The morning light filtered through the frost-stained windows of the east wing, painting golden patterns across the stone floor like runes of warmth against the cold stone.
Jiwon stirred, her cheek pressed against the brittle parchment of an open book—The Foundations of Magicked Steel and Enchanted Flame. She must have fallen asleep while studying.
The candle beside her had long since melted into a quiet pool of wax.
Groaning softly, she sat up, muscles protesting after hours hunched over the ancient text. Symbols and diagrams still danced behind her eyes—binding circles, enchantment lattices, soul-tempered alloys.
This was no ordinary tome.
It was a lost codex. Forbidden. Likely purged by all three Orders for the knowledge it contained.
And her mind—once that of a war general—was more than capable of grasping it.
---
Without hesitation, she rose to her feet, heart pounding with urgency. Her decision already made.
She didn't knock.
The doors to the Duke's study swung open as Jiwon entered, clutching the heavy book in her arms.
Drake Haint looked up from a stack of intelligence reports, one brow arching. "Breaking protocol this early in the day?"
She stepped forward and placed the codex carefully on his desk. "I've been thinking about the case. The skeletons. The disappearances. You said we're missing the bigger picture—what if I could help uncover it?"
He leaned back slowly, folding his hands. "Go on."
"I want to create a magical device," she said. "A tracker. Something that can trace the essence of black magic—rituals, curses, demonic imprints. With a sample—blood, hair, even fabric—I can link the signature to the tool."
Drake's silence stretched. "That kind of enchantment isn't garden magic. You'd need rare cores, ritual-grade catalysts, and military schematics. Not to mention…" His eyes narrowed. "Knowledge you shouldn't have."
Her gaze didn't flinch. "I know what I'm doing."
A long pause. Then, a measured nod. "Permission granted. But I'll have eyes on your work."
She bowed slightly. "Of course."
What she didn't say was that the tracker was only part of it. In a chamber hidden beneath layers of illusory wards and silent locks, she was building something far more dangerous.
A weapon.
---
Drake began watching her more closely—not out of suspicion, but from a growing instinct he couldn't silence.
She moved like a servant, yes—bowed like a maid. But in stolen moments, when she believed no one was watching…
Her spine straightened with the bearing of command.
Her gaze swept rooms like a battlefield.
She gripped teacups with the memory of steel in her hands.
Late at night, Drake lay in his chambers, staring at the ceiling.
Izar Ishtar.
No. She died. Didn't she?
He clenched his jaw.
I'm imagining things. She's just a clever girl. Nothing more.
But the thought wouldn't leave him.
---
A week later, a letter arrived—sealed in black wax and marked with a coiled serpent.
Lady Delia Salzak, matriarch of the House of Salzak and a high-ranking figure in the Order of Dark, had requested Jiwon's company for tea.
Drake's unease was instant.
"I don't like it," he said, holding the letter.
"I'll be careful," Jiwon replied, already slipping it into her cloak.
He met her eyes. "They eat girls like you for breakfast."
Her lips curved faintly. "I'm not easily devoured."
She left before he could say more.
---
Delia's estate was all silver trim and sharp corners—like a dagger dressed in velvet. Thornless roses lined the walkways. The maids never blinked.
Jiwon was seated beneath obsidian ivy, joined by Delia and two noblewomen whose smiles were polished lies.
At first, the conversation was empty and civil—lace fans, tea blends, court gossip.
Until he arrived.
Levier Amon. Uninvited, unbothered, and smug.
He entered with Delia's younger brother, laughter spilling behind him.
"Thought I'd drop in," he said, eyes locking on Jiwon. "Didn't want to miss the Order's favorite little pet."
She said nothing.
And then—
"Izar Ishtar," Delia sneered. "What a laughable excuse for a hero. Swinging swords like a child at war. No wonder the North burned."
"She thought honor could outlive betrayal," Levier added, sipping his tea. "Brave, maybe—but stupid always dies first."
Laughter. Cruel and careless.
Jiwon's nails bit into her palms.
She wanted to leap across the table. Silence them. Remind them what she had been.
But not yet.
So she lowered her gaze, her voice trembling just enough. "I don't know much about her. I heard she was… brave."
Levier scoffed. "Brave gets you a grave."
But then—a new voice.
"Mind if we join?"
Drake Haint stood at the edge of the garden. At his side was the Second Prince.
The tension in the air changed like lightning before a storm.
Drake sat beside Jiwon, his gaze cool. "I couldn't help but overhear. You have strong opinions on the Northern Empire."
Delia's smile tightened.
"Izar," Drake said, voice steady, "was many things. But she wasn't a fool. She bore her people's burden. She fought when others fled. That makes her more than any of you sitting here."
Silence rippled through the garden.
Delia looked away. Levier found no further words.
And Jiwon—
She glanced at Drake, her chest tightening.
You remember.
---
That night, a spy slipped through the halls of Haint Manor. A maid—not truly. She moved too lightly. Watched too sharply.
She followed Jiwon through a hidden door beneath the library, into the depths of a forge no servant should ever know.
Jiwon, unaware, laid out her materials—enchanted coils, metal rings, and the half-finished gun she was crafting in secret.
A forbidden weapon.
One capable of piercing magical wards and discharging stored energy in a single, devastating pulse.
Suddenly—
She froze.
She felt it.
The spy turned to flee—
But Jiwon was already moving.
They clashed in the narrow corridor—flesh, steel, magic. Sparks flew.
The spy broke away, sprinting—
And Drake appeared, holding a satchel. "The stones you needed—"
Jiwon didn't wait. She grabbed the satchel, tore it open, fed the magical cores into the chamber.
A weapon that took a master an hour—
She assembled in five seconds.
She aimed.
Fired.
The explosion rocked the manor. A wall caved in. Light seared the air.
When the smoke cleared, the spy stood—
A smoking hole through her chest.
The sky could be seen beyond her.
Then she fell.
---
"She was a spy," Jiwon said, blood on her cheek. "She saw the weapon. I couldn't let her live."
Drake stared at the gun in stunned silence. "This… This shouldn't exist."
"It's not finished," she replied.
Later, alone atop the tower, Drake watched the stars.
"Izar…" he whispered.
He remembered her—
Armor silver as moonlight.
Eyes burning with defiance.
Her last words lost to the roar of retreat.
"I admired you," he confessed to the night.
"You were my rival. My fire. I wanted to save you. But I was too weak."
---
Far below, Jiwon stood in the courtyard, her face turned to the stars, as if daring them to remember her.
Drake placed a hand over his heart.
"But not again," he swore.
"I'll protect you. Even if it costs me everything even my life."
To Be Continued...