Floor 499 — Luminor
The city sprawled endlessly under the glow of towering, fantastical street lamps, their light casting an ethereal sheen over the cobblestone streets. The air hummed with the murmurs of a restless crowd—men, women, even children, their faces etched with desperation. They stood gathered before the imposing gates of the Captain's office, their voices rising in a chorus of anguish and fury.
The crowd roared in agreement, their demands crashing like waves against the stone facade of the building. Missing posters fluttered in the breeze, each one a plea for answers that never came.
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Floor 499 — Luminor — Captain's Office
Inside, the Captain's office was bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun, its rays slanting through the tall windows and painting the room in warm hues. The space was modest but orderly, lined with shelves of leather-bound books and cabinets stuffed with books. At its heart stood a heavy oak desk, its surface buried beneath stacks of reports—each one detailing another disappearance, another family torn apart. Maps of the lower floors were spread across the wood, marked with crimson circles where the vanished had last been seen.
Seated behind the desk was a young man with hair as white as fresh snowfall, his sharp features framed by the high collar of his immaculate military uniform. The dark fabric of his double-breasted coat was adorned with gold epaulets, their gleam a silent testament to his rank. A peaked cap sat perfectly atop his head, its shadow falling over his piercing eyes. His gloves, though covering his hands, left his fingers free—each movement deliberate, controlled.
Behind him, a long cape flowed like liquid shadow, its edges embroidered with intricate gold thread. It pooled around the legs of his chair as he leaned forward, his gloved hands clasped beneath his chin. The air in the room was thick with tension, broken only by the steady tick of the silver watch at his waist.
His assistant, a lean man with a ledger clutched tightly in his grip, stood rigid before the desk. Sweat beaded at his temple.
"Report," the Captain commanded, his voice like steel.
The assistant swallowed. "Yes, sir. After extensive investigation, we've uncovered hidden magic circles on every floor. There's residue—traces of spellwork—but…" He hesitated, his fingers digging into the ledger's spine. "The magic is… unusual. It doesn't match any known spells in our archives. Tracking it is like trying to grasp smoke."
The Captain's expression darkened. He slammed a fist onto the desk, sending papers scattering. "Then find someone who can."
The assistant flinched but snapped into a salute. "Yes, sir!"
As the man turned to leave, the Captain's voice cut through the room once more. "And bring Jace with you."
The assistant froze. "But, sir… Lieutenant Jace is already on a mission to capture those bandits in the lower sectors. He's—"
"A mad dog," the Captain finished, his lips curling into a grim smile. "Which is exactly why I'm sending him. But tell Lieutenant Will to accompany him. I trust he can keep Jace from losing control."
The assistant nodded, though unease flickered in his eyes. With another sharp salute, he hurried out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone once more, the Captain turned his gaze to the window, where the protests outside still raged. His reflection in the glass was a ghostly figure—a man burdened by the weight of a city's despair.