Location: Fenwick District — Viktor Volkov's Private Residence — Main Hall — Evening
The chandeliers flickered.
Not from a power surge—from presence. The air in the hall had grown heavy, thick with the weight of two Sutran nobles who had stopped pretending to be civil.
Viktor Volkov stepped out of the shadows.
His silver hair caught the light, shimmering like moonlight on water. His pale eyes moved from Elijah to the young man in the blue silk coat—the one who had called himself a son of the Artemis family, the one who had tried to crush Elijah with a single tap of his finger.
"Valerik," Viktor said.
His voice was calm. Almost bored.
"Valerik Mirrorshade. If your superiors knew you were wasting your strength on a brat weaker than you, they would be very disappointed."
Valerik's lip curled.
"Don't start with me, Viktor."
His hands lowered to his sides.
"You and I have never had an altercation. I still don't like you. Especially knowing you come from the northern continent. The Frostlands."
He spat the word.
"Your people are arrogant. The most annoying of the current subclans. Especially the Azren and the Sae'thar."
"That's because they are more gifted," Viktor said.
He stepped closer.
His boots made no sound on the marble.
"Sharper. Freer. The Aru'el share the same sentiment. The puppet bootlickers of the Vehl'arim and Erynder will never understand. Unlike the rest, we are not truly of the Sutran."
Elijah's breath caught.
His hands—still at his sides—curled into fists.
Not truly of the Sutran, he thought. What does that mean?
What is he saying?
Viktor's eyes found Elijah's.
His lips curved.
"You didn't know, did you, dear friend?"
"Know what?"
"That the Sae'thar, the Azren, and the Aru'el all descend from three of the original seven tribes."
Elijah's chest tightened.
"The original tribes?"
"The ones who came before the Sutran. The ones who received the Seven Threads from the planets. The ones who were nearly destroyed by the invaders."
Viktor spread his arms.
"Some of them defected. They joined Gilgamesh. They helped form the Sutran race."
"But—"
"But they could never fully replicate the arts of the original tribes. The legacy of the subclans was too old. Too deep. Too alien."
He let his arms drop.
"So on the surface, the Gilgamesh clan proclaims that we were bred and came to fruition through them. That we are their children. Their legacy. Their property."
His eyes were cold.
"It's a lie."
---
Valerik's face was red.
"Shut up, Viktor."
His voice shook.
"You're courting death. Speaking ill of the Gilgamesh clan? Blaspheming their name? I should kill you right now. On their behalf."
Viktor's expression didn't change.
"You could try."
"Try?"
Valerik's hands rose.
The emblem on his coat began to glow—pale silver, the color of mercury, the color of mirrors. The light spread across his chest, his shoulders, his arms. It pulsed. It breathed. It grew.
Forty percent, Elijah's perception whispered. He's not holding back anymore.
The air around Valerik shimmered.
Not heat—intensity. The silver light curled around his body like a second skin, condensing, solidifying, forming patterns that looked like scales, like feathers, like something that had never existed on earth.
His breathing slowed.
His eyes closed.
When they opened, they were not the same.
He's not just angry, Elijah thought. He's accessing something deeper. Something older. Something that's been sleeping in his blood.
And Viktor—
Viktor is smiling.
---
The attack came without warning.
Valerik's hand shot forward—not a punch, a press. The silver light around his palm condensed into a single point, bright as a star, hot as a furnace.
"Mirror Tap," he said.
His voice was different now.
Deeper. Calmer.
"Full force."
The silver line appeared on his knuckle—not thin this time, thick. It spread across his hand, his wrist, his forearm, pulsing with every heartbeat, growing brighter with every pulse.
The sound came.
CRACK.
Not a tap. A thunderclap.
The echo bounced off the walls, the ceiling, the floor, shaking the chandeliers, rattling the paintings, cracking the marble.
Viktor didn't move.
His hand rose.
His palm faced Valerik.
And around his arm, something woke.
---
The Vein frame.
Not like Lucian's—not dark metal, not hungry. Mist. Pale gray, almost translucent, swirling around Viktor's forearm like smoke from a dying fire. It didn't pulse. It didn't breathe. It drifted.
The mist realization, Elijah thought. The frequency spectrum of dreams.
He's not using the Vein frame to attack. He's using it to neutralize.
The silver line from Valerik's attack reached Viktor's palm.
It stopped.
Not blocked. Not deflected. Absorbed. The silver light sank into the mist, dimmed, faded, disappeared—as if it had never existed.
Valerik's eyes widened.
"What—"
"You abandoned the old teachings," Viktor said.
His voice was quiet.
"You traded them for tricks. Shortcuts. Power that you think is your own but is only borrowed."
He stepped forward.
"The Sutran way—the real way—was never about strength. It was about understanding. About seeing the world as it really is."
He raised his other hand.
The mist spread.
"You've confused the power you acquired with the power you were born with. And that is why you will never be more than what you are now."
"Shut up!"
Valerik struck again.
Another silver line. Another thunderclap.
The mist absorbed it.
Again. Another. Another.
The mist didn't waver.
Valerik's breathing grew ragged. His face was pale. His hands were shaking.
"How is this possible?"
His voice cracked.
"How can someone like you—someone who wastes his time in that mortal dump, in those filthy corridors—how can you be stronger than me?"
"Because I didn't forget where I came from."
Viktor lowered his hands.
The mist faded.
"You're a fool, Valerik. A child playing with matches. You think the power you've borrowed makes you strong, but it only makes you dependent."
"Dependent on what?"
"On the ones who gave it to you. The ones who will take it back when you stop being useful."
Valerik's face contorted.
His eyes moved to Elijah.
"You," he said.
"This is your fault."
"My fault?"
"If you hadn't come here—if you hadn't distracted me—if you hadn't—"
He raised his hand.
The silver light flickered.
"I'll kill you."
---
Wonko's voice was urgent.
"Boy. Be careful. He's lost control."
"I noticed."
"He's not thinking clearly. He's just lashing out."
"I noticed that too."
Elijah's body tensed.
His hands rose.
His feet spread.
"If Viktor could neutralize him, I can—"
"You can't."
"I can try."
"You'll die."
"Maybe."
Elijah's eyes met Valerik's.
The silver light grew brighter.
"I'll kill you," Valerik said again.
"You can try," Elijah said.
---