likeness of a servant Kael had observed earlier. Thin frame, downcast eyes, the smell of ink still clinging to its hands.
"You will walk among them, unnoticed. You will carry word of the shipment. And when the moment comes, you will strike."
The knight bowed silently, its form shifting until no trace of shadow remained. It left the cathedral with footsteps light as a whisper.
Kael turned to the rest of his legion. Rows of violet eyes gleamed in the darkness.
"The Cult believes they weave the city into their web. They are wrong. Their threads are mine now. And tomorrow, I pull."
The chorus of whispers rose, unified: By your will, Sovereign.
The following night, the manor's gates opened to a wagon draped in tarpaulin. Horses strained against the weight. Guards escorted it with stiff precision.
Selene Varadis herself stood at the steps, silver hair gleaming under torchlight, expression cold and unreadable. She oversaw every movement, every crate unloaded, every servant's step.
Kael watched from the rooftop across the street, violet eyes narrowed.
The shipment was not ordinary. He could feel it even from here—the same faint hum as the Eye of Dusk, though weaker, fractured. Another relic, perhaps. Another fragment.
He smirked faintly. How generous, to deliver it to me.
But before Kael could act, he felt it again.
That other presence.
Not cult, not noble. Another shadow lingering just beyond reach. Watching. Measuring.
He didn't look directly. Instead, he let his voice slip into the Veil, a whisper no human ear could catch.
"I see you."
Silence answered. Then, faint amusement.
From the rooftop opposite, a figure melted into the night, cloak fluttering like wings. Gone before Kael could mark him.
Kael's jaw tightened. Whoever this rival shadow was, he moved with purpose. Deliberately. Patiently.
The world was beginning to crowd with players.
But Kael welcomed it.
For the board was set. And he was already moving the first piece.