[A/N: Hello~ Author here. I'm not very good at remembering names, so if you find any character names written incorrectly, please just consider it a small error. Thanks!] — Ecstasy Crown.
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Chapter 8: The Feather and the Flame
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The feather lay on my pillow like it belonged there.
Long, silver, glinting faintly in the candlelight. No note. No seal. Just the feather—soft, pristine, and unmistakably deliberate.
I stared at it in silence.
It was strange, really. In my old life—back when I was just a guy behind a screen—this would've been some cryptic item in a quest inventory. A shiny key to unlock the next cutscene.
But now?
Now it felt personal. Intimate. Like someone had stepped into my room, into my space, and left behind a whisper instead of a threat.
I picked it up.
It was cool to the touch. Lighter than it looked. The kind of artifact you didn't just stumble across.
The Whisper Hallows rarely revealed themselves. They operated in the shadows between noble houses, where secrets were currency and truth cost more than gold. In the game, they were a side faction—optional, easily missed unless you triggered a very specific hidden event chain.
But here?
They'd found me.
And that meant something was shifting.
I didn't leave immediately.
Instead, I took my time preparing.
Not because I was stalling—but because I understood something important now:
In this world, rushing meant dying.
I changed into a plain black tunic, long coat, and gloves—simple, but tailored. I tied back my hair with a thin leather band and left my ring and family crest behind.
Tonight, I wasn't a prince.
I was a man asking questions in the dark.
The halls of the palace were quiet at this hour. Lamps flickered low. Guards rotated in practiced silence. I avoided them—not out of fear, but caution. Word of my movements had a tendency to echo louder than my actual footsteps.
I slipped out through the servant's wing, where deliveries came in before sunrise.
The city beyond was a different world.
Gone were the marble floors and crystal chandeliers. In their place—cobblestones, dim alleys, the distant hum of carriages, and the occasional bark of a drunk noble too deep in his cup to remember his name.
I kept my hood up and my pace steady.
The feather's signal had meant the Hallows wanted a meeting. A message like that didn't come with a location.
You had to know where to go.
And I did.
In the game, the Whisper Hallows were hidden beneath the city's old bathhouse ruins. I remembered the event trigger—somewhere past midnight, tap the second column on the right three times and whisper a false name.
So that's exactly what I did.
It felt silly, honestly. Like play-acting.
But when the stone wall shifted—when the floor beneath the column creaked open in a slow, grinding circle—my heart beat faster.
A narrow staircase spiraled down into a darkness lit only by blue lanterns.
I stepped in.
And the wall closed behind me.
The Whisper Hallows weren't just a "guild." They were a culture. A quiet society of information dealers, illusionists, spies, and relic-keepers.
The stairs led me into a wide chamber carved from dark stone. Strange moss glowed along the walls. Every surface was damp, like the whole place exhaled slowly through wet lungs.
I didn't see anyone at first.
Then a voice—low, melodic, and slightly amused—slipped through the dim.
"You're earlier than expected."
She stepped forward.
Not hooded. Not masked. Just calm. Confident.
She wore a long coat made of dark feathers, stitched with threads of silver. Her eyes were pale violet, unreadable. Her hair—jet black, cut short—shimmered like a raven's wing in low light.
"You're him," she said. "The fallen prince."
I tilted my head. "And you are?"
"You can call me Wren."
"Wren," I repeated. "The leader of the Hallows?"
She smiled faintly. "One of them. Titles shift here. Like shadows."
She gestured toward a stone table in the center of the room. On it lay a stack of parchment, sealed scrolls, a vial of ink, and an old bronze dagger.
"You're not here for the atmosphere," she said. "So let's not waste breath. You're being watched."
I exhaled.
"I figured."
She tapped one of the scrolls. "Your brother, Crown Prince Adrien, has sent agents into the palace under the guise of 'security advisors.' One of them reported that you've begun altering your behavior. Avoiding court. Training. Forming bonds."
Her eyes met mine.
"You've become unpredictable."
"And that makes me dangerous," I said quietly.
"To him? Yes."
Wren slid another paper toward me.
A sketched map of the Halebrook forests—the site of the upcoming Grand Hunt.
"There will be an ambush," she said. "It won't look like one. But it's planned. If you go in unaware, you won't come out."
I stared at the map.
Three ridges. One clearing. Two choke points.
"…You're sure?"
Wren stepped closer. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper.
"We're not loyal to your crown, Lucien. We don't care who rules the empire. But we do care who tries to change the game."
She studied me for a moment. Then, with surprising softness:
"And for what it's worth… I think you might be trying."
A pause.
"You're not who you were. But you're not who you need to be yet, either."
I didn't respond.
Because she was right.
I was still becoming something. Someone.
And I didn't know what that meant yet.
Wren turned, walking back toward the dark.
"You'll have our eyes in the forest," she said. "No more. No less."
The shadows swallowed her.
By the time I stepped out into the night again, dawn was barely a breath away. The horizon bled from violet to gray, the city beginning to yawn and stretch and light candles in its windows.
I stood for a moment on the edge of the palace gardens, holding the map.
The wind tugged gently at my coat.
And for once, I didn't feel like a prince. Or a villain. Or even a gamer caught in the wrong story.
I just felt like me.
Tired. Unsure. But walking forward anyway.
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By Ecstasy Crown