The air was thick with fog and silence, broken only by the faint sound of water lapping gently at stone.
He stood at the heart of a ruin—vast and sunken into the earth. Towering stone pillars, half-eaten by moss and time, leaned in tired silence around a shattered dome. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling where moonlight spilled in, pale and sickly. Dust hung like ash in the air, shimmering faintly in the cold, unnatural glow that radiated from the ground.
Beneath his feet, water shimmered with an eerie blue luminescence, swirling slowly in a perfect ring. It didn't spread or spill, simply circled him—obediently.
In the center of the glow, half-submerged in stone, was a pedestal. Blackened, cracked, and ancient.
Resting atop it: a single sheet of paper. Old. Fragile. Its edges curled like burnt parchment, colored deep brown like old coffee stains. And yet the writing upon it burned with clarity—etched in an unknown symbol, the forgotten script of a dead tongue.
He leaned closer, his heart hammering. He could read it—but how? This was surprising.
"I can read it," he murmured, a question hanging in the air. "Could it be... these memories?"
He picked up the paper, his touch gentle, careful not to tear the delicate sheet.
"ᜀᜅ᜔ ᜇᜀᜈ᜔ ᜐ ᜊᜃᜓᜈᜏ"[Dalan Ti Bakunawa]
Beneath it, in tighter script—an incantation? a formula? a list?
ᜉᜅᜓᜈᜑᜒᜅ᜔ ᜐᜅ᜔ᜃᜉ᜔: ᜎᜓᜈᜇ᜔ ᜐ᜔ᜃ᜔ᜀᜎᜒ
[Core Ingredient: Lunar Scale]
ᜃᜇᜄ᜔ᜇᜄᜅ᜔ ᜐᜅ᜔ᜃᜉ᜔:
– ᜀᜐ᜔ᜑᜒᜐ᜔ ᜂᜉ᜔ ᜀ ᜊᜓᜇ᜔ᜈᜒᜇ᜔ ᜎᜓᜊ᜔ᜁ ᜎᜒᜆ᜔ᜆᜒᜇ᜔– ᜐᜒᜎ᜔ᜊ᜔ᜁᜇ᜔ᜎᜒᜀᜉ᜔ ᜇᜓᜐ᜔ᜆ᜔– ᜊ᜔ᜀᜉᜓᜇ᜔ ᜉ᜔ᜇᜓᜋ᜔ ᜀ ᜋᜁᜇᜒᜈ᜔'ᜐ᜔ ᜉ᜔ᜁᜇ᜔ᜐ᜔ᜆ᜔ ᜇ᜔ᜇᜒᜀᜋ᜔– ᜃᜒᜐᜉ᜔ᜋᜆ ᜃ᜔ᜇ᜔ᜌ᜔ᜐ᜔ᜆᜎ᜔
[Additional Ingredient:
- Ashes of a Burned Love Letter
- Silverleaf Dust
- Vapor from a Maiden's First Dream
- Kisapmata Crystal]
"Wha—what!?"
His voice echoed across the ruin, swallowed quickly by the silence.
The symbols—those strange, refined marks scribbled in ancient ink—weren't just a found lost history. He stared harder, heart pounding.
A formula.
Not just any formula.
A serum—for a Dalan Ti.
His breath hitched.
This wasn't the known alchemical nonsense sold in back-alley stalls or whispered by rumor mystics. This was old and forbidden by the country. A lost formula. One person would kill for. One entire cult might worship.
If I sold this…
The thought came uninvited, strong and desperate.
I could make a name for myself.
I could finally pay for my sibling's treatment.
No more choosing between food and medicine.
"I'm gonna be filthy rich!" he gasped, then laughed, half-maniacally.
"Like bathing in gold and spitting on taxes, rich!"
His hands trembled as he looked back at the parchment, the glowing water reflecting his wide, stunned eyes.
The laugh died in his throat.
The air shifted—quiet, cautious.
The soft sound of polished boots on stone echoed behind him. Calm. Rhythmic. Counted, like a man taking a stroll on a foggy alley.
Eon Asterion, the young man, froze.
Then turned.
A man stood in the archway, framed by falling mist.
He looked wildly out of place.
An old-fashioned coat hugged his tall frame, flared at the collar, and was stitched in sharp lines. His boots shone, and a silver badge—worn but well-kept—was pinned over his chest, just beneath a high-cravat scarf. His gloved hands were tucked casually into his coat pockets.
He didn't look like a combatant. Or a threat.
More like a bored detective on his way to interview a corpse.
The man tilted his head, regarding Eon with a mild expression.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, voice smooth and relaxed. Not cold—just unbothered. "And you're holding something very illegal."
Eon's grip tightened on the parchment.
The man sighed, stepping forward. His presence was quiet but tenacious, like ice creeping across glass.
"No sudden moves," he added gently. "You're not under arrest. Yet. But I do need to bring you in for questioning."
Eon blinked. "You're... with the government?"
"Technically."
"I didn't steal anything! I found it!"
"Sure," the man said, raising an eyebrow. "And I'm sure it conveniently fell from the sky into your lap. In a prohibited ruin. With sealed glyphs."
His tone was still chill, almost amused. But something behind his eyes was watching too closely. Calculating.
Eon slowly shifted his hand toward his coat.
The man raised a brow again.
"Gun?" he asked mildly.
"Yeah."
"I advise you to lower that gun."
Eon drew fast, revolver gleaming in moonlight, barrel leveled with instinct.
He fired.
The shot cracked.
It didn't hit.
The bullet stopped. Mid-air. Encased in a delicate orb of ice, glittering like glass.
It dropped with a soft plink.
Eon barely rolled away in time as a wave of frost burst toward him, rising from the floor like a sudden tide. It wasn't violent. Just… efficient. Measured. Like a man sweeping away dust.
He fired again, rapid—three shots in a spread pattern.
The ice absorbed them like water.
"Quite a sharpshooter, aren't you?" the man commented.
And then, he moved.
Eon blinked, and he was almost there, trying to reach him.
A cold hand gripped his wrist. His revolver froze in his grip—literally. Frost crackled along the metal, biting his skin.
"You know nothing about what you're holding, do you?" the man murmured.
Eon gritted his teeth and twisted, breaking the grip. His revolver clattered to the ground, useless now. He backed away, panting.
"You gonna kill me?" he asked.
The man blinked, genuinely surprised. "Kill you? When I said I needed you to come with me for questioning, I meant it. I just need you to come quietly. You're a loose thread. And someone is going to want answers."
"And if I refuse?"
The captain's breath fogged the air. His hands returned to his pockets.
"That's not an option. I restrain you gently and, of course, I try my best so you don't lose any limbs.
"..." Eon was left speechless.
The captain took one step forward.
That's when a scream—raw, anguished—sliced through the echoing silence of the ruins, rising from the water below.
The fractured dome above shook, grumbling under some pressure. Light twisted and refracted, bending impossibly, as if a giant lens were cracking.
Then, from the radiant water, it rose. A serpent shape, huge and shimmering, mirroring the crescent moon hanging in the twilight sky. Silver wings, huge as sails. A burning eye, the color of twilight, thumped in its chest. The Liyang-Tala.
The man looked up and exhaled slowly.
"…Of course, a third party," he muttered. "This complicates things."
Eon seized the moment to reach for his revolver, heart racing, but halted unexpectedly when the captain's boot pressed down on the revolver, pinning it to the ground.
"Stay still, and you might survive."