The Crimson Dawn command center buzzed with low static, the voices of high-ranking hunters mingling with the hum of holo-screens. Blue and white light flickered across tense faces bent over raid reports, guild conflicts, and anomaly charts. Yet Selene stood apart, eyes fixed on a single image projected above the war table.
A crater scorched into the earth. And beneath it, burned deep into the soil, a single word:
VALE.
A name heavy with dread.
Behind her, arguments flared about whether a rogue guild or rival faction was responsible for the sudden attacks, but Selene had stopped listening. Her mind circled one truth:
Phantom.
He was meant to be dead.
She had seen his blood spilled on the Tower floor, watched his shattered form swallowed by divine retribution.
Yet—
Too many strikes bore his signature.
Too much precision, timing, and silence—unnerving in its unnaturalness.
No trace of mana left behind. No ordinary enemy could move this way.
Selene pulled up a secondary panel, sifting through the list of mercenaries and hunters involved in recent raids. One name appeared repeatedly, standing out like a shadow in the light:
Cain.
Weak on paper. An unassuming support-type with no official kills.
But every time Cain appeared, chaos followed like a storm.
Selene zoomed in on a blurred security photo: a figure cloaked in black, hood drawn low, exiting a failed dungeon raid.
Her breath caught.
The stance—the slight lean forward, the poised stillness before the storm.
Every subtle detail mirrored memories of Rael's fluid, lethal form.
Her fingers brushed the screen, voice barely a whisper: "…Rael?"
Her mind flashed to the last time she'd seen him—a phantom in the dark, swift and cold as winter's bite.
There was something more.
She accessed Cain's suppressed mana signature—a faint trace buried deep beneath layers of sealing magic.
It pulsed with a rare violet hue, one she remembered from Rael's forbidden soul flame.
Selene's heart pounded.
No one else used that power.
Her fingers flew over the console. Cross-referencing Cain's raid history, she discovered uncanny parallels.
Cain had been present—silent and unseen—at every location where Phantom's strikes had occurred.
Even more troubling: Cain's movements matched patterns unique to Rael's combat style, down to the smallest feints and retreats.
One holo-recording played.
Cain slipped through enemy lines with unnatural grace, dispatching foes in a blur.
Selene's jaw tightened.
The ghost she had mourned might still be alive.
She straightened, frost curling around her boots as icy determination settled over her.
"Pull all data on Cain," she commanded, voice cold and unwavering. "I want every detail—his raid logs, associates, every trace of his mana, even if it's hidden behind the strongest seals."
A junior officer blinked, hesitating. "Commander, Cain's rank is barely E. This could be a wild goose chase."
Selene turned, eyes steel.
"This isn't a theory. It's fact masked in shadows."
She pressed her palm against the cold screen, murmuring, "The Phantom didn't die. He vanished... and he's been watching us all along."
Her voice was barely a breath.
But it struck the room like thunder.
The hunt was no longer a whisper. It was a storm.
Selene's fingers hovered over the controls, doubt flickering for the first time.
Could Cain truly be Rael?
Or was she chasing a ghost, one that might consume her in the end?
She closed her eyes, picturing Rael's sharp gaze—the man who had been mentor, rival, and something more.
She felt the echo of his presence, the warmth behind the cold.
And beneath it all, a fragile hope.
That the man she thought lost could yet be found.