The world had become a chessboard, and someone had kicked the table.
Everyone could feel it.
For years, the great houses and the royal factions had been locked in a grinding, exhausting stalemate—a delicate dance of hidden daggers and superficial smiles. But the brutal public display of Ki Lin Feng's dismembered corpse, followed by the catastrophic leak of her encrypted memory-storage crystal, had detonated the political landscape.
A stalemate no longer existed. The game had turned lethal, fast, and desperate.
Just moments prior, during the closed-door emergency council of the lords, Rivas had experienced a terrifying, disorienting fracture in his reality. Mid-sentence, while Ambrose was arguing about state security and whether to prioritize striking the Revolutionists or calming the people, a crushing wave of foreign intent had slammed into Rivas's mind. His vision had tunneled into a blinding, white-hot void, and the voice of his patron deity—his "god"—had echoed directly inside his skull with terrifying clarity:
"The Others are moving on the fragment. They have scented the resonance in the. You will leave this place immediately, overtake them, and claim it."
The psychic feedback had been so violent that Rivas had violently blacked out, slumping heavily against the mahogany table before coming to seconds later, surrounded by a flutter of startled servants and the other Lords watching him—some with concern, others with barely concealed disdain.
"My lord? My lord, are you alright?"
Feigning sudden, debilitating exhaustion, Rivas had forced himself to his feet.
"My apologies, comrades," he had rasped, pressing a hand to his temple.
"The stress of these past few hours... my constitution has failed me. I apologize but must return to my own estate to rest."
Ezra Nova had frowned, leaning forward in his chair.
"Rivas, be reasonable. With the streets boiling over and assassins operating in broad daylight, you are safer remaining here within Ambrose's fortified wards."
"Are you implying that my own wards are lacking? I prefer my own bed, Ezra," Rivas had replied, his tone chillingly flat.
"I appreciate the concern," he continued smoothly, "but I require solitude to think clearly. I won't be of any use to anyone if I collapse."
Ambrose had slammed a fist down on the armrest, his face twisting with outright disgust.
"What is wrong with you lot today?! My estate is not some charity sick-ward for delicate flowers! If Rivas is too weak to face the current crisis, let him crawl back to his hole and good riddance!"
The sheer insolence had made Rivas's blood boil. A cold, venomous fury had flared behind his ribs, but with supreme, practiced discipline, he had swallowed his pride, smoothed his coat, and offered a brittle, mocking bow.
"Then I shall spare you my company, Lord Ambrose."
He turned and walked toward the door, but not before casting a glance at Alaric Dukker. The Lord of Blackwood was speaking quietly with Heidi and Genji, calmly mapping out a calculated containment strategy to stabilize the public panic. His expression grave and he barely noticed Rivas leave.
This caused Rivas to feel a familiar surge of hatred.
'Soon,' he thought. 'Soon, I'll have what I need. And then we'll see who has the last laugh.'
He stepped outside.
The morning air was cool against his skin, a welcome relief after the stifling tension of the drawing room. He had barely taken three steps before a voice called out behind him.
"Rivas! Wait, hold on a moment."
He turned.
Gide Baiden was hurrying after him, his face a mask of barely concealed panic.
"I'll accompany you," Baiden said, falling into step beside him. "For safety."
Rivas scoffed and continued walking. Baiden followed.
Once they were safely away from the ears of the guards, Baiden's composure completely cracked, his eyes wide and jittery.
"The situation is spiraling out of control, Rivas. What are your plans? What do we do now that Lin Feng is gone?"
Rivas stopped, turning slowly to look at the trembling man. A cruel, merciless sneer twisted his lips. He looked Baiden up and down with open contempt.
"Look at you," Rivas scoffed, his voice dripping with venomous pity.
"Always putting up such a grand, blustering front for the council, while on the inside you're entirely soft and wet. You're paralyzed by a few drops of blood, Baiden. Let me make something crystal clear to you in case you are too stupid to notice what's happened : our alliance is over. It was over the moment Lin Feng went behind our backs and got herself killed."
Baiden's breath hitched. "What? Rivas, we can't—"
"The Revolutionary has already turned her into a public spectacle to ignite a city-wide conflagration so he is no longer a pawn and now a danger to us. Meanwhile, West Cardinal Ljudevit by now has already mobilized the Church's internal assets. And you?" He laughed, a cold, humorless sound.
"You're still trying to figure out which way the wind is blowing."
Baiden's hands clenched into fists. "I came to you in good faith—"
"You came to me because you're desperate," Rivas interrupted.
"The board has fundamentally changed Gide. So either you man up and figure out how to survive on your own, or fuck off."
"Wait—Rivas, let's just coordinate!" Baiden pleaded, his voice cracking slightly as he offered a desperate, mutual cooperation pact between the two of them. "Just you and me, we can pool our resources—"
Rivas threw his head back and laughed—a sharp, grating sound devoid of any humor.
"Cooperate with a drowning rat? I think not. But let me give you a parting gift since we were once allies, Baiden: when I finally secure what I am looking for, I promise you, you will be the very first person I eliminate."
Without waiting for Baiden's sputtering response, Rivas turned on his heel and strode away, never looking back.
The Oberoi estate was quiet when Rivas arrived. His servants and Guards had already made sure to secure the house before going to their rooms or guard positions.
"No one is to disturb me. I don't care what happens. I don't care who comes looking. No one enters the estate."
"Yes, my lord."
He descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls as he continued into the deepest, most secure sublevels of his private basement. Once there, he shut the door behind him.
The basement was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles. At the center of the room stood a large antique mirror framed with polished brass. Intricate geometric patterns of a Containment Array were seamlessly etched into its rim, interwoven with the pulsing silver lines of a Binding Array.
It was called the Foggy Glass, One of the SK series.
Rivas had acquired it years ago, through means he preferred not to remember. Its function was simple: it could link the mirror to any designated reflective surface across vast distances through a quantum spatial bond.
By utilizing the Foggy Glass, the artifact functioned as an instantaneous transit gate, allowing a user to dissolve their physical form and teleport directly from one surface to another. The containment array ensured that only someone who knew how to use it could activate it while a secondary defensive Array written into it meant that it could theoretically trap hostile intruders between the dimensional reflections.
Rivas sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in deep annoyance.
This was one of the many secret plans he had prepared for the execution of his master plan—the moment he needed to snatch the Oblivion Fragment out from under his rivals' noses. Being forced to deploy it now, while the powers in high places were watching the competition during this chaos , was an irritating and potentially compromising the plans he had made in advance. But the entire estate district was locked down by military patrols, and the raging Black Dandy riots made traveling across the capital by conventional carriage an absolute impossibility.
Reaching into the central part of the Foggy Glass, he extracted a smaller mirror, a square cut from silver glass. Then, he infused his finger with Flow, and wrote his name on the surface.
"House Zeppelin," he murmured.
His reflection in the main mirror melted and the mirror became silvery, as if a fog was trapped behind it.
Without a moment's hesitation, Rivas stepped forward. His physical body dissolved instantly into the fluid mirror, slipping seamlessly through the dimensional fold.
Whoosh.
He emerged in a washroom in the royal palace.
The transition was smooth—a sensation of cold, then warmth, then solid ground beneath his feet. A maid had just finished using the restroom and was walking out. She didn't notice him as he flowed out of the mirror as a liquid and reformed behind her.
He slipped the smaller mirror into his pocket—his essential anchor for the return trip— and stepped briskly out of the washroom.
The maid, who had stopped to clean her hand on her uniform was startled by the sudden appearance from the empty room she had just exited.
"My lord! I—I didn't see you there. Um, what were you—"
"Where is Prince Viola? Answer me."
The servant, trembling under his cold glare, stammered, "I... I don't know, my lord."
"Tch." Gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, Rivas brushed past the flustered servant, marching purposefully toward the residential wing where the Prince's private quarters were located.
When he reached the grand double doors of her suite, his path was abruptly blocked by two towering, heavily armored personal guards who crossed their pikes with unyielding discipline.
"Halt," the lead guard rumbled. "You cannot pass."
"I'm here to see the prince," Rivas said.
"I'm sorry, Lord Rivas. Prince Viola has barred everyone from entering."
Rivas's eye twitched.
"Barred everyone? On whose authority?"
"Her own."
"And why is that? I must speak with the princess immediately. Matters of state require her attention."
"The Princess has barred all visitors," the guard replied flatly. "No exceptions."
Before Rivas could argue, a voice called out from behind him.
"Lord Rivas?"
Rivas turned to see Prince Viola's ever-loyal butler, Afloc, approaching with a silver tray carrying food straight from the royal kitchens. His expression was polite but guarded.
"Ah, Afloc. Good, tell these absolute buffoons to lower their weapons and let me inside."
Afloc offered a polite, deeply ingrained bow, though his expression remained firmly unmovable.
"I am terribly sorry, My Lord, but I cannot give such an order. Her Highness is having a private chat with her sisters and asked not to be disturbed. Her instructions are absolute."
"Nonsense," Rivas snapped, his aristocratic veneer cracking.
"Things are serious, Afloc. I need to speak with her now. There are matters we need to discuss—plans we need to act on. I need a private audience with her now so we can coordinate our next move."
Afloc blinked calmly. "Does Your Lordship have a specific, actionable plan to share?"
"Yes, of course I do!" Rivas hissed, leaning in close. "Now let me in."
"If that is the case," Afloc replied smoothly, gesturing toward the tray in his hands.
"You may simply relay the outline of your plan to me, My Lord. I shall personally carry your message inside and present it to Her Highness."
Rivas's face flushed with genuine anger. "Are you deaf or just dumb?! My plan is strictly confidential! I cannot share tactical state secrets with a servant, no matter how trustworthy you claim to be!"
Just then, Heather chimed in, holding up her cleaning supplies with an innocent smile. "I've finished washing the pans I used for the snacks, Afloc."
"Splendid work, Heather," Afloc replied warmly. Then, turning his attention back to Rivas with infuriating serenity, he added,
"As you can see, we have duties to attend to. I cannot possibly predict how long Her Highness's private audience with her visiting sisters will take, but you are more than welcome to wait in the outer gallery if you wish. If you'll excuse us, my lord."
Without waiting for Rivas to formulate a furious reply, Afloc and Heather bypassed him smoothly, stepping up to the doors which immediately swung open and sealed shut behind them with a heavy, final thud.
Rivas stood alone in the corridor, his fists clenched so tightly his fingernails drew blood against his palms. A low, frustrated growl vibrated in his throat.
'This was supposed to be the absolute, perfect opportunity! And that arrogant, manipulative bitch Viola is sitting in there wasting precious time while everything goes up in flames around us!'
He stormed off, muttering under his breath. As he walked, he heard voices from a nearby room. Servants, talking.
"—did you hear? It's true! The princes have finally stopped fighting among themselves like stray dogs," one junior servant whispered excitedly to another.
"You're joking. Who's backing whom?"
"Hermes, Rowan, Bjorn, and Orion have formed a massive coalition! They've essentially consolidated their factions into a single, unified bloc to crush any outside competition. It's like a completely different palace today."
"An alliance? I thought they hated each other."
"Gods above... what is the palace going to look like from now on?"
"Well, to be fair, it's a bit exciting, isn't it? Prince Viola, Prince Kush and Prince Leon are the only ones refusing to bend the knee to Hermes's faction. I even heard that the female princes have gone to Viola to form a league of their own."
"Really?"
"What on earth is happening?"
"And Leon... well, you heard what happened, didn't you?"
"What do you mean heard? I saw everything with my own two eyes!"
"What? What?"
"Leon was captured by some masked lunatic and its not even ten minutes!"
"Eh!"
"Ei!"
Rivas froze.
'Captured? Leon? The untouchable First Prince taken by a random thug?!'
Moving with terrifying speed, Rivas lunged out of the shadows, grabbing the gossiping servant by the throat and slamming him hard against the stone wall. The servant choked, his eyes wide with stark terror.
"What did you just say?!" Rivas hissed, his voice dropping into a rabid, feral whisper. "Repeat every word about the First Prince. Right now!"
"P-Please, My Lord!" the servant gurgled, thrashing feebly.
"Answer me damnit! Are these lies or is this true?"
"It's true! Some madman calling himself 'Agent Orange''—he was wearing a fox mask and shrouded in smoke. He—he showed up on the wall, hogtied him like an animal, and fled into the city with the entire mob and the Inquisition chasing after them!"
"Where did he go?"
"I don't know! He just flew off, but—"
With a disgusted grunt, Rivas threw the servant violently aside. The poor man crumpled to the floor, coughing frantically. The remaining servants didn't wait to be attacked; they scooped up their companion and fled down the corridor in blind panic, leaving Rivas standing alone in the hallway.
With a disgusted grunt, Rivas threw the servant violently aside. The poor man crumpled to the floor, coughing frantically. The remaining servants didn't wait to be attacked; they scooped up their companion and fled down the corridor in blind panic, leaving Rivas standing alone in the hallway.
Rivas's mind spun violently. An agent in a fox mask? Operating in broad daylight? Could this be one of the competing deities' pawns moving on the fragment?
Acting on pure, frantic instinct, Rivas reached into his pocket and pulled out the Foggy Glass. Its first set of Arrays was for travel and the secondary set was for entrapment. It had a tertiary and final Array that allowed it to be used as a medium for scrying through any nearby reflective surface.
'Let's see who you are.'
He infused his finger with Flow and wrote on the surface: 'Agent Orange.'
The artifact fogged up and rippled , showing him a view of the city from the reflection of a nearby window. It wasn't clear enough so he swiped away to change perspectives with another reflection.
He swiped up, down, side to side, frantically zooming in like a man possessed. His kept shifting his viewpoint from a mans reading glasses on the third floor to a puddle of rainwater in the lower market district, tracking the frantic movement of the rioting crowd.
'There! On the edge of a rooftop reflection!'
But he couldn't make out the figure. All he could see was the First Prince, bound to something invisible, being carried through the air.
He zoomed in further, squinting and straining to see.
Nothing.
Rivas tried to adjust the focus, pouring more Flow into the mirror to sharpen the resolution of the kidnapper's face. But no matter how hard he pushed his spiritual energy, the image around the masked man remained aggressively blurred, locked behind an impenetrable wall of visual static.
"Damn it all to hell!" Rivas roared, his frustration boiling over. With a vicious grunt, he hurled the pocket mirror straight down onto the unforgiving stone floor.
'How? he thought. This mirror is a Grade Three artifact of the SK series. I could spy on a Paragon with this. Why can't I see some nameless trash?'
He began to pace as his thoughts swirled.
'Is he truly an agent of one of my god's enemies? He has to be. But why is he running around on the surface when the fragment is somewhere in the old ruins beneath the palace?'
Rivas shook his head violently, trying to force his racing thoughts into a coherent strategy.
'No matter. In either case, I cannot rely on brute force alone. I need to bypass Viola's guards, force her to open her doors, and use the omniscient sight of her Arcane Eye to locate the exact coordinates of the fragment before anyone else does.'
He stopped pacing, a sudden, heavy wave of pure pessimism slammed into him, opening the floodgates to a dozen terrifying possibilities.
'What if... what if she is already turning on me?'
The thought struck him like a physical blow.
'What if her little 'private meeting' with her sisters isn't a social call at all? Is she trying to cut me out of the alliance? Is she hunting the Oblivion Fragment for herself? Or worse—has another deity already subverted her mind?'
Panicked, Rivas dropped to his knees, and frantically picked up the mirror from the floor. Infusing a harsh, desperate burst of Flow, and scrawled a single word across the surface:
'Viola.'
For a fraction of a second, the fog trapped behind the mirror began to ripple like liquid metal and a vague, distorted feminine silhouette forming in the center of the glass.
Then, without warning, a violent, invisible shockwave of absolute, crushing psychic hostility detonated from the other side of the bond.
BOOM!
A blinding flash of silver light erupted from the glass and Rivas shrieked as massive backlash slammed directly into his chest, throwing him backward across the corridor. He crashed hard against the opposite stone wall, sliding down into a crumpled heap.
A spiderweb of cracks appeared on the mirror as a result of the filed scrying.
Rivas coughed violently, blood spattering across his chin as he gripped his bruised chest, staring at the ruined artifact with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Damn it..." he rasped, his voice trembling with pain.
In her quarters, Viola looked in Rivas' direction. Her Arcane Eye glowed faintly and she used a hand to cover it again with her hair as she returned her attention to her siblings.