The city of Viremont buzzed with life, but for Cassian, every cobblestone and whisper of wind carried weight.
He moved through the streets not as the scrawny boy who once scrubbed palace floors, but as a ghost reborn—clean, precise, and hidden in plain sight. He wore a cloak now, simple but lined with runes from the vault beneath the orphanage, and his voice carried the strange weight of someone who had stared into the abyss and grinned back.
His destination: the House of Crimson Vows, a noble establishment known for its clandestine dealings hidden behind wine and song. Here, whispers were currency and masks were more valuable than steel.
Cassian slipped through the back gate like smoke.
Inside, the air was thick with perfume and secrets. Courtesans laughed with senators, nobles played games with veiled threats, and servants moved silently—watching, always watching.
He didn't come for pleasure. He came for leverage.
A man sat alone at the corner table—a minor noble, but one with ties to the Silver Court. Lord Renwick Dorne. Soft around the edges, fond of drink, and notorious for gambling debts.
Cassian slid into the seat opposite him without invitation.
Lord Dorne blinked, confused, then narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you, boy?"
Cassian's smile was thin. "No. But you will."
He placed five Sovereign Coins on the table. Their glow pulsed faintly, and Renwick's expression shifted from irritation to fascination. Greed did that to weak men.
"I know of your debts. I know who you owe, and I know what they'll do when you can't pay. But I also know things you don't. About your cousin in the army. About your sister's affair with the ambassador from Sorellia."
Renwick stiffened.
Cassian leaned closer. "Work for me. Feed me names. In return, your debts disappear. And your secrets? They stay buried."
There was a long pause. Then a slow nod.
[Quest Complete: Network Rooted]
+2 Manipulation+5 Influence+1 Map Unlock: Noble Circles of Viremont
The Sovereign System's faint glow faded. Cassian stood and vanished into the smoke.
That night, as Cassian sat on the rooftop of the old bell tower overlooking the capital, the stars seemed closer.
Evelyne sat beside him—silent, but present.
They had met again by chance, or so she thought. She was an apothecary's apprentice now, her touch still as gentle as he remembered, her laughter like a balm.
He hadn't intended to see her again. His path was blood. Hers, light.
But fate had other plans.
"What are you really doing here, Cassian?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he reached into his satchel and handed her a glass vial—iridescent and swirling.
"I made this for you. A tonic of clarity. Helps with nightmares."
Evelyne tilted her head, touched. "You remembered?"
"I remember everything," Cassian said, his voice quieter than the wind.
Their eyes met. For a second, the world paused. No system. No vengeance. Just the ache of two souls too young to carry so much weight.
"I worry about you," she whispered.
"You should," he said. "I worry about me too."
Her fingers brushed his.
For a moment, the fire within him—made of rage and memories—dimmed.
And he allowed it.
The next day shattered the peace.
Smoke rose from the Lower District.
An explosion. Screams. Bells tolling.
Cassian ran through the chaos, his cloak whipping behind him. The apothecary's shop was gone—reduced to rubble. Bodies lay in the street. Guards shouted about "the rogue alchemist."
And in the smoke stood a figure wrapped in black armor veined with crimson light. Masked. Inhuman.
Pulse.
Cassian knew the name from whispers—an enforcer of the forbidden order. A ghost from the Shadow Wars, thought dead.
But Pulse was very much alive—and tearing through soldiers like parchment.
Evelyne was gone.
He scanned the streets, the rooftops, every corner.
Then—
A scream.
His head snapped up.
Evelyne was on the roof of the collapsed shop, cornered, limping, Pulse advancing.
Cassian didn't think.
He leapt onto a barrel, then to the edge of a stall, then the eaves of a nearby house. His muscles burned, but he kept going. With every step, the Sovereign System flared.
[Stat Boost Activated: Reflex + Agility Surge][Skill Triggered: Shadowstep]
He landed beside Evelyne in a blur, drawing the twin knives hidden beneath his cloak.
Pulse turned, their mask expressionless. "You're not meant to be here."
Cassian spun the blades in his palms. "Neither are you."
They clashed.
Pulse moved like lightning, their blade humming with unstable energy. Cassian danced between strikes, landing shallow cuts, drawing blood, calculating.
But he was outmatched.
[Warning: Threat Level Exceeds Current Capacity][Recommendation: Escape or Activate Emergency Protocol]
Cassian ignored the prompts.
He threw a vial at Pulse's feet—liquid light exploded, blinding the assassin.
He grabbed Evelyne and leapt from the roof.
They rolled into the alley, panting.
"Why—why are they after me?" Evelyne gasped.
Cassian's eyes darkened. "Not you. Me."
She looked at him then—not with confusion, but something closer to understanding. And fear.
He wanted to say something. Anything.
But Pulse's blade shattered the wall beside them.
No more time.
He pulled Evelyne into a secret tunnel he had discovered days ago, leading into the catacombs beneath Viremont.
They vanished into darkness.
Hours passed.
In the depths of the catacombs, Cassian lit a lantern. Evelyne lay beside him, exhausted.
"You saved me," she whispered.
"I had to."
"You don't owe me anything."
"It's not about owing."
A silence fell.
Then—
"Why are you doing all this, Cassian?"
He hesitated.
Then, for the first time, he told her. Not everything. But enough. The betrayal. The prince. The chains. The execution.
The rebirth.
Evelyne said nothing for a long time. Then she reached for his hand.
"You're walking a dangerous path," she said.
"I know."
"And it will change you."
"I hope it does."
She looked away. "Just promise me something."
"Anything."
"Don't lose the boy I knew. The boy who gave his only meal to the sick girl in the alley. The boy who believed even shadows could become light."
Cassian swallowed hard.
"I'll try."
She kissed his cheek. Soft. Fleeting.
But it lingered.
And for a moment, the Sovereign System went quiet—as if even it respected what had just passed.
Above the city, the High Council met in secret.
News of Pulse's appearance had spread. Tension stirred. And deep within the palace, the Third Prince watched the firelight dance on his wine glass.
"So," he murmured, "the rat still lives."
He smiled.
Let the game begin.