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Thanks for the four Golden tickets, halil_berk_Kara. Your support is much appreciated.

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The General’s boots echoed sharply through the grand entrance hall, her pace urgent and hurried.

Marble floors stretched before her, polished to a mirror shine that reflected the afternoon sunlight streaming through tall arched windows.

Tapestries depicting the Sinclair family’s history hung from stone walls, battles won, treaties signed, lands conquered.

Cass’s father, the first duke from the Sinclair family, established the duchy through the achievements he reaped in the service to the empire. His feats are still consdered the benchmark even among veterants.

But she didn’t spare them a glance.

The box pressed tight against her chest.

"General Kael!" A servant carrying linens jumped aside as she barreled past, nearly dropping her load. "Is everything—"

Kael didn’t answer. Didn’t slow down.

Her scythes bounced slightly on her back with each hurried step, the metal making soft clink sounds against her armor.

Her knee-length skirt swished around her legs as she took a sharp turn down the eastern corridor.

Two guards stationed at the corridor entrance straightened immediately, hands moving to their sword hilts.

"General?" one asked, concern creasing his face. "What’s—"

"Move," she said, not breaking stride.

They stepped aside without hesitation.

The eastern corridor was different from the entrance hall, narrower, more intimate.

Portraits of past patriarchs lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow her as she ran.

Her breath came harder now, not from exertion but from something else. Anxiety. Fear.

She passed the library doors, thick oak bound with iron. Through the gap beneath, she could see shadows of scholars moving inside, completely unaware of what she carried.

Another turn. The smell of roses hit her, fresh flowers arranged in vases along this stretch. The Duchess’s favorite. Which meant she was getting close.

A maid emerged from a side door carrying a tea tray. She took one look at Kael’s face and pressed herself flat against the wall, eyes wide.

The corridor opened into a wider hall. Sunlight poured through a massive stained-glass window depicting a white swan taking flight, the Sinclair sigil rendered in brilliant blues and whites. The light painted colorful patterns across the stone floor.

At the end of the hall stood two elite guards in pristine armor, stationed before a set of double doors carved with intricate designs.

The Duchess’s chambers.

They crossed their spears as she approached.

"General Kael," the one on the left said formally. "The Duchess is currently—"

"I need to see her. Now." Kael’s voice was steady, but her knuckles were white around the box.

The guards exchanged glances. They’d known her for years, had trained under her. They’d never seen her like this.

"General, she gave strict orders not to be—"

"This can’t wait." Kael stepped closer, her voice dropping lower, more urgent. "Trust me. She’ll want to see this."

Another pause. The tension stretched thin.

Then the guard on the right nodded slowly and lowered his spear. "On your head, General."

"Understood."

They pushed open the heavy doors.

Kael took a breath, adjusted her grip on the box one final time, and stepped through into the Duchess’s chambers.

The doors closed behind her with a soft, final thud .

The Duchess’s study was nothing like the grand halls outside. It was quieter, more personal.

Bookshelves lined three walls from floor to ceiling, packed tight with leather-bound volumes and scrolls.

A large window overlooked the eastern gardens, curtains pulled back to let in natural light that made the room feel warm despite its size.

In the center sat a heavy oak desk, its surface covered with stacks of parchment, official seals, inkwells, and quills.

More documents waited in organized piles on a side table, trade agreements, tax records, petitions from citizens.

Duchess Cassandra Sinclair sat behind the desk, her posture perfect even after what must have been hours of work.

She wore a deep blue gown with silver embroidery along the sleeves and neckline, the fabric elegant but practical, designed for someone who actually worked rather than just looked pretty.

As her hand moved across the page, the sleeve shifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of a simple silver bracelet.

Her quill scratched steadily across parchment, the sound rhythmic and precise. She didn’t look up.

Beside her stood a woman in spectacles, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a knee-length secretary skirt, professional, no-nonsense.

She held several documents in one hand while the other pointed at specific lines on the paper before the Duchess.

"The merchant guild is requesting an extension on their trade license fees," the secretary said, her tone efficient. "You could grant a two-month extension, deny it outright, or offer a one-month extension with increased interest. I’d recommend the third option, it shows flexibility while maintaining authority."

The duchy’s merchant guild is now in turmoil as the emperor increased the consumers tax as a punishment for denying the miracle crop to spread in the duchy.

The products they buy from the Elves is now being sold at reduced demand, hence the decreased producer surplus.

The Duchess’s quill paused for just a moment, then continued. A line. A signature. Done. She reached for the next document without missing a beat.

Neither woman lifted their eyes, even though Kael had entered the room.

"What is it, Kael?" Duchess Cassandra asked, her voice smooth and calm. Her quill kept moving, looping elegant letters across the page. Her focus remained entirely on the document before her.

The secretary didn’t look up either, already shuffling to the next piece of parchment, her finger tracing down a column of numbers.

Kael stood there, breathing hard, the ornate box clutched against her chest.

"Cass, you need to see this!" Kael’s voice cut through the quiet efficiency of the room.

The secretary Ilya finally looked up, her expression sharp with disapproval. "Can’t it wait? There are some—" she started, gesturing to the stack of documents that still needed the Duchess’s attention.

"No!" Kael’s voice was firm, almost desperate. Her eyes were sharp and determined, burning with an intensity that made even Ilya pause.

Cassandra sighed, long and weary. She set down her quill with deliberate care, the wooden shaft making a soft click against the inkwell. Finally, she looked up, her amber eyes meeting Kael’s.

"Make it quick."

Kael didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room in three long strides, her armored boots heavy against the polished wooden floor.

She reached the desk and carefully and placed the box on the only clear space between the parchments. It looked out of place among the mundane paperwork, its ancient symbols seeming to pulse faintly in the afternoon light.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed slightly. Ilya leaned in closer, her spectacles reflecting the light as she adjusted them.

Kael’s fingers trembled as she reached for the latch. The metal was cold beneath her fingertips. She took a breath.

Click.

The latch opened.

She lifted the lid slowly. The hinges creaked softly, the sound somehow ominous in the quiet room.

Cassandra’s quill dropped as her arms twitched, touching the nearby placed quill.

It rolled twice on the desk, and fell to the floor with a soft tap . Ink splattered across the document she’d been working on, ruining her perfect signature.

She didn’t notice.

Her face had gone pale, all the color draining away in an instant. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles turned white.

"That’s..." Her voice came out as barely a whisper. "That’s... impossible. My father destroyed them..."

Ilya had gone rigid beside her, one hand flying to her mouth. The documents she’d been holding slipped from her fingers, scattering across the floor in a flutter of parchment.

Kael’s jaw was tight. "I thought the same thing. But it’s real, Cass. Its the netherworld’s."

The room felt suddenly colder. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window seemed dimmer somehow, as if the object in the box was draining the warmth from the air itself.

Cassandra stared at the contents, her breathing shallow. Then, finally, she looked up at Kael.

"Where did you get this?" Her voice was steady now, but there was something underneath it, fear, or maybe rage, or perhaps both tangled together.

"The Asylum of Legacy," Kael replied quietly.

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Ilya’s gaze shifted back to the box, confusion creasing her brow. She leaned closer, adjusting her spectacles. "There’s a toy and a few pieces of fabric... whose belongings are these?"

Kael’s jaw tightened. "The shadows followed rumors of a commotion. They watched a vigilante group kill a bunch of SBV fodder and mount their heads on pikes in the town square."

"Vigilantes?" Ilya frowned.

"The shadows wanted to report it as a simple rebellion," Kael continued, her voice steady but tense. "But for some reason, Selka said she couldn’t overlook the leader of that group. She felt..." Kael paused, her hand unconsciously moving toward one of her scythes. "She felt as if he sensed her presence."

"No way," Ilya breathed. "Selka’s one of our best shadows."

"So Selka dug deeper," Kael cut her off. "Found information about him. His name is Rune. He’s from the orphanage we’re funding in Larkshade." She paused, swallowing hard. "But there’s something off about him."

Kael looked at Cassandra, expecting some reaction.

The Duchess had gone completely still. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, staring at the contents of the box.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling down her temple. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath shallow and uneven.

Kael pressed on. "There’s no record of his parents whatsoever. And one rainy night, he just... showed up. Alone. At the Asylum of Legacy, wearing nothing but tattered fabric."

Ilya leaned forward. "Showed up? From where?"

"No one knows." Kael’s voice dropped lower. "But according to Rune’s journal that Selka found, when Serena came to take him in, he looked at her and... laughed."

The room felt colder.

"The first words he spoke to her were..." Kael’s throat worked as she swallowed. " ’Take care of this body. I will be back.’ Then he collapsed in Serena’s arms."

Silence stretched thick between them.

Ilya’s face had paled. "Only a few people know about Larkshade’s true purpose. Surely he must the son of some warrior"

"Kael."

Cassandra’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Sharp. Cold. Final.

Both women turned to her.

The Duchess’s amber eyes had changed, they glinted with something dangerous, something sharp and predatory.

Her hands were still gripping the edge of the desk, but now her knuckles were bone white.

"I want you to bring that Rune here." Her words came out measured, controlled, but underneath was steel. "Even if he refuses. Even if you have to drag him kicking and screaming. Bring. Him. Here."

"Y-yes!" Kael straightened, giving a sharp salute, her hand pressed to her chest.

Cassandra’s gaze shifted to Ilya. "Go with her."

Ilya hesitated, her mouth opening as if to protest. But one look at the Duchess’s face, at the trembling in her jaw, the wild look barely contained behind those amber eyes, and she snapped her mouth shut.

"Understood, Your Grace." Ilya gathered her scattered documents with shaking hands as she quickly moved toward the door.

Kael turned on her heel, her scythes clanking softly against her armor. Both women left the study, the heavy doors closing behind them with a soft thud .

The moment they were gone, Cassandra’s composure shattered.

She gasped, her breath coming in ragged pants. Her hand shot out and grabbed the object from the box, an ingot, dark metal etched with glowing runic symbols.

It was cold. So cold it burned.

Her fingers trembled as she held it up to the light, trying to steady herself. Sweat dripped from her chin onto the desk, staining the parchment below.

Focus. She needed to focus.

At the top of the ingot was a single symbol, intricate, flowing, unlike any common rune. The runic symbol of the original soul.

Cassandra’s father had taught her about the Netherworld when she was young. Every being born there carried an ingot, a physical manifestation of their soul.

The symbol at the top represented who they truly were, a runic symbol of their soul.

Her eyes shifted down to the center of the ingot.

Two more symbols were etched there. Two records.

Her breathing hitched.

In the Netherworld, when a soul possessed a body, a new symbol was carved into the ingot. A record. A mark of transfer.

Two symbols meant two possessions. Two souls had inhabited this body.

But that wasn’t what made her blood run cold.

The symbol at the top, the original soul, and the second symbol in the center...

They were the same.

Her hands shook violently now. The ingot nearly slipped from her fingers.

"That means..." Her voice came out as barely a whisper, cracking at the edges. "The original soul was replaced. A different soul possessed the body first. And then... the original soul took it back."

She stared at the symbols, her mind racing.

"There’s no way... someone could open the Netherworld portal this many times..."

Her words trailed off into nothing.

Because she knew. She knew what this meant.

The peace they’d fought so hard to maintain, it would shatter. The disaster was coming. The same disaster her father had fought against with everything he had.

The same disaster that killed him.

Her vision blurred. Not from tears, but from memory.

She was ten years old again. Small. Powerless. Watching her father fall.

A man stood over him, tall, imposing, radiating power that made the air itself tremble.

Golden eyes gleamed in the darkness, cold and merciless. Black hair fell over his face as he smiled, smiled, down at the blade buried deep in her father’s chest.

A blood-red katana, a chain at its hilt.

He pulled it out slowly, almost lovingly. Her father’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

The man turned. Those golden eyes found her, a ten-year-old girl frozen in terror.

And he smiled wider.

He’d had an ingot too. She remembered seeing it hanging from his belt, the symbols glowing faintly in the dim light.

A being from the Netherworld.

The one who killed her father.

Cassandra’s breath came faster, harder. Her chest felt tight, like something was crushing her from the inside.

She looked down at the ingot in her hands.

At the symbols.

At the truth staring back at her.

"Rune..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Who are you?"