— A Son Who Buried His Mother Alone —
I knew, instinctively, that Elias was not the kind of man who fled when trouble came.
Ignoring the murmurs of doubt around me, I spoke evenly.
"If I'm not mistaken, he's gone to his mother's grave."
"His mother's grave?" Victor frowned. "How could you possibly know that, Mr. Arcturus?"
"She passed recently," I replied. "He lives alone. No friends. No family left." I turned toward Victor. "There's nowhere else he would go."
Jasper caught the weight beneath my words. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Rhan... you've already figured it out, haven't you? It was him."
"It was."
"But why?" Jasper pressed. "For eight thousand credits?"
I didn't answer.
Because at that moment, I still didn't understand the full truth myself.
The grave lay halfway up the forested hill behind the town. The path leading there was narrow and uneven, barely more than a scar through dense undergrowth.
As we climbed, Jasper muttered under his breath, "Who buries someone all the way out here?"Then something occurred to him. "Wait—if there was no funeral, no pallbearers... how did he get the coffin up this mountain?"
"Wooden bearers," I said.
Jasper blinked. "Wooden... bearers?"
"He's a Ghost Craftsman," I explained, my tone flat. "He has the skill."
After nearly an hour of climbing, the trees thinned, opening into a small clearing.
It was filled with wooden carvings—carefully crafted, almost reverent in their detail. A miniature house. A sofa. A bed. Everyday objects, shaped with quiet precision. They could only have been Elias's work.
Beyond them stood a fresh mound of earth.
Before a simple headstone sat a man, shoulders slumped, clothes worn thin. His posture alone spoke of exhaustion; his stillness, of grief long past the point of tears.
The moment Dick saw him, he surged forward.
"Elias! You bastard!"
He managed two furious steps before stopping short, glancing back at me.
"M-Mr. Arcturus...?"
I gave no response. I simply walked past him.
"You found me," Elias said.
His voice was dry, scraped raw by disuse. He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were sunken, drained of light—empty with a fatigue that went far deeper than the body.
"You knew I would come?"
"You unearthed my spirit-seal," he replied. "You broke my Ghost-Fence Gate. Of course I knew."
Something flickered briefly across his face—curiosity, perhaps.
"I expected an old man," he went on. "Not someone so young. Has the Meta Order finally produced someone of your caliber?"A pause.
"I misjudged the world."
"Enough of this crap!" Dick snapped, his face flushing red. "You tried to kill me! I've had enough! Today I'm going to—"
"Silence."
My voice cut across the clearing.
I turned my gaze on Dick, cold and steady.
"If he had truly intended to kill you," I said, "not even ten of me would have been enough to stop him."
I let the words settle before adding,
"The Ghost-Fence wasn't meant for you. It was a test. For me."
The clearing fell silent.
Dick froze. So did everyone else.
All eyes shifted to Elias.
Elias answered with a faint, tired smile.
Slowly—almost ceremonially—he reached into his pocket, drew out a rolling paper and a pouch of coarse tobacco. He packed it with practiced ease, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
The movement was smooth. Precise.
And utterly without feeling.
---
— The Truth of Eight Thousand —
"Mr. Rowan," Victor began, his voice unsteady. "Why... why did you do it? Why sabotage the film city?"
Elias exhaled slowly, smoke drifting into the cold air.
"That's not a question for me," he said. "Ask Fraser. Ask Dick."
His tone was flat—detached, as if the answer no longer mattered. As if nothing did.
Fraser immediately jabbed a finger at him.
"Elias! Was it for the money? Eight thousand credits? Do you have any idea what you've done? Mr. Hale invested billions into that project! Because of you, everything's frozen!"
Elias smiled.
It was the most broken smile I had ever seen.
He took another drag, then lowered his hand. The smile faded. In its place rose a cold, sharpened fury—so sudden it made Fraser instinctively step back.
"Only eight thousand?" Elias said quietly at first.
Then his voice rose.
"Yes. To you, it's nothing. Pocket change." His breath hitched. "To me, it was my mother's life."
The words tore out of him.
"Because I didn't have that money, I lost her. I lost the only family I had left."
His hand shook as he pointed at Fraser.
Then at Dick.
Then, finally, at Victor.
"Which of you ever stopped to think about eight thousand credits?" he demanded. "To you, it's less than the dirt on your shoes. To me, it was blood and sweat. My blood. My sweat. I didn't steal it. I didn't beg for charity. I earned it."
His voice broke, then hardened again.
"So tell me—what gave you the right? What gave you the right to take it from me?"
He was shouting now, raw and unrestrained, like an animal driven into a corner.
"Are people like me just toys to you? Insects to be crushed when we get in the way?" He coughed violently, bending forward for a moment, one hand braced against his knee.
When he straightened, the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed.
"I've never fought anyone," he said hoarsely. "I went where I was told. I did what I was told. Not because I was afraid—but because I didn't want to trouble anyone."
He let out a harsh breath.
"Fraser. You gave me work. Yes. And every time, you skimmed your share off the top. I never complained. As long as my mother and I could eat, money didn't matter."
His voice dropped.
"But this time... I knelt."
The word landed heavily.
"I begged you. 'Please. Pay me what I've already earned. Let me save her. I'll work for you for free after—my whole life, if you want.'" His voice cracked. "I thought... I thought even you might have a shred of decency. That you'd let a son do what little he could."
His eyes burned.
"But you didn't. You refused. You even told people I'd waste the money on drink and women." His laugh was sharp and bitter. "Have you ever seen me in a bar? Have you ever seen me near a place like that?"
"I—I thought you were lying!" Fraser blurted, flushing. "If I'd known it was for your mother, I would've paid you!"
Elias turned on him without hesitation.
"And you, Dick."
His voice cut like a blade.
"I came to you just to explain. You wouldn't even see me. You sent your guards after me. You told me my wages were forfeit."
His fists clenched.
"I'm poor. I have no power. But does that give you the right to steal what I earned with my own hands?" His voice trembled. "Tell me—what did I do wrong? I asked for my money early to save my mother. Was that a crime?"
His breath shuddered.
"That wasn't money," he whispered. "That was my mother's life."
Tears streamed down his face as he struck his chest once, hard.
"And you made me watch her die. In my arms."
"I—I have rules!" Dick stammered, panic creeping into his voice. "I have a whole crew to manage! You can't just get paid before the job's done! I was just trying to scare you, I wasn't really going to—"
"Dick!"
Jasper's roar shattered the clearing.
"Are you still making excuses?" he demanded. "Do you still think you did nothing wrong? Tell me—which matters more? Your rules, or basic humanity?"
Dick shrank under his glare, unable to answer.
"If a man has no humanity," Jasper went on coldly, "what value do his rules have? What kind of rules does a beast follow?"
"Mr. Arcturus—" Dick turned toward me desperately. "How can he—"
I met his eyes without emotion.
"Last night," I said, "when you told your story—why did you leave this part out?"I paused.
"I asked if you'd laid hands on him. You said you 'gave him a little shove.'"
My gaze hardened.
"Was it really just a little shove?"
Dick had no reply. His shoulders sagged, color draining from his face.
"Remember how to be human," I said quietly. "If you forget, your end may come quickly—and without explanation."
"I had no idea," Victor said at last, his voice heavy with shame. He looked at Dick and Fraser with open contempt. "You told me a very different story."
"Mr. Hale—" they began.
"Enough," Victor snapped. "Not another word."
They fell silent at once.
Victor stepped toward Elias, his posture cautious now. Almost respectful.
"Mr. Rowan. I'm Victor Hale. I own the film city project." He hesitated. "Why didn't you come to me?"
Elias laughed softly.
There was no humor in it at all.
"Come to you?" he said. "What would be the point? You and Daniel Mercer—aren't you cut from the same cloth?" He looked away. "If my sabotage hadn't hurt your interests, would you be standing here now?"
He exhaled slowly.
"Men like you never look down when you walk. You never check to see who you're about to crush."
"You went to Daniel?" Victor asked, startled.
"Of course." Elias's voice was bitter. "Even if eight thousand credits is nothing to you, it was everything to me. I still believed—foolishly—that someone at the top might listen."
His gaze drifted into the distance.
"Mercer walked right past me. Didn't even glance my way." His lips twitched. "I saw it in his eyes. I wasn't a person. I was an insect."
Victor had no words.
Neither did I.
The evasions Daniel had given me the night before had already told me the truth. This tragedy had grown from rot inside Victor's own circle.
"Mr. Rowan," Victor said at last, pulling a credit chip from his pocket. "For your mother... I am deeply sorry." He held it out. "One million credits. It can't undo what's been lost, but—"
Elias leaned back against the cold headstone and laughed again.
"Is money really magic to people like you?" he asked quietly. "Do you truly believe it can buy anything?"
I placed a hand on Victor's arm and shook my head.
"Put it away," I said. "Money can solve many problems. This isn't one of them."
Victor withdrew the chip at once. "My apologies. I spoke out of turn."
"All of you," Elias said softly, "leave."
His gaze settled on me.
"I wish to speak with this young man alone."
Jasper and Victor immediately looked toward me.
I took a slow breath. "Go. If Mr. Rowan meant me harm, your presence wouldn't stop him."
I had no doubt about the power of a Ghost Craftsman.
Elias might be young, but the pressure in the air around him—quiet, restrained—was something ordinary men could never withstand.
Reluctantly, with repeated glances back, the others retreated down the path, leaving us alone in the silent clearing.