Within the Emperor's private study, silence lingered like mist.
The heavy scent of parchment and cedarwood mingled in the air. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, casting long shadows under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Behind the massive darkwood desk, Anastasious Fei Light stood with hands behind his back, posture regal as he gazed out the arched window overlooking the palace grounds.
Opposite him, waiting by one of the tall-backed chairs, stood Asher Shihuyun—his golden hair neatly tied back, a few loose strands catching the light like spun silk. His face held an ethereal allure: high cheekbones, long lashes, and a cold symmetry that seemed carved by something divine. Beauty was a battlefield, and he stood on equal footing with the woman even gods envied—Marysville.
Anastasious turned slowly, his eyes scanning Asher with the kind of amused contemplation one might give an artwork too perfect to be real.
"You are as beautiful as they say, Asher," the Emperor said, tone soft yet deliberate, voice dipped in something both amused and dangerous. "No wonder even the angels of the old myths feared the Shihuyun lineage."
Asher's expression didn't flicker, but his voice came clipped, dismissive. "Your Majesty, I believe we both know why I'm here. Beauty doesn't unmask murderers."
A soft chuckle. Anastasious gestured to the chair before him. "Very well, then. The suspects."
"Seven suspects. All nobles. All male. All connected in some way to the murdered victims. Their heights and body shapes are similar to Lapin Noir… and they all share Shihuyun bloodlines. Most of the evidence is circumstantial, but it's enough to begin a formal investigation."
He flipped the folder open. "Count Mirell. Viscount Derex. Lady Erra of the Southern Wing. Duke Hensley. Baroness Vane. Lord Revanth." A pause. "And one more."
Anastasious raised a brow. "Who?"
There was the barest breath of hesitation. "The last name isn't formally listed. Due to a lack of hard evidence. And… the killer, Lapin Noir, is widely believed to be male. So, the seventh suspect was omitted for now."
The Emperor tilted his head. "You speak as though you're hiding something, Asher."
A glance between them, sharp but unreadable. Asher did not reply.
Instead, he continued. "What matters more is what ties the victims together. Almost all of them bore a mark—hidden. A black tattoo etched deep into the skin, visible only after death. A symbol of a ram with twisted horns."
Anastasious's golden eyes darkened.
"The Black Lambs," he said grimly.
"Yes," Asher nodded, his voice quieter now, nearly reverent. "The same organization that destroyed Shihuyun. That killed my people. My entire bloodline." His fists clenched briefly. "These weren't random murders. Lapin Noir isn't just choosing nobles—they're targeting members of the Black Lambs in hiding."
A long silence followed.
"And you believe," Anastasious said carefully, "that this Lapin Noir… might be another survivor. Like you."
"Perchance."
"And this is why Marysville Grace made it onto your list," the Emperor added, eyes narrowing slightly.
Asher did not flinch. "Her background, her power, her behavior. It all fits. But the theory collapses under one truth—Lapin Noir is a man. Marysville is a bonafide woman."
Anastasious studied Asher for a long moment, then turned and poured himself a glass of wine. "I see."
The quiet swirled once more between them—until the Emperor's voice cut through, low and sharp.
"You're hiding something, Asher."
Asher stiffened. "That's all."
"No," Anastasious walked closer, gold eyes gleaming. "Your posture, your breath. The way you swallow your words. You know something else. Speak."
For a moment, Asher stood in silence—then slowly exhaled.
"…We have reason to believe the Black Lambs have resurfaced. Not remnants. Not scattered survivors. A movement. Coordinated. Quiet. And growing."
Anastasious's jaw tensed. "What are they after?"
"We don't know," Asher answered, voice colder now. "But something is moving. And it's not just this continent. Reports say activity near Merbyol. Even the Land of Dreams isn't untouched."
The room fell into a deeper silence.
Anastasious turned away, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then we must prepare."
Asher stepped out of the study into the dim corridor, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Footsteps echoed down the hall—measured, calm. A tall man emerged from the shadows.
Nantazar Rolar.
He stood at 187 centimeters, the dark green of his uniform subtly catching the corridor light. His sharp eyes, shaded with a faint emerald glint, scanned Asher up and down. His presence was cool, self-assured, the quiet arrogance of someone who knew just how powerful he was.
"You're late," Nantazar said, though his tone was neutral.
"The meeting ran longer," Asher replied, adjusting his gloves.
"Did everything go well?"
Asher gave a faint smile—tight-lipped. "No problem."
Nantazar glanced toward the closed doors of the study. "And?"
"They'll be moving soon," Asher said. "So will we."
They began to walk down the corridor together, shadows trailing behind them like secrets.
Polished marble stairs spiraled downward as Asher and Nantazar walked side by side, their footsteps quiet against the stone.
The corridor below opened into a wide foyer filled with golden light. There, just near the arched glass doorway leading into the gardens, stood Marysville, her poise unshaken, posture regal yet effortless. She was laughing softly at something Cate had said, the twins flanking her like bookends of light and shadow.
Her waist-length hair shimmered under the sunlight, eyes calm and faraway. Her presence seemed to draw the world inward like gravity. She stood as if she belonged to no one—an untouchable portrait, alive only in stolen moments.
Nantazar slowed his pace, brows lifting faintly. "It's still strange," he muttered under his breath. "You and her… standing in the same room. If gods painted beauty into human skin, it'd be you two."
Asher gave no response.
Nantazar continued with a low chuckle, "If I hadn't spent years at your side, getting used to your damn face, I'd probably be weak to hers too."
Asher stopped walking.
Nantazar blinked and turned slightly. "What?"
Asher stared ahead, watching Marysville, but his voice was quiet. "Do you think they truly love each other?"
Nantazar's brow furrowed. "Who?"
"The Emperor," Asher replied, his eyes unreadable. "And the Empress."
A beat of silence stretched between them.
"…That's a loaded question," Nantazar said carefully.
"She's always beside him," Asher continued, his tone smooth but distant. "Polished. Perfect. They match on paper. But something in it doesn't feel real."
Nantazar's lips parted, then closed. He hesitated—just long enough for Asher to notice.
"She doesn't love him," Asher said flatly, not as an accusation, but as an observation. "And he doesn't love her."
Still, Nantazar hesitated. "It's not our place to—"
"It's not love," Asher murmured, almost to himself. Then, after a beat, he glanced at Nantazar. "Forget it."
With that, he descended the final step and resumed walking, brushing past the subject like a breeze slipping through curtains.
Nantazar watched him for a moment, the question still lingering in the air like perfume—then followed.
Asher approached the group near the garden doors, posture smooth and composed. Marysville turned toward him, her expression blooming into a quiet smile.
"It's been awhile, Asher." she greeted, her voice soft, laced with something only he seemed able to read. Something unsaid.
He bowed his head slightly. "Marysville. I trust the tea was to your taste."
"It was," she replied with a graceful nod. "But I suppose nothing ever stays sweet for long in this palace."
Cate and Caleb exchanged a subtle glance.
And behind them, Nantazar watched Asher and Marysville quietly—sensing, but not speaking.
The conversation with Marysville and the twins dissolved into casual pleasantries, with Asher eventually bowing his head politely.
"I have duties to return to," he said, voice gentle but firm.
Marysville smiled, the kind she always wore—poised and unreadable. "Of course. Don't let us keep you."
Asher turned, walking toward the waiting black car outside the palace gates. Nantazar followed at his side, hands in his coat pockets. The afternoon sun haloed them both, casting their long silhouettes against the cobblestone path.
Marysville watched in silence.
Her eyes followed Asher's retreating figure, heart beating slower and louder all at once. She didn't even realize the way her lips had parted slightly, or the softness that overtook her eyes. That look—tender, distant, full of a love she had never once voiced—was invisible to her.
Fortunately, Caleb and Cate were far too busy muttering to each other in awe over Asher's ethereal appearance to notice.
The car's door closed with a quiet click, and it soon rolled out of the palace grounds.
"Was she… a friend of yours?" Caleb asked after a beat, curiosity piqued.
Marysville blinked, dragged gently out of her reverie. "Friend?" she repeated, then let out a soft laugh. "I suppose… that's what we'd call it."
She looked down at her hands. "All our interactions these past years… they were always brief. Small words. Fewer smiles. We locked eyes a few times. Always in passing. And yet…" her gaze turned wistful, amused, "he always looked away first. Every time."
Caleb tilted his head, puzzled. "You mean… you two have known each other for a long time?"
"Since we were sixteen," Marysville replied. "Back when he was just a trainee at the World Government base. I was there… for sightseeing. We happened to cross paths."
She chuckled softly. "I don't think he ever noticed, but every time we met, every time we locked eyes… it was always him who broke it."
"I see…" Caleb said slowly, gaze drifting. Then his expression brightened a little. "She was pretty cool."
Marysville raised a brow, puzzled. "She?"
"That woman," Caleb said, gesturing vaguely in the direction the car had gone. "You know, Asher. She's got that tomboyish, no-nonsense kind of vibe. Just my type, honestly."
Marysville stared at him. 'I remember Caleb's reaction was exactly like this in the game too'. Then said "Caleb," she said with a blink. "Asher is a man."
Silence.
Caleb froze. "A… what."
Even Cate turned, eyes wide. "Wait. What?"
"I thought he was a noblewoman or something," Caleb muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly mortified. "The beauty, the poise—he just radiates… elegance. That bone structure! That hair!"
Marysville couldn't help but laugh, covering her mouth delicately. "Yes. He gets that a lot."
Still dazed, Caleb nodded slowly. "That explains the voice, though. It was too smooth to be fair…"
Then, Marysville added quietly, "He came back the day I met you two. After three years."
Cate tilted her head. "Three years? I thought he was from here. A noble?"
Marysville shook her head. "No. Asher is from Shihuyun."
Cate blinked. "Shihuyun…? That place—"
"He spent three years there," Marysville said, her tone softer now, gentler. "And until today, we hadn't seen each other since. Which is why…" She glanced to the side, pretending to be embarrassed, though behind the façade was a straight face, masking the blank emotion she wore. "Our conversation was… a little embarrassing."
Just then, a voice cut into the conversation.
"There you are," Martinez said warmly, striding into the garden in his usual calm grace. "I've been looking everywhere."
Marysville straightened. "Third Brother?"
He smiled. "We should pay a visit to the Grace household soon. Your nephew's been asking for you endlessly. Apparently, a certain seven-year-old won't stop crying unless he hears your bedtime story again."
Marysville's eyes softened with warmth, a rare vulnerability peeking through her usual composure.
"Of course," she said quietly. "I'll go."