Thin veins of light crawled along the walls, etched deep into the stone, pulsing to a soft and precise rhythm.
The room held nothing but two folding chairs and a table that filled the center.
Alain lowered his head, staring at the cuff on his hands. The cold had seeped through, reminding him of what transpired a few hours ago.
Actually, he wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting here. Only that he had been given stale bread and jerky a few times today.
He hadn't noticed the ache beneath his hand until now. The lights were too low, and it didn't really hurt anyway.
The lock clicked.
A thin line of brightness split across the floor, crawling toward his boots. It widened, spilling across the floor and table. Alain squinted against it; the sudden contrast stung his eyes.
Someone stood framed in the doorway, their outline sharp against the white glare behind them.
The silhouette didn't move right away. They lingered, as though deciding whether to step into the dark or not.
Alain lowered his gaze to the table, blinking the light out of his eyes. The smell of ink and old paper reached him before the sound of footsteps did.
At first, Alain thought it was Public Security. However, the cut of the coat showed: high-collared, white fabric trimmed in gold, the same color that had shimmered through the rain.
The man closed the door behind him with deliberate quiet, sealing the light away again. The room sank back into its muted glow. But up close, the resemblance broke.
His uniform was creased and ink-stained, a half-buttoned mess. A ribbon of writing pens and small crystals hung from his belt instead of blades. The faint scent of parchment and ozone clung to him.
Not a soldier. Not really.
Alain didn't speak. He only followed the man's movements with his eyes as he sat on the chair opposite.
He wasn't sure what he expected: a reprimand, a demand, maybe even a threat.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The stranger adjusted his sleeve, flipped open a folder, and glanced at Alain once, twice. Then he tilted his head slightly, as if something unexpected had caught his attention.
"Huh," he said. "You're kinda handsome."
Alain blinked. "…That's what you're leading with?"
The man smiled like he'd expected that reaction. "Hmm, given the situation, I thought you'd be more…"
"Anyways, I'm Ceres Halden," he said, adjusting the monocle at his temple.
"Scholar. Consultant for the Academy, on loan currently for… unorthodox incidents."
His tone made the words sound lighter than they should have been. He flipped open a small notebook, glancing over the page once before shutting it again.
"They tell me you melted half a street."
Alain frowned. "They're exaggerating."
"Good," Ceres said. "But exaggerations contain truth as well, you know." He smiled faintly, a touch of humor that never reached mockery.
"Besides, you don't look like someone who'd start a riot. You look more like someone who tried to stop one and failed spectacularly."
That made Alain pause. "You don't know that, I might be a serial killer."
The man blinked, a weird look on his face that Alain couldn't quite figure out.
"Yeahh, no. Judging by the amount of bruises on you, I'd say otherwise."
"Now," he said, tone still mild, "let's get to the meat and potatoes."
A pause, then with an almost amused lilt: "What happened at the scene?"
"Which part?" he asked carefully.
Ceres smiled. "The part where the street exploded would be a good start."
"I didn't cause it. Didn't know there was a leakage. I was trying to get them out," he said.
"The caretaker and the kids. The guards moved in, and…" He stopped himself before the next word.
"And you burned through four armed guards, right."
"That wasn't—"
Ceres raised a hand, palm outward. "Relax. I get that you're jumpy at the situation."
He made a note in the folder, his tone softening again.
"Don't worry. I'm not here to decide what you did wrong."
He turned the page over, clicking his pen again to switch colors. He hovered on his notebook, waiting for more. When nothing came, he glanced up.
"Go on," he said. "Caretaker, children—names help me keep things organized."
Alain's gaze stayed fixed on the table. "No names."
Ceres blinked once. "All right. Descriptions, then."
"No people."
That earned a quiet exhale that might have been a sigh...or a laugh. "You're going to make my job difficult, aren't you?"
Alain didn't answer.
Ceres tapped the folder with the tip of his pen, the sound sharp in the stillness.
"No names, no people," he repeated quietly. "Fine."
He leaned back in his chair, the legs creaking faintly. For a moment, he seemed content to let the silence stretch again. Then—
"You know," he said, tone light but deliberate, "the girl already spilled the beans."
Alain's head lifted before he could stop it. His pulse lurched, the cuff tugging away at his energy, but he didn't care.
Ceres watched the reaction without smiling this time. "Look, it's not worth it, kid. She already ratted you out. I offered her a deal."
Alain's jaw tightened. "You're bluffing." But then stayed silent all the same.
He sat upright again, tapping the folder once with the edge of his pen.
"So that's how it is," he said softly. "You still won't talk."
Alain met his gaze. "I believe in her," he muttered.
Silence stretched for a while, with only the small hum from the bulb above filling the room.
Ceres tilted his head. "That's interesting."
He thumbed through a few pages in the folder, the paper whispering faintly.
"Because she said the same thing."
The words settled between them, quiet but heavy.
Alain's breath caught. "…What?"
"She wouldn't give me names either," Ceres said, almost conversationally. "Wouldn't confirm a thing. For someone who looked ready to faint, she was remarkably composed."
Alain looked away, jaw tight.
"So now we have two of you," Ceres murmured. "A pair of idiots covering for each other."
He laughed once under his breath, the sound soft but real. Then the humor drained from his voice.
"All right then. Let's skip the dance."
He closed the folder with a sharp clap, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
When he spoke again, his tone was calm, almost courteous.
"You both have two options."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers loosely interlaced.
"Option one: the usual punishment for unlicensed casting, obstruction, and property damage. You'll be processed, tried, and likely shipped to an etherite mine outside of Asgraen."
Alain didn't move, but underneath, his jaw clenched tightly.
Ceres continued, unbothered.
"Option two: an opportunity. No trial. No cell. You'll be transferred into my custody under academic evaluation."
He let that hang there for a moment, studying Alain's face.
"I'm offering you a way out. You and the girl. Together."
Alain frowned, "...What's the catch."
Ceres smiled faintly, as if he'd been waiting for that question.
"Oh, nothing dramatic. Just your cooperation. It's because of your Concept Rune."
Alain forced his expression steady.
He shrugged, voice even. "You mean my mark? Almost everyone in Ede has one. It's the industrial sector, they're a dime a dozen."
Ceres chuckled softly, turning a page in the folder. "That's a convenient story. Unfortunately, I make a living in Runic History."
He tapped the edge of the paper, then met Alain's eyes.
"I saw it when they brought you in. Right hand, gloved now, you're welcome by the way."
Alain's stomach tightened.
"And the girl has one too. Different mark, both Abstract Grade. You two shouldn't even be here. What a waste of talent."
He closed the folder, fingers drumming once on the cover.
"So here's the truth, Alain Vale. You can sit in that chair until the Authority decides what to do with you, or you can come with me and learn what those Runes of yours actually mean."
Ceres's words hung in the air, the hum of the cuffs filling the silence between them.
Alain stared at the table for a moment, then lifted his head.
"How much influence do you have?"
Ceres blinked once, surprised. "Influence?"
"You said you could get us out. That we'd be under your custody."
Alain's tone stayed calm, deliberate. "So tell me how far that reaches."
Ceres considered the question, the faintest smile ghosting across his face.
"Enough to keep the Authority off your back. Not enough to start a war."
Alain nodded slowly. "Good."
He drew in a quiet breath, meeting Ceres's eyes.
"Then here's my condition. If you stop them from investigating the orphanage any further—" his voice hardened, "—and if you keep Lia safe, it's a deal."
Ceres studied him for a moment. The amusement had left his face, replaced by something closer to intrigue.
"That's a bold demand for someone still cuffed to a table."
Alain's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Then you know I mean it."
The silence lingered, measured and heavy, before Ceres finally nodded.
"Done."
He closed the folder, sliding it under his arm as he stood. "Pleasure doing business with you," he said, tone light again, almost cheerful.
"Let's get along, shall we?"