Three weeks after Princess Valeria's coronation as Queen of Eldia, a thin mist covered the heart of the capital, still full of rubble from the revolution. But beneath the quiet surface, dark currents still moved.
Ashtar Lebrian sat alone in the central investigation office, staring at a letter that had just appeared on his desk. There was no sender, just a clean white paper with one sentence:
"Want the final answer? Meet me at the old theater in the Archael District, midnight."
Signed: M
Ashtar stared at the letter for a long time. No magical disguise. No obvious trap. But he knew... this wasn't an invitation. It was a challenge.
---
Old Theater, Archael District – Midnight
Ashtar's footsteps echoed between the broken, empty seats. Torn red curtains hung above the dusty air. On the stage stood a tall man in a black coat, face hidden by a silver mask. His hair was messy, and he held a silver cane.
James Moriarty.
Moriarty smiled. "Good evening, Detective. I heard you became a law enforcer, a national hero… and a killer of dreams."
Ashtar: "You caused the chaos that killed thousands. I'm just cleaning what's left."
Moriarty chuckled. "Does that make you feel pure? Or just another tool of the system you used to hate?"
Ashtar drew his magic sword. A blue glow shimmered on its blade. "Did you send this letter just to talk? Or to watch me die?"
Moriarty walked slowly around the stage, like an actor playing a familiar role.
Moriarty: "To talk, of course. About choices. About how a brilliant detective would rather chase shadows than face the rotten sun of his kingdom."
Ashtar: "Enough. I didn't come here for a moral debate."
Moriarty stared directly at him. "You came because you want to know… if I regret it. And the answer is—no. I burned this world, not for power... but so something better could rise from the ashes."
Ashtar attacked like lightning.
Magic exploded beneath his feet. The ground shook as he slashed through the air. Moriarty spun his cane, creating a shadow shield that blocked the strike with a small burst.
Moriarty: "Ah, the show finally begins."
Ashtar leapt, creating dozens of illusions of himself in the air, surrounding Moriarty from every direction. His sword struck with deadly precision.
But Moriarty stood calmly. With one stomp of his cane, a magic circle spun around him, sending out a wave of pressure.
Ashtar was thrown back, sliding through three rows of broken chairs.
Ashtar: "You're... not fighting seriously."
Moriarty: "Of course not. Do you think I want to kill you? No, Ashtar. I want you to understand."
Ashtar stood up again. Blood dripped from his lips. He no longer spoke.
This time, he moved in silence, weaving a net of magic through the air—mute magic, anti-spell, even time spells.
The attack wasn't just fast—it was precise. Like an investigation.
Moriarty tilted his head. He blocked the first three strikes, the fourth cut his shoulder, and the fifth—he let it break through his shield.
Ashtar flinched.
There was blood. But Moriarty kept smiling. "See? You can hurt me. But why do you still lose?"
Ashtar: "Because you're insane."
Moriarty: "Wrong. Because I believe in something bigger than my life. You? You're still asking... who's right and who's wrong."
Ashtar attacked again, now with fury. His sword pulsed with full-power magic. The theater began to fall apart. The stage cracked. The walls shook.
Moriarty finally revealed his true power. An illusion spell that turned the entire room black and white—like a world without color.
Ashtar froze. He was in the streets of Eldia, but everything stood still. Time stopped. People became statues.
Moriarty stood beside him, calm. "This... is the power of understanding dreams and trauma. Look. That's your mother, before she died. That's your father, the last time you saw him. That's you... on the night you swore to change the world."
Ashtar fell to his knees. His breath heavy. The illusion felt too real. Too painful.
Moriarty looked at him with cruel pity. "You can't beat someone who already killed himself for something greater."
The illusion shattered. The theater returned.
Ashtar gasped for air. Moriarty stood before him, handing him a letter.
Moriarty: "Want to defeat me? Take this. A clue to the last Ars Moriendi facility. There... you'll see why I did all this."
Ashtar took the letter with shaking hands.
Moriarty turned slowly. "You may hate me. But never stop asking questions. Because once you stop... you become the next tyrant."
And with a mist of magic, Moriarty vanished.
Ashtar stood silently, looking up at the ruined ceiling. Tears ran down his face.
"Moriarty... who are you really…"
---
Exile Place, Old Northern Watchtower
Light rain fell on the isolated north of Eldia. A lonely tower stood on a hill, wrapped in mist and mossy ruins. Inside, Prince Altair sat quietly, wearing ragged prison clothes. His hands were bound by magic chains, his face tired... but his eyes still full of anger.
"Three weeks..." he whispered, looking at the sky through a crack in the wall. "Three weeks since everything changed... since Valeria took the throne... and I was thrown away like trash."
Footsteps echoed on the broken stone stairs. Altair tensed.
"The guards never come at this hour..." he said in suspicion.
Suddenly, a black-robed figure appeared at the door. Slim, but with an air of authority. Their face hidden behind a silver mask carved with ink-like patterns.
"Prince Altair... it's time to come home."
Altair stepped back. "Who are you? Valeria's spy? Or... Barforia's agent?"
The figure chuckled softly. The voice was deep, yet not old—something felt... strange.
"Not Barforia. Not Valeria. I come from those unknown—another shadow. But we need something from you: your anger, your blood, your name."
Altair: "So you want to use me?"
Figure: "Not use. Offer. We don't need a puppet. We need a weapon."
The figure stepped forward. With a strange hand gesture, they touched the magic chains. The chains... turned to black mist and vanished.
Altair: "How...?"
Figure: "We're not part of Moriarty. But he saw us once… and we saw him."
They handed Altair a letter.
Altair opened it. One sentence in red ink:
"If you want the throne… make sure you stand over her grave."
Altair: "Valeria…" he growled.
Figure: "We will arm you. Give you an army. But the path you choose... will kill more than one sibling."
Altair looked out the window. Fires in the capital still flickered in the distance.
"I'll bring Valeria down. I'll expose everything. If she's light... then I'll become the night that swallows it."
The figure nodded, opened a hole in the wall... and vanished with the night wind.
On the floor... lay a small iron brooch, marked with a strange symbol:
an owl with closed eyes.
---
Meanwhile… in the Ars Moriendi Room
Moriarty stared at a large map before him. Areas in northern Eldia were marked in dark red.
Leonhardt entered and whispered, "News. Altair… has vanished from exile."
Moriarty smiled. "Ah. The owl moves at last."
Leonhardt: "Should we send pursuers?"
Moriarty: "No. Let them play for now. The owl is not our ally... but the enemy of my enemy may become the final stepping stone. And Altair... he's lost too much. That makes him dangerous. But also... predictable."
---
At Valeria's Palace, Light Room
Valeria sat alone on the throne, wearing a midnight blue gown. Shadows hung under her eyes.
"Altair disappeared?!" she gasped. "Are you sure, Sereth?"
Sereth stood behind her.
"It's true, Your Majesty."
Sereth was silent for a moment.
"If he returns… will you fight him, or welcome him like before?"
Valeria was silent... then answered softly:
"I will stand... between him and chaos. If I must kill my brother for peace... then let the pain be mine to bear."
---