The early evening fog was rolling in by the time Arsa stepped out of the Eternal Service's underground base and onto the stone-paved streets of Alastair City. Lanterns flickered to life, their golden light reflecting off the damp cobblestones as people hurried home, unaware of the chaos that had unfolded just the night before.
Arsa adjusted the collar of his worn black coat, his silver-gray hair tied back in a low ponytail that brushed against the back of his neck. His matching steel-gray eyes scanned the familiar street ahead. Despite everything—the monster, the Eternal Service, nearly dying—he was now walking back to his tiny, creaky apartment like it was just another day.
He didn't know whether to laugh or collapse.
The sign for Waywind Boarding House came into view. The building stood just off the corner of a quiet street—three floors of aged brick, flaking blue shutters, and a slightly tilted wooden sign hanging from a rusted iron bracket.
Arsa took a breath and pushed the door open.
The warm scent of baked bread and tea met him immediately. The front lobby hadn't changed—wooden walls covered in faded wallpaper, a dusty chandelier that never quite worked right, and at the front counter stood Anna Waywind, the landlady. Late fifties, sharp tongue, but a soft heart under all the sarcasm.
She looked up from her book.
"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Anna said, squinting over her glasses. "I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere."
Arsa froze, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh… sorry. Work got intense. I couldn't come back yesterday."
Behind her, two familiar faces peeked out from the kitchen—John and Evaline Waywind, Anna's nephew and niece, both around their teens. Evaline had flour smudges on her cheek, and John was holding a fork in his mouth like a sword.
"You missed stew night!" Evaline called.
"And breakfast!" John added, dramatically falling over the counter.
Anna raised an eyebrow. "Intense, huh?" She leaned in a little. "You come back with some bruises and that dead look in your eye, and I know something more than paperwork happened."
Arsa blinked. "I tripped. Down… several stairs."
Anna stared.
John whispered, "Classic excuse."
Anna finally sighed and waved him off. "Fine. You look like you haven't slept in a year. Go get some rest. Your room's exactly the mess you left it in. You boys and your disaster zones."
Arsa gave her a grateful nod. "Thanks, Miss Anna."
As he walked past, Evaline stepped into the hallway, lowering her voice. "Seriously, Arsa… you okay?"
He paused, hand on the staircase railing. The question caught him off guard. No one in the Eternal Service had asked him that.
"I… I'm," he said softly. "Thanks."
He climbed the stairs slowly, feet heavier than they looked. His apartment was on the second floor, second door to the left. The wooden floor creaked like it always did, and the door groaned on its hinges as he pushed it open.
Same old space—tiny bed, stacked books, a kettle that never worked, and papers scattered like fallen leaves.
Arsa stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it.
He let out a long breath.
Finally… quiet.
But that quiet only lasted a few seconds.
Because now he had to think.
About the monster.
About the Eternal Service.
About how everyone else's memories had been erased, yet he still remembered every second of the horror.
About how he now had the mirror ability—whatever the hell that actually meant.
And about the silver rifle with floating blue crystals now stored in some invisible space tied to him.
He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser. His eyes—silver-gray, tired—looked older than twenty-one. His long hair, disheveled from the fight, made him look like a ghost of himself.
"This… is going to get worse, isn't it?" he muttered to himself.
Somewhere Else…
In a dimly lit hall hidden deep beneath the marble foundations of a noble estate, five figures stood in silence. The air was thick with incense and power—something unspoken, coiling in the corners like a predator. Velvet curtains lined the walls, muffling all sound from outside. Only the steady drip of water from a distant crack in the ceiling dared break the silence.
They were dressed as nobles, but not ordinary ones. Their gowns and coats were embroidered with ancient symbols in thread that shimmered like oil. Each wore a long black mask that covered their entire face, making them indistinguishable.
Three men. Two women.
Around them stood towering bookshelves, glowing sigils, and a round obsidian table with veins of gold streaking through it like lightning. On that table was a stone orb, now dull—but earlier, it had burned like a star.
"He's dead," one of the masked men said. His voice was deep, aged, and calm, like someone who had lived many lives. "The Artuin beast failed."
There was no sadness. No regret. Just calculation.
"Failed?" scoffed one of the women. Her voice was cold and sharp, like frost on glass. "That thing tore through the Lord Lancaster mansion. It would've devoured the entire estate—if not for that… boy."
"Yrlton," said another man. "A young one, by the reports. Survived a direct attack. Used magic. Tools. And somehow kill the beast. That's no accident."
"They said he was only a detective," the second woman muttered.
"Then they were wrong."
A long pause. No one moved.
"Who confirmed the beast was killed?" asked the deep-voiced leader.
"Eternal Service," replied the sharp-voiced woman. "They arrived minutes after. Covered everything up. Took the corpse. Took the boy too."
The second man leaned against the table. "So they know. They know it was a summoning."
The room grew colder.
"The public doesn't," said the first woman. "Nor do the nobles. Eternal Service wiped memories like always. But they can't cover it up forever. Not if we summon more."
The deep-voiced man slowly nodded. "We succeeded. Even if the beast died. That was a Class D Artuin. A primitive one. And yet it leveled an entire estate. We did it. We crossed the threshold."
"And what of the boy?" asked the second woman. "What if he interferes again?"
"He will not," said the third man.
Silence fell again. Heavy. Dense.
Then, the leader turned to the group and uttered the final words of the night.
"It begins."
[To Be Continued]