Clayton sat cross-legged on his couch, the window blinds half-drawn to keep the early morning sun from cutting into his eyes. A thick folder lay on the table before him, its contents still warm from the magical courier that had delivered it just an hour ago. The emblem stamped on the corner—an ouroboros swallowing its tail—marked the seal of the private investigator he had quietly hired weeks ago.
It all began after the Cynthia incident.
He hadn't spoken much about it, but something about Lily had never added up. At first, he'd dismissed it—chalked it up to the chaos of transmigration, of trying to adapt to a world that wasn't his. But the way Lily moved, how she always seemed to know things a step before they happened, how she always showed up in the right place at the right time—it wasn't normal.
And then came the duel with Charles.
The sheer scale of the consequences it unleashed—the academy attention, the shifting politics, the rise of his status—only made her silence feel louder. She didn't behave like a regular student caught in the chaos of rising fame and noble fury. She behaved like someone who already knew how things could unfold.
That was the moment Clayton became certain. Lily wasn't just anyone.
And more importantly, she wasn't a character mentioned in the novel.
That fact alone was terrifying. Every character of consequence, even those who died early, had been sketched with care in the narrative. Yet Lily—who now stood so close to Clayton—was nowhere in those pages. His arrival in this world had created a ripple, and she might be one of the biggest consequences of that ripple.
He opened the folder.
The first page was a standard information sheet: Name: Lily Evers. Age: 17. Origin: Velkshire Town. Parentage: Unknown Father, Mother deceased. That part aligned with what she had told him before. The backstory was straightforward: a commoner girl from a rural town, bullied as a child, who studied her way into a scholarship for Vyrith's Academy.
Then came the details.
Her supposed life was almost too clean. Teachers who conveniently retired after she graduated. Local neighbors whose testimonies were eerily identical. A headmaster of her village school who vanished a month before the investigation began. Every record was just... slightly off. Nothing major. Just enough to raise the hairs on his neck.
" It's forged," Clayton whispered.
It wasn't real. The story was built to appear mundane, designed to draw no attention. But it was too convenient, too well-tailored. No real background is that symmetrical. Someone went to extra lengths to make a perfect cover story. They did take care of even small variables, anything that could tip anyone off, but they fell in the grave they dug themselves. Because, as they say, there is no such thing as perfect, and Lily's record was way too perfect. Which meant one thing—Lily wasn't alone. Someone was backing her. Protecting her. Or perhaps, using her.
He leaned back in his chair, mind racing.
She's not part of the Veilbreakers... he thought. That much he was sure of. The Veilbreakers were one of the central factions in the original novel; the main villain, the big bad, and their key members had distinct introductions and storylines. Lily was not one of them. But if she wasn't a part of them… then what?
He turned his gaze to the ceiling, recalling the lore embedded deep within the novel's middle arcs.
The rogue weavers.
Unofficial, unregistered, and frequently hunted. These were groups of powerful cardweavers who rejected the major factions of the world—the royal academies, the noble houses, and the council guilds. These people are really dangerous, not just because they are hidden, but because they have loyalty. Most houses, guilds, and even Royals had some member bound by blood, but everyone had different motives. But rogue weavers, they were united in believing solely in their organization's ideology because that's why they joined it in the first place. Only houses like Antigonus who mastered in espionage had some low level members in these organization Most weren't evil in the traditional sense, but their motives were fragmented, and their methods often blurred the line between justice and anarchy.
Clayton pulled out a notebook and scribbled across the page:
Known Rogue Weaver Organizations:
The Red Ash Circle
A group of idealists and radicals who believed that magic should not be monopolized by the upper class. Known for orchestrating attacks against noble estates and liberating enslaved magical creatures. Dangerous but driven by a warped sense of equality.
The Silence Below
An underground network that thrives in secrecy. Masters of infiltration, illusion, and surveillance. They rarely interfere openly but have a hand in everything from blackmail to sabotage. The most elusive and terrifying in terms of reach.
The Ivory Reign
Formed by rogue nobles who rejected the existing power hierarchy. They act like their own court—structured, brutal, and aristocratic in manner. They only recruit from noble bloodlines, but they believe in tearing down the current empire from within.
Glass Thorn Pact
A group focused on magical experimentation and evolution. They reject the academy's limitations on what kind of magic should be legal. Known for creating unstable card types and performing forbidden rituals. Dangerous in intellect and ambition.
The Last Chorus
The most philosophical of the rogue groups. Their aim is unclear—they speak of an ending, a world reset. Some say they worship an ancient, forgotten magic. Others believe they're prophets of doom. Their members are rare, but when they act, it's always significant.
Clayton tapped the pen against his chin. Lily didn't fit neatly into any one of these groups. But she had the hallmarks of someone who had trained in secrecy—someone designed to infiltrate the academy without being noticed. And now, fate had pushed her close to him.
His presence in this world had changed things.
So what does that make Lily?
A shadow sent to monitor him? A wild card placed by a faction to see if the rumors of an "anomaly" were true?
Or worse...
Was she planning something he couldn't yet see?
He sighed, closing the folder. His mind was a storm of theories and suspicions. And yet... there was something else he couldn't deny. Every time they talked, every time her eyes flared with something unspoken—there was humanity. Conflict. Something real.
Was she really just another piece in a grand scheme?
Or was she like him?
Suddenly, the apartment's doorbell rang.
Clayton straightened.
The folder still sat open. His thoughts were still tangled.
But someone was at the door.
And if his instincts were right—he already knew who it was.