Some guilds trained warriors. Crimson Dawn trained monsters.
Rael's clone, known here as Cain, had spent two weeks rising through their ranks—posing as an E-rank support-type. Weak. Meek. Harmless.
Exactly what they wanted him to be.
In truth, he'd already mapped the compound's labyrinthine halls, memorized patrol schedules, and pinpointed the locations of all four of Damon Vale's remaining inner circle members.
But tonight wasn't about patience. Tonight, the slow blade would cut deep.
"Cain," a gruff voice snapped. "You're late. Selene's briefing is starting."
Selene. The Ice Empress. An S-rank prodigy who once stood beside Rael during his climb through the Tower.
She wasn't one of the betrayers, but after Rael's supposed death, she vanished from the world stage. Rumors whispered she had buried herself in black-ops missions, chasing shadows and ghosts.
Now she led Crimson Dawn's war room.
Cain entered with careful footsteps. Around him, silence rippled. Guild members saluted as Selene stood at the table's head, her silver hair tied back in a warrior's braid, her blue-stitched longcoat fluttering behind her like frost trailing a storm.
Above the table, a projection hovered—an image frozen mid-motion: the guardian of Floor 51.
A beast Rael had killed with his bare hands.
Selene's voice was calm and blade-sharp. "This Guardian was purged five years ago. Its reappearance means one thing. Someone has reset the cycle."
A hushed murmur. Cain narrowed his eyes behind his mask. Resetting the Tower's cycle required ancient permissions—buried codes embedded deep within the Tower's leyline roots. Only a handful of people ever knew how.
Selene paced slowly, every step measured. "We believe this isn't the work of a guild, but a lone operative. Possibly a high-level clone user."
Her gaze flicked toward Cain—just for a moment. Long enough.
Cain didn't flinch. "Clone users are rare," he said evenly. "Even S-ranks can't fully manifest more than two."
Selene approached him, her silver eyes locked on his like twin daggers of moonlight.
"I know," she said. "Which is why it's strange. You've been here two weeks, and yet not a single scan has read your mana signature."
The room tensed. Cain smiled faintly. "I have a mana-dampening condition. Born with it."
"Convenient."
Her stare lingered a second longer than necessary. Not in accusation. In recognition.
She knows something. Not who I am—but something isn't adding up.
The moment shattered as the war room door burst open. A scout stormed in, panting, clutching a mana-burnt scroll. "Emergency—Zone 14's strike team has vanished. No remains. No artifacts. Only this."
He unfurled the scroll onto the table. A single word, burned into the earth with Tower fire.
VALE.
Selene's mask of calm cracked for half a second. Then she looked back at Cain.
He could feel it now—the tremor in the room. Fear masked as tension. Warriors holding their breath.
He tilted his head. "Looks like someone left a calling card."
Selene didn't respond. She walked to the table and placed her hand flat against the image of the Guardian.
"Dismissed," she said to the rest.
One by one, hunters filed out. Cain lingered, but Selene didn't speak again. She merely stared at the map as though willing it to yield secrets.
Later that night, Cain moved silently through the compound's west wing. He passed locked vaults, alchemy labs, and training halls echoing with distant grunts and blade strikes.
Then he found her.
Selene, alone on the balcony, moonlight dusting her hair silver.
"You followed me," she said without turning.
"You let me."
A pause. Then she looked back. "You hide your presence too well. Even for someone with a 'condition.'"
Cain said nothing.
"You remind me of someone."
Another pause. Then she asked, so softly it almost hurt:
"Was I wrong to believe in him?"
Cain's breath caught.
Selene turned fully to face him. "The man I knew fought for the Tower. For his team. And he died because the world betrayed him."
Her voice trembled. The Ice Empress was melting.
"But sometimes... I think he still walks. In the shadows."
Cain stepped closer.
"Would you forgive him," he asked, "if he came back wearing another face?"
Her answer came like frostbite.
"Only if he didn't run again."
Their eyes met. Rael's soul flickered through the clone's stare.
Then he stepped back, disappearing into the night.
Not yet. Not until Damon Vale bled.
Elsewhere, in a hidden vault beneath the compound, a voice echoed through a scrying crystal.
"He's here," a spy whispered. "The Phantom walks again."
Damon Vale's laugh crackled back. "Let him come. Let him remember what it felt like to be betrayed. Then... let him die again."
But the Tower was stirring. And this time, Rael would not die alone.