I. The Nameless Invitation
Jainal stared at the thin metal sheet in his hand—a black card engraved with faint red light.
No name. No time.
Only a single symbol: three dots forming an inverted triangle—the mark of the Third Hand.
He wore a charcoal-black coat, a semi-transparent mask, and a magitek wristwatch that regulated aura pulses.
His true identity was offline.
Tonight, he was Tamvar, a southern buyer of experimental artifacts.
His destination: the Third Floor Event—a private auction held atop an old central-district building, accessible only by a rune-locked lift activated through a specific magical frequency.
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II. A World That Doesn't Ask
On the Third Floor, there were no introductions.
Every guest wore a mask. Every laugh sounded dangerous.
Soft music floated without name, and the waiters carrying silver trays bore neck marks—crossed scars sealed with the stamp: "Submissive."
Jainal stood in the corner, eyes scanning constantly.
Some guests appeared human, but others radiated strange auras—altered magical bodies or leftover residues of experiments.
A soft voice echoed from the center stage:
>"Tonight, we offer three items:
Fragments of memory from Subject-Delta.
Visual records from Research Post 03.
And... a child who survived the identity duplication process."
Jainal clenched his fists.
That child… could be a new victim.
Or one of the ones who never made it out.
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III. The Unseen Wolf
From his position, Jainal spotted someone standing alone—not touching their drink, never smiling, eyes unmoving.
A black coat draped their shoulders, lined with a dull gold trim on the inside.
"A Golden-Cloaked Wolf."
Not a guest.
A watcher—or a silent executioner.
Jainal's hand slowly slid to his waist, checking that his concealed weapons were still active.
He knew—one wrong move and that person wouldn't speak… only eliminate.
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IV. The Faceless Informant
From the bar, a guest approached with a round glass mask.
In their hand, a glass of silver liquid that never stopped swirling.
Their voice sounded like a whisper—looped and distorted.
>"I know who holds the original archive. But it's all been sold to one place."
"Where?" Jainal asked.
"They call it Mirror Five. A magitek-runic data vault. Can't be destroyed. Can't be altered."
"Who guards it?"
"Not who... but what."
Before Jainal could ask more, the informant dropped their glass.
The silver liquid splashed, hissed—and evaporated.
Their body soon followed, dissolving into vapor, just as the auctioneer's next announcement rang out:
> "Item Three: Unit Omega – a failed ex-subject of Project Δ-Lambda. Still alive."
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V. The Silent Dilemma
Jainal stepped back.
He knew he couldn't save anyone—not yet.
Not without a plan.
Not without breaking his cover.
His eyes met those of the Golden-Cloaked Wolf.
They exchanged a look.
No smiles.
Just a silent acknowledgment between two predators—both aware their confrontation was only a matter of time.
Then Jainal's steps faded into the corridor.