Ulvenesia,
The Eastern Operational STF Headquarters
Inside the office of the Chief Executive Director Henrik Stalin, the silence hung like a mist. The man, just entering his sixties, stood by the window. He wasn't thinking—at least, he was trying not to.
He exhaled slowly, a futile attempt to quiet his mind.
Then he saw it.
A white pigeon, elegant and out of place, flying straight toward his window.
Under normal conditions, anything remotely suspicious—especially during these critical times—would be intercepted and destroyed without question. But not this one.
Henrik recognized it.
With a calm hand, he extended his palm out the open window. The pigeon landed gently and shimmered, transforming into a sealed letter.
He opened it and read swiftly. His expression shifted with every line—concern, confusion, something deeper.
"Lighthart… huh…"
He looked back to the sky, frowning.
"Just when I thought I'd never hear that name again…"
---
The Menyver Graveyard
Beneath the Cemetery Tree
Sentina leaned against the tree with her hands still in her pockets. For someone titled the Sister of Knowledge, she was beginning to understand that comforting a grieving child was not exactly in her skill set.
She had tried. Small talk. Observations. Sarcastic remarks. None of it worked.
"Sigh… Guess I'm not all-knowing after all…"
Kite stared off into the distance, his eyes dull and glassy. The drizzle had stopped, but his world remained grey.
"How do you know about my parents…?" he asked softly.
"I already told you—it's a long story. And honestly, I'm not the one who should be explaining it."
"Then… who is?"
Sentina's gaze shifted toward the cemetery gates.
"Him."
The old iron gate creaked open with a jarring screech. Through it walked four sharply dressed men.
Leading them was a tall man with slicked-back white hair and a stern expression—Henrik Stalin.
"Finally decided to show up," Sentina muttered. "Thought you'd never come, Stan."
Henrik ran a hand through his hair, clearly unamused.
"I came the moment I got your message. Do you think Ulvenesia is just a stroll away from Menyver?"
Kite blinked, realization dawning. He turned to Sentina.
"Wait… that feather trick earlier—that was how you sent the letter?"
"You're more dense than I thought, kid," she said, sighing. "Of course it wasn't just a party trick. That was a direct message."
Kite and Chu-Chu shared a look of slow, mutual understanding.
Still, Kite furrowed his brows.
"But… if he really came from Ulvenesia, it should've taken at least two days. Even the best horses can't cross two districts that fast…"
"That's not your concern right now," Sentina cut in. "There are bigger things to focus on."
Henrik and the other officials approached Kian Lighthart's grave, heads bowed in quiet respect.
"Your father," Henrik finally said, "was quite an interesting man in his day. Many of his actions still don't make sense… even now. He left behind more questions than answers."
Sentina nodded, arms still folded, staring down at the grave.
"And now… we start digging for the answers."