With the leader of the Mad Hounds in control, the plan of retaliation was set in stone and expect the situation to escalate further into chaos.
Meanwhile, in a sleek office, built like a fortress of glass and steel. Clean lines, quiet hums of climate control, and not a single speck of clutter in sight. The kind of place where nothing happened by accident and everything was in order.
Caroline Webbing sat at her desk, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a quiet sector of the Central District where all the major businesses and offices thrived. The city lights shimmered like embers beneath the tinted glass.
Her posture was flawless, straight-backed with an elegance that came from years of power and precision.
She wore a dark grey pantsuit, tailored to perfection, with a subtle shimmer in the fabric that caught the light just right. Her blouse was silk, midnight blue and he only jewelry on her was a thin, silver chain around her neck, and a matching pair of earrings. Her blonde hair was tied in a low chignon, every strand neatly in place.
A low voice came the corner of the office where a TV screen displayed live news footage. Flames still flickered in the background of the scene. Firefighters moved through the debris of a burned-down apartment block.
"…no confirmed suspects yet, but initial reports link the apartment building to illegal drug trafficking operations," the reporter's voice droned. "Authorities are still investigating the origin of the explosion. Traces of synthetic narcotics and unlicensed weapons were found among the rubble. Several tenants remain unaccounted for…"
Caroline listened to the footage without much reaction. Bales was a densely populated city, where fire, murder and all manner of heinous crimes were practically a daily routine.
Incidents like that weren't exactly rare.
Sure, entire apartment buildings going up in flames, especially with drugs and guns involved was a bit less common, but it didn't concern her much.
If she wanted, she could buy the land, the building and burn it down herself without breaking a sweat. Of course, she wouldn't do it. She had no interest in pointless theatrics unless it benefits her well.
Knock. Knock.
The door opened with a smooth click. A young woman stepped inside, walking briskly across the marble flooring.
She wore a fitted black blazer and slacks. Her hair was short, cropped just below her neck, and tucked behind one side in clean, sharp lines. She looked every bit the professional, but the glint in her eyes suggested she was used to messier work.
"This is all I've collected so far, Miss Caroline," she said, placing stacks of folder on her desk. "They're really protective. Especially the older one."
Caroline accepted the file without a word.
She opened it slowly.
Inside were pages of information, financial trails, shell companies, linked assets. All of it connected to the Strata Syndicate.
Laundering schemes, property fronts, and lists of their core members. One page bore the crisp, stoic face of Vincent Alaric, his photo accompanied by rows of dates and affiliations.
Caroline's eyes shifted further down.
The next page has a picture of a younger man.
Fillius Nova Alaric.
Age: 19
Born: August 06, 2009
The assistant gave a dry chuckle, arms now crossed loosely. "They didn't like me snooping around them. Especially when I tried to get more on him."
"He's just turning twenty." Caroline's gaze lingered on the page. That was the only thing she said, but a faint flicker of thought danced in her eyes.
"Good work, this is enough." she said, her voice as cool as glass. "Anything planned this coming week?"
"Just a few follow-ups. Nothing major."
Caroline closed the folder and tapped her manicured nail lightly on the edge. "Cancel one of them."
The assistant raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"
"Doesn't matter. Rearrange my schedule." Caroline stood and walked slowly toward the wide window, arms folded behind her back, her office was one of the tallest skyscrapers in the city, overlooking part of the central district. "Have someone reach out to one of Strata's business fronts. A casino. Or one of their high-end bars. Something simple."
"For a deal?"
"For a conversation," Caroline replied, her reflection faint in the glass. "Preferably… something they can't ignore."
The assistant smiled, catching on.
"Yes, Miss."
.....
Two Days Later
Nova didn't sleep much after the attack on Ronan.
It was one thing to see the Vice leader of the Mad Hounds helpless. But seeing how mana was used to tear through walls and twist the air? That was something else entirely.
Even the idea that mana existed was absurd. Energy created by the world itself, just so it could grow and survive… it was mind-blowing.
It felt like watching the rules of reality bend, and realizing you'd never really known the game at all.
So, for the next two days, Nova disappeared from the main floor of the manor. He wasn't lounging with Joel, wasn't reviewing any reports with Luca, wasn't anywhere near any bars or clubs.
He stayed upstairs, sealed behind the locked door of his dim, silent room, curtains drawn tight against the world.
And there, he started experimenting.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow.
He stretched out his senses. Trying to sense something out of the ordinary.
He listened. Waited for some time.
Nothing.
But something in him felt different now. Ever since that night. Like a fog had lifted from a small corner of his mind, and now light was trying to push through.
He tried to read his own body like he read other people. Focused on the rhythm of his blood. The tension in his fingers. The subtle weight in the air when he sat completely still.
Then he tried something new again. He focused on his ability within himself, that strange feeling when a bunch of words appeared in his mind, sentences and texts that felt like his own thoughts.
He tried to feel it, use it for himself. But…
No words came. No thoughts and stories of his own life.
But sometimes, for just a second, he felt a strange flicker behind his eyes. Like his body was brushing against something beneath the skin. A faint pulse that was hard to overcome.
He didn't know if it was mana. But it wasn't nothing.
He thought of Ronan using his arms as a weapon coated with mana. Of how still the world had gone right before the strike landed.
Nova held his breath and tried to remember that silence. To feel it, try to sense mana by himself.
Nothing exploded. No winds howled. But the air around him felt… heavier. Just for a moment. Just a tiny bit moment, but it helped him to not lose hope.
And that was enough to keep him trying.
Then, when he woke up one morning, casually flipping through his phone searching for fantasy books with mana theories that he will try to use, his phone rang.
Bossy Uncle.
Nova stared at the name, then answered.
"You done sulking?" Vincent asked without a hello.
"I wasn't sulking," Nova replied flatly. "I was… studying."
"Good. Because you're done guessing."
There was a short pause.
"Get to the training hall," Vincent said. "You're finally going to learn what mana really is."
Nova hung up and stood, the phone slipping off his lap.
He grabbed his coat, exhaled, and muttered to himself.
"…About damn time."