The nights in the Technological Kingdom never truly sleep.
Countless light rails twist through the sky like veins. Streaks of neon pulse gently, as though the entire city is breathing—slow, unyielding, alive. In a city like this, nightfall does not bring silence. It only reshapes who gets to move in it.
Helya stood by the window, her dark cloak gently stirred by the breeze. Her eyes were calm, focused, as she turned a small magical orb embedded with a faintly glowing blue crystal between her fingers.
This wasn't the first time she used this device—but every time she did, it felt like knocking on fate's door.
She whispered a spell.
A soft ripple spread at her feet. A faint blue dome shimmered silently around the room—a Quiet Barrier, severing all magical or technological surveillance from the outside.
She donned her cloak fully, climbed onto the window frame, and slipped down into the night.
No alarms were triggered.
In midair, she invoked Light-Bending Magic, her form blurring into near invisibility, folding with the shadows as if she were part of the wind.
She reappeared at an old, decommissioned teleportation node near the city's western rim—a place no tourist should have access to.
But she had her ways.
Through an abandoned alley and a concealed path, she arrived at the ruins of the city's first Data Archive Building. The outer walls were cracked, half-swallowed by time and disuse. But inside… some secrets still breathed.
Two automated guards patrolled the rusted gate.
She didn't go through the front.
She reached a stone panel hidden behind ivy, placed her palm against it, and whispered, "Ancient Technique: Wallmeld."
The stone shifted silently, revealing a narrow gap. She slipped in, her steps soundless.
Underground Level 2. Damp. Forgotten.
She raised her hand. A pale violet orb of light floated upward, casting a ghostly illumination through the hallway.
There, at the end, stood a sealed console—marked with faded text:
"Project E: Prototype Drafts – Internal Use Only"
Helya reached into her cloak and drew out a Magical Eye Recorder—a glass orb laced with faint runes, designed to scan and store visual data using magical resonance.
She placed it gently in front of the console.
A quiet hum pulsed as ethereal waves scanned the faded documents. The orb absorbed the information silently, layer by layer.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw one particular string of code flash by:
"Energy Implant Series – Subject No. E-12"
Her hand froze for a second.
She had seen that code before.
Before she could dwell on it, a mechanical whir stirred somewhere in the distance.
She immediately shut off the scanner, pocketed the orb into a concealed mana crystal, and cast a Low-Level Veil Ward—masking her presence from both sound and heat detection.
A patrol unit passed nearby. It didn't stop.
She exhaled silently.
Then, without hesitation, she exited through a secondary shaft, emerging moments later onto the rooftop of a distant administrative building.
Wind brushed her face. She stood still, eyes cast toward the glowing spires of the city center.
Her voice was barely audible in the wind:
"They've started moving the records… But this power—this power doesn't belong to them."
Far above, in the main tower of the capital, Cael sat alone in a sensor chamber. His eyes locked onto a sudden flicker on the screen.
A faint, barely traceable magical ripple had just passed through the western district.
He frowned.
"Magic?"
He cross-checked system logs. No intrusion detected. No alarms. Just that one, vanishing trace.
He hesitated, then manually added a tag:
[Unidentified Anomaly: Low-level mana surge — Logged for manual review]
He leaned back, muttering:
"Couldn't be her…"
Then, after a pause, he added, uncertainly:
"…She doesn't use magic."
But what he didn't know—was that some people walked outside his systems.
Outside his rules.