They say the city of Silverpalace never sleeps—its clock towers tick even when no one listens, and secrets bloom like nightshade in its shadowed corners.
And in every whispered tale, her name lingers like a myth.
Celeste Noir.
The detective who solved what others couldn't. The woman with eyes like polished amethysts and a mind sharper than any blade. The last to leave a scene… and the first to see through any mask.
Some say she once worked under S.T.A.T.S. — the Special Tactical and Analytical Taskforce of Silverpalace — before walking away when bureaucracy threatened truth. Others claim she still works with them… unofficially, when the case is too dangerous, too delicate, or too damning.
But those closest to the shadows know the truth:
She works for no one. Only the case. Only the truth.
Her last known file—Case No. 917: The Orchid Murders—was closed, but its ending was sealed by order of the Silver Council. Witnesses vanished. Evidence erased.
And Celeste Noir disappeared.
Some believe she died. Others think she was silenced.
But every now and then, when Silverpalace fog runs thicker than usual and the gas lamps flicker with ghostly light—
Someone spots a figure in a black-and-purple coat. A glint of a cane sword. Lavender hair trailing behind her like a comet's tail.
And if you listen closely…
A single heel tapping in rhythm with your heartbeat.
The Violet Phantom, they now call her.
And the lies of Silverpalace still tremble under her name.
It's been five years since anyone's seen her.
Five years since the name Celeste Noir appeared in any report, any whispered conversation, or any cold case file. The city of Silverpalace has changed. The cobbled streets are quieter, the fog heavier, and crime has grown bolder in the shadows where she once walked.
S.T.A.T.S. has long since stopped searching. They marked her file as "MIA – Presumed Dead."
But the criminals? The ones who rule the underworld now?
They're not so sure.
They speak her name like a curse.
They say she's watching again.
That the moment someone steps too far into the dark… the violet eyes will return.
Then, one rainy evening in the west quarter, a notorious crime lord was found tied to a lamppost. Disarmed. Unconscious. A white card pinned to his chest:
"Lies rot. Truth remains." — C.N."
The city froze.
And just like that, the whispers began again.
Celeste Noir is back.