Knock. Knock. Two raps sounded against the half-open door.
"Come in—" The door was pushed before the words were finished.
Laylla slipped in without ceremony. Tom twisted his lips at the intrusion but followed silently.
"C-captain, I didn't know you were back yet. I'll order the fings you asked for, just give me a little more time."
The clumsy girl nearly tripped over her own words as she addressed Laylla.
The room, though spacious, was cluttered with crates and trinkets scattered about. In the center stood a rectangular table, one end toward the window, the other toward the door.
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that already, but fine. Fox, this is Tom. He just signed the contract, he's joining the squad."
"A new member? Welcome. But… what do I do with him?" Fox ruffled her messy black hair.
"He needs new clothes. Take his measurements while you're at it." Laylla slapped Tom's torn trouser leg.
Guess she can handle that… still, pretty rude.
Fox rose from behind the desk, stepping carefully over the mess. She rummaged through boxes on the shelf, pulling out two pieces of clothing and sizing them against Anthony's frame.
"He's much shorter than Malivor. A shirt meant for Kenji should fit, but not the pants." She handed Tom the shirt, tossing the trousers back into the pile.
Looks more like the storage room at the bank where I used to work… or used to. A subtle laugh almost escaped.
Reaching for the top shelf, Fox tugged the wrong box and it smacked her face. Tom raised a hand to help, but she turned with a smile.
"Fox, your face okay?" He pointed before he could stop himself, only for Laylla to intercept.
"Don't be rude." Her tone snapped. "Fox, take his measurements, give him clothes, then we're leaving."
You? Complaining about rudeness? Tom stared at her, incredulously.
No more words were exchanged. Fox pulled a measuring cord, jotted down notes, then handed over the rest of the clothes.
They left together. Tom, still holding back the urge to ask why she had scolded him, shifted the subject.
"I thought you told me to fetch the clothes on my own," he said, eyes narrowing.
"You're too slow. Door half-open and you still knocked." Her voice teased.
"That's called manners. Where I'm from, anyway."
"Manners are fine but be quick too, Tom. Keep that in mind." Her hands slipped into her pockets.
She led him downstairs, where a rustic bath awaited.
Left alone, he stripped and dipped a foot into the steaming water. Soon his body eased into the heat, thoughts drifting.
Maybe this is some kind of one-time chance. Honestly, my life was crap, stuck as a bank clerk for five years. Then everything hit at once: the strange sky, this new world, the princess, the prophecy… so many people, and I can't even remember all their names.
"Right, this doesn't sound like the world of Dragon Sword. Maybe I should try that VD insurance line."
For a second, his body vibrated at the idea, but thinking he might still be being watched, he decided against it until he was sure he was alone.
"Hey, slacker."
Anthony paused, but didn't respond, just watching as the speaker approached.
With a towel around his neck, Malivor stepped through the hot mist and stopped in front of the newcomer.
"Dude, are you slow or something?" he asked sarcastically, resting his hands behind his head.
Anthony pressed his back against the hot stone, tense.
"Relax." The boy rolled his eyes. "Laylla forgot your towel."
He tossed it to the edge of the water, waved lightly, and left.
"Thanks," Anthony murmured, barely audible.
Minutes later, he emerged, dressed, and wandered the base. Corridors with a dozen doors, two staircases, two floors — the lower covered, the upper mostly open, and a sunken courtyard where Laylla waited.
Bounding down the steps, Anthony stretched quickly, and stepped into the sunlight.
"Leave your towel and clothes on the wall. You'll use the towel again later." She snapped her fingers.
Reminds me of my dad nagging me as a kid: brush your teeth the moment you wake up. Just to brush again after breakfast.
"Shirt off," she ordered, narrowing her eyes.
Laylla bit her tongue the moment she saw his thin, utterly untoned chest and shoulders laid bare under the sunlight.He opened his mouth to argue—
"On the ground now."
…
Away from Anthony, later that day.
Walking with lowered head, feet dragging along the narrow passage, Emily shows like a condemned criminal. The "guide" led her down the hallway; the door at the end was open, as if the guillotine were waiting for her.
What does he want with me? And why hasn't my father reacted to my disappearance? Sweat threatened to betray her nerves, hands trembling slightly.
Niora motioned for her to enter, then shut the door, remaining outside.
The scent of gardenia grew stronger inside. Two armchairs faced each other, a seat at the back, two desks stacked with neatly ordered papers, maps, coins, and ink.
By the window, a man stood firm, candle in hand, dark clothes blending with the night sky beyond.
"Sit down, Lady Emily." His voice carried both dominance and charm.
The princess laced her fingers together. Fear tingled in her limbs. Her instinct screamed to run, to call for help, yet adrenaline pinned her in place.
"You… know me?" Her lips trembling, she asked, Gaze fixed away.
"No. But I know who you are. I know you were taken from city of Tânoa under unofficial orders, rushed, yet careful. I know the cavalry of your kingdom searched for you, and is still searching, in Darcus. And I know King Noryan has already sent word to the Emperor, begging aid to recover his missing daughter." He rotated the candle, watching the flame bend.
"Most intriguing of all is the storm stirred by one simple misinterpretation."
Turning, his neatly combed fringe caught the light.
"The Council would love to get their hands on you. But for now, they won't lift a finger."
Emily narrowed her eyes, silent.
"I was informed…" He advanced slowly, not threatening. "That when you vanished, something strange appeared in the sky."
"I saw it." Her swallow was heavy.
He inclined his chin slightly.
"Then let's be direct." Sanking into the opposite chair. "Emily Winvere, are you an Ascendant?"
The candle flickered with a breeze from the open window, casting long shadows across the walls.
Emily raised her eyes. Silence thickened, as if even the air itself waited for her answer.
…
Moonlight Squad Headquarters
Anthony slumped at the table, forehead pressed to his hand. Even after bathing, spasms of soreness racked his muscles.
"What's wrong, rookie? You look like you got run over."
"That crazy woman's gonna kill me," he groaned. "Push-ups, squats, shadow punches, until sunset."
In the dining hall, torches lit the second floor. From the back came a man carrying a heavy plate.
Dark-skinned, wrinkles around brow and eyes, the chef in his fifties wore a spotless white apron and cap, hands marked by burns and calluses.
As he set dishes before them, the smell of rich stew and salt flooded Anthony's nose. Hunger flared.
Anthony lifted his fork, but paused as the man made three vertical gestures, then pressed his chest. Respectfully, Anthony waited.
"Thank you for the meal, sir."
"Don't thank me. Thank the Violet Maiden, who blesses the fields and feeds mortals."
Anthony nodded.
The orange-tinted broth blended with the lean meat, accompanied by tender vegetables. Her tongue softened at the savory taste — the flavor was unlike anything she had ever known before, wonderfully, almost impossibly different.
"What is this?" he asked between bites.
The cook, still standing by the table, smiled at the young man and replied in a friendly tone.
"Khella stew with red roots. Naturally delicious, especially for a weary body." His nasal tone betrayed fatigue. "Glad you enjoyed it."
"Mhm!"
After finishing the meat and vegetables, and savoring every last drop of the broth with his spoon, the cook approached once more, this time to clear the dishes.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Snow. Cook of Moonlight, as you see."
Anthony signed positive with his head
"Can I ask. What exactly is Moonlight? I, uh, signed the contract without even knowing." He rubbed his forehead, laughing nervously.
When he mentioned Laylla wanting to "kill him," Snow kept a neutral expression, but couldn't suppress a laugh at that last part.
"Alright, I'll explain. Moonlight is a mercenary squad that carries out a variety of missions, depending on who hires them. You're probably curious about payment too, since Laylla likely forgot to mention that part."
Anthony kept his eyes fixed, attentive.
"The members receive a fixed monthly salary, but there's also a bonus paid at the end of each mission completed."
"Good to know. Thank you, Mr. Snow."
Snow nodded as Anthony left, trudging to his room with heavy, aching steps. Fox had shown him his quarters earlier, tucked along the lower hall.
The moon hid behind clouds. Sporadic buzzing sounds made him glance around, wary, but no one appeared.
Exhausted, he collapsed onto the bed.
Safe to sleep, right? If they wanted me dead, it'd be done already. Though Laylla tried all day.
His eyelids sagged, trying to gather his thoughts.
He remembered the morning — dragging himself from bed at five, losing — or nearly losing eleven years of DS, the headache with Lee, his last client.
Yeah, the VD insurance. So…
Wait… what was that phrase again?
"Inrude… Inrud… Zelah. Yeah, that was it. No, there was a third word."
He pressed fingers to his brow.
"Inrud Zelah, Veyrael." His voice rasped.
Almost instantly, weight crushed his body. Not mere soreness, something far deeper.
It spread from his toes to his scalp, as though every fiber strained to tear apart. Atoms themselves seemed to claw free.
It made him curl up on the bed, his hand clutching at his chest as if he could tear his own heart out. A groan of pain caught in his throat — but nothing more came out.
"H—" Instinct screamed to cry for help, but lungs burned, denying voice.
His mind spun and sank, as if he were being pulled out of himself — drawn farther away.
Darkness swallowed his sight.
Seconds of torment stretched into eternity.
—
Then pain eased.
Only the feeling of infinite void — the sense that his body was floating in a vast, immaculate expanse. There was no breeze, no wind. He could barely tell if what filled his lungs, his veins, was even oxygen at all.
Gradually, vision shifted. A new image began to take the place of the darkness his eyes once saw.
Metal chilled his skin.
As his fingers touched the ground, the cold crept into their tips, and in the distance, he was almost certain he could hear the faint murmur of running water.
He stirred, rising unsteadily, began to take in his surroundings.
A few meters away, dark stone walls pressed around him, warped and uneven.
The chamber stretched wide, like a great hall, yet with no windows or doors in sight. And a strange luminescent dust drifted through the air.
At its heart hovered a surface like a table, floating.
Blue, green, and white lights seeped from the floor, like veins beneath stone.
"Hello?" His voice echoed, devoured by rock.
Silence reigned once more.
After watching closely and seeing no sign of life or danger, he finally decided to approach the floating surface, moving with slow, weighted steps.
The feelings from before faded, giving way to curiosity.
On the table, lines, drawings, symbols, and partitions combined to form a vast map. Foolishly, he tried to find Europe — of course, he found nothing, neither it nor any other continent from Earth. He raised a hand, tracing a line across its surface.
Mist shimmered in response, pulsing faintly like the map recognized his presence.
"…Weird," he muttered, leaning closer.
"You should not be here!"
The voice thundered from everywhere.
Above, below, within.
Anthony's head jerked upward. Muscles froze. Terror gripped him whole.