Tris : Guild Office - Ravenoir Guild’s Tavern, City of Edanis.

  "Agon, was this truly necessary?!"

  Agon paused. He slowly set his feathered quill down on the mahogany desk and leaned back into the shadows of his heavy leather chair. "What is it?"

  I clenched my jaw, my patience snapping. "Why did you authorize that specific mission for him?" I marched across the thick carpet, planting my hands flat on his desk. "You already saddled him with the impossible burden of mentoring a squad of raw greenhorns. And then you deliberately handed him that 'decoy' contract?"

  Agon didn't blink. He sat perfectly still, his golden eyes flat and devoid of any warmth.

  "Tell me! Why did you do this? What exactly was written in that sealed parchment Zerav gave you?!"

  The heavy leather chair groaned as Agon slowly stood up. He bypassed the desk, his towering, mountainous frame casting a long shadow over me. "Watch your tone, Tris," he warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

  My fists clenched at my sides. Driven by pure frustration, my core ignited. A sharp, violent aura began to spiral around my body, agitating the air in the quiet office. "I said, why—"

  "Why do you care so deeply about him anyway?"

  Thump. My brain short-circuited. The words caught and died in my throat. Under the sheer, suffocating pressure of the Guild Master's gaze, the aura spiraling around my core instantly flickered and died.

  Agon leaned down, bringing his face agonizingly close to mine. "Tell me, Tris. Why. Do. You. Care?"

  I swallowed hard but refused to break eye contact. "It’s about guild assets! You threw an Advanced Hunter out there as a Mentor. Just last week, he barely survived a point-blank strike from a Master-level aura in the courtyard. And today, you handed him a vanguard contract that suppose to be used as a final qualification test for Master Hunters!"

  He chuckled—a dry, humorless sound—and turned his back on me, strolling back to his chair. "And so?"

  "What do you mean, 'and so'? Are you actively trying to get him killed?"

  Agon smirked, lacing his thick fingers together. "Has he failed the 'decoy' mission?"

  "He hasn't reported back yet! I’m going out to the Evalonian Caverns right now to scout his position."

  Knock! Knock!

  The frantic pounding at the heavy oak door shattered the tension in the room.

  "Enter," Agon commanded, his voice instantly returning to an authoritative monotone.

  The heavy door creaked open. A junior guild administrator scurried inside, his face completely pale. In his trembling hands, he carried a large burlap sack that was heavily stained with seeping, dark blood. "Guild Master, sir. I am here to report. The bounty for Sector 10 has just been submitted to the front desk."

  My eyes widened. "Do you mean Alpha Werewolf mission?"

  The administrator flinched, nodding nervously at me. "Y-Yes, ma'am."

  "Well?" Agon asked, leaning forward. "Was it truly an Alpha?"

  The pale man shook his head vigorously. He dropped the sack onto the floor and pulled the canvas back. "No, sir. It’s... a Moon-lurker."

  "What?!" I rushed forward, staring down at the grotesque, severed head resting in a pool of its own blood. "A Moon-lurker? In a surface cave?!"

  Agon’s shoulders shook. A low, dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, breaking the oppressive silence of the office. "Damn it all. That bastard Zerav really is completely out of his mind."

  I whipped my head toward him. "What does that mean?"

  Agon stood up and walked around the desk, peering down at the grotesque trophy. "Zerav was the one who suggested we give Ramond this specific location if he came looking for a live contract." Agon crouched, using a pen from his desk to point at a charred, melted patch of flesh right between the beast's dead eyes. "Look closely at the skull. That is Zerav’s brand."

  "What does the brand do? And are you telling me you knew all along that he was facing a Moon-lurker?!"

  "The brand is an exceedingly high-level binding spell. It compels the branded creature to migrate and nest at a designated coordinate. That cross-shaped burn is Zerav’s personal signature." Agon stood back up, shaking his head. "As for the Moon-lurker... no. Even I didn’t know about that. Zerav only promised me he was migrating an Alpha."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Agon shifted his piercing gaze back to the terrified administrator. "How was it executed? And where is Ramond now?"

  The administrator swallowed heavily. "T-The field report says it was blasted by their Mentor, sir. And the one who dragged this sack into the lobby was the dwarf girl from his unit."

  "Blasted?" I echoed.

  "Y-Yes, ma'am. The report specifically states it was blasted to death by its own magic."

  "By its own magic?" I asked, my mind spinning. "That's impossible. What does that mean?"

  "You are dismissed. Take that head down to the scholars immediately, and dispatch a cleanup crew to secure the carcass," Agon ordered.

  "Right away, sir!" The administrator frantically tied the sack shut, hoisted it up, and practically sprinted out of the office.

  Agon walked back to his desk, a deeply satisfied gleam reflecting in his golden eyes. "You see, Tris? Your mother-hen routine was completely unnecessary."

  "Agon, what are you talking about?"

  "He managed to absorb incoming magical energy and fire it directly back at the caster."

  My jaw dropped. The pieces suddenly clicked together. His lack of magical affinity. His ability to survive Xion's red aura blast. The way the Stalker, Zerav, had taken a sudden, intense interest in a lowly Advanced Hunter.

  "Don’t tell me..." I breathed.

  "Yes. Ramond is a Voidmeister," Agon said quietly, leaning his immense frame against the mahogany wood. "Exactly like the Phantom Kin-slayer... Clarice."

  Ramond : Entrance - The Evalonian Cavern, South Edanis.

  I tightened my iron grip around her throat, the cold edge of my dagger pressing dangerously close to her carotid artery. "Speak! Who the hell are you?"

  "You really do have a terribly short fuse, don't you?"

  The voice—light, melodic, and highly amused—echoed from directly behind me.

  My blood ran cold. I whipped my head over my shoulder. "What?!"

  My eyes widened in sheer disbelief. Mathilda was standing a few feet away, casually leaning her shoulder against the limestone wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

  At that exact moment, the 'Mathilda' I had pinned against the rocky wall simply dissolved. The solid flesh beneath my fingers shattered into a cloud of cold, damp mist that evaporated into the forest breeze.

  A mist clone. An advanced illusion.

  I took a slow step backward, pivoting to face the real Mathilda, my dagger raised. "You’re an elf, aren't you?"

  She covered her mouth, giggling frantically. "My, my. Why jump straight to elves? Just because I can cast a little parlor trick?"

  "It isn't just the illusion," my voice dropping to a low. "It's your exceptional tracking skills. Your flawless, silent wind magic. The fact that you effortlessly cast a high-level light spell. And..." I narrowed my eyes, flaring my nostrils. "Your scent. You smelled like crushed pine needles five minutes ago. Now, you smell like damp soil and sweetgrass."

  She threw her head back and clapped her hands, laughing with genuine delight. "Impressive! You really are just like a hunting hound, aren't you? Your sense of smell is absolutely top-notch."

  As she laughed, the disguise melted. It was like watching a painting wash away in the rain. Her fiery red hair instantly drained of all color, cascading down her shoulders in sheets of pure, luminescent white. Her timid, sage-green eyes sharpened, burning into a pair of piercing, blood-red irises. The flush of human color faded from her skin, leaving behind a flawless, snow white.

  Gods above. "Heh. A Glider," I said, leveling my dagger at her chest. "Tell me. Why would an elite elven hunter be disguised as a greenhorn?"

  She smiled, a wicked, predatory expression that didn't belong on her face. "I've always liked sharp, smart men."

  The air simply snapped.

  There was no blur of motion. No sound of footsteps. In a fraction of a millisecond, the space between us ceased to exist. She materialized directly inside my guard. Before my combat instincts could even command my muscles to react, my hand felt strangely light.

  My hand was empty.

  A second later, the cold, familiar steel of my own dagger was pressed flush against my throat.

  "Now, you are going to answer my questions first," she whispered. She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear, her breath smelling of sweetgrass. "Tell me... why does a Voidmeister like you lack the traditional physical characteristics?"

  She pulled back just enough to lock her glowing red eyes onto mine. I stared her down, my muscles coiled like springs.

  She giggled, a chilling, musical sound. "Do you want to play a staring game with me?" She bit her pale lower lip, her voice dropping into a sultry, dangerous purr. "Careful now. I haven’t tasted a warm man in centuries. I might just devour you dry."

  Growing bored with my stoic silence, she casually flipped my dagger away, letting it clatter harmlessly into the dirt. She stepped into my personal space, resting a delicate, pale hand flat against my armored chest.

  "So tell me," she murmured, tracing a circle over my heart. "Why does a member of the Sortkreuz family have ash-grey hair instead of raven black? Why do your eyes glow red instead of the royal blue? What is your dark little secret?"

  She tilted her head, her smirk sharpening. "Are you a bastard child? Or perhaps... a disgraced outcast?"

  I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to break her wrist. "What do you want?"

  "Hmm. Boring," she sighed, dropping the smirk and taking a graceful step back. "Let’s exchange a favor instead."

  “….”

  "I will take the secret of your true identity to my grave," she offered, her eyes dancing with amusement. "And you will do the exact same for mine."

  I scoffed, my voice dripping with cynical disbelief. "Do you honestly think the Guild Master won't figure out what I am after today's field report? I thought you Gliders were supposed to be sharp."

  She giggled, shaking her head. "Oh, Ramond. Of course they will learn that you’re a Voidmeister. They probably already know. But... do they know you belong to the exiled Sortkreuz?" She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Because I can easily expose that little detail to them... by showing Agon exactly what is hidden underneath that crude dagger tattoo on your neck."

  She smirked in absolute triumph. She had me completely cornered, and she knew it.

  The muscles in my jaw bunched so hard my teeth ground together. "Fine."

  "Perfect." The pale skin and white hair immediately rippled, bleeding back into the warm and shy red-headed archer. She offered me a bright, perfectly innocent smile. "Now, let’s get back to the guild hall, Mentor!"