In a dimly lit chamber hidden beneath the border town's central tavern—a nondescript building that masked the heart of Xen's temporary operations—the green-haired man grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, pulling with frantic frustration. He stood atop his chair like a mad conductor, his voice echoing off the stone walls in a shrill yell.
"What did you say? That beast is here!?"
Xen's shock was palpable, his green eyes wide with disbelief. He hadn't anticipated this—an unexpected scenario where Javrian, the nightmare of the empire, would dare show his face in a town crawling with imperial reinforcements and his own spies.
The voice responding came through the telepathic link, calm but urgent from one of his field agents in the marketplace. Indeed, those silver eyes and black hair, the scar on his face. It's definitely him, Master.
Xen clenched his jaw, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of a concealed dagger at his belt.
"Share me your vision," he commanded, activating his unique spark—the ability to link and borrow the senses of those under his Intelligence Bureau.
It was this power that made him so proficient, allowing him to confirm intelligence with his own eyes, turning whispers into unassailable truths.
Swiftly, the shared vision flooded his mind: the bustling marketplace, the subtle signals of his operatives, and there—clear as day—stood Javrian.
Xen's body trembled violently, his knees buckling as he fell back from the chair, crashing into a table laden with maps and encrypted scrolls. Papers scattered like startled birds.
In an instant, four shadowy figures materialized around him—the black-armored knights he'd hired as his personal guard. One of them, a hulking brute with a scarred visor, leaned in with concern.
"Are you all right?"
Xen gasped, clutching his chest as if his heart might burst free. It was the first time he'd felt true, bone-deep fear.
For others—children ignorant of terror or fools blind to danger—Javrian might appear as just a man, a scarred warrior. But to adults like Xen, who navigated the shadows of power and knew the empire's monsters intimately, the truth was laid bare.
In the shared vision, he saw it: a shadowy monster lurking behind Javrian's form, an aura of black, murderous red that pulsed like a demon's heartbeat. It wasn't visible to the untrained eye, but to Xen and those attuned to such horrors, it screamed of impending doom.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands trembling uncontrollably.
With a sharp intake of breath, he slapped himself hard across both cheeks, the sting snapping him out of the fear's iron grip.
His mind cleared, and as it did, he noticed something else in the vision—a flash of red hair beside the beast. Slowly, the image sharpened: a woman, poised and unflinching. His eyes widened in recognition.
"Luna Vasquez," he muttered, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
Instantly, memories flooded back. He bit his nails absentmindedly, piecing together her history.
She'd been married off from the Aviantian clan's main family, despite carrying the last pure bloodline, shuttled to a remote branch territory.
Her husband, Victor, had been an indulgent but crude, worthless piece of shit—handpicked to keep her sharp mind in check, as her uncle feared her intellect could upend their delicate power structure.
Xen knew more than the surface tales; his network had uncovered how the imperial family itself had a hand in banishing her to the countryside, ensuring she remained isolated and harmless.
But for that woman to be standing with the beast? It defied logic.
His eyes trembled as realization hit: the fragmented intelligence he'd received about her killing Victor suddenly solidified.
He'd dismissed it before, or at least not cared, because he only trusted what he witnessed himself.
Now, seeing her there, it affirmed everything.
'So, Luna Vasquez used Javrian to kill her husband?'
His eyes narrowed to slits, and he surged to his feet, uncaring of the disarray around him.
"Go tell Commander Astoria to swiftly move," he barked at his men through the link. "Javrian has arrived in the marketplace."
The four shadows clenched their fists, exchanging glances before nodding in unison. Without a word, they vanished from the chamber, melting into the shadows as swiftly as they'd appeared.
Xen yelled after them, his voice cracking with confusion.
"Where are you going?"
But they didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge him. Something felt off—missed, like a thread unraveling in his carefully woven web.
He paused, probing the telepathic bond he'd forged with them, a mutual agreement where his subordinates promised to share their eyes and sparks with him.
But it was gone, severed clean.
Then it hit him: these alphas, so suspiciously strong and acquired at such a low cost, had been following him not out of loyalty, but because they'd been hired by someone else—someone pulling strings from within the capital.
He'd been played, his own network infiltrated.
His eyes trembled with fury, jaws clenching as he snarled,
"'Who can fool me?'"
Xen's face contorted with rage, his green eyes blazing like emerald fire as fury coursed through his veins.
But just as quickly, he forced himself to calm, his breathing steadying as years of calculated composure reasserted themselves.
With a sharp snap of his fingers, the sound echoing through the chamber like a whipcrack, he summoned help.
A door burst open, and a normal-looking man—one of his mundane couriers, unremarkable and forgettable by design—came running in, slightly out of breath.
"What happened, sir?"
Xen's voice was clipped and precise, every word measured.
"Send this message to Commander Astoria immediately: she should move toward the marketplace and arrest Luna Vasquez. Tell her the woman has colluded with her husband in his killing, and the proof is her being seen with Javrian."
He reached for a small, translucent crystal sitting among his scattered papers—a memory crystal, one of the empire's more sophisticated surveillance tools.
Placing his palm against its smooth surface, he channeled his spark into it, the vision he'd witnessed through his network flowing like liquid light into the crystalline structure.
The image of Javrian and Luna standing together in the marketplace crystallized within, proof undeniable and damning.
With a dismissive flick, he tossed it to the servant, who caught it with practiced reflexes.
"Give her this crystal. Go!" Xen barked.
The servant sprinted from the room without another word, leaving Xen alone with his churning thoughts.
He turned toward the window, the afternoon light streaming across his angular features as he closed his eyes, processing the implications.
A smirk slowly formed on his lips—cold, calculating, and bitter. He knew the game now. If someone had fooled him by planting those four supposed knights, they had to be from the capital.
The imperial seat didn't make moves lightly, and if they were involved, the reason was obvious: Luna Vasquez. She was too much of a hassle, a wild card that too many powerful people wanted to keep leashed.
But then, as if struck by a bolt of lightning, Xen suddenly burst into laughter.
It started low, almost a chuckle, before building into full-blown, manic peals that echoed off the stone walls.
He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking, but sweat began to break across his forehead—not from mirth, but from dawning horror.
As his laughter died, his eyes snapped open, wide and wild like a rabbit that had just spotted a prowling lion.
He trembled, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper.
"Those idiots... did they not understand that if they start to poke that woman now, she will not come alone?"
His hands shook as the full weight of the situation crashed down on him.
"Right now, with her, is someone who is stronger than the emperor himself. And right now, poking her would be like provoking a beast protecting its flower."
He sighed deeply, the sound heavy with dread, before his smirk vanished entirely.
Panic replaced calculation as sweat broke out across his skin like a fever.
Without wasting another second, he spun around and began frantically packing—clothes shoved haphazardly into bags, crucial files scattered and gathered with the desperation of a man about to suffer a heart attack.
"'Damn it,'" he muttered through gritted teeth, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. "'Those idiots are going to get me killed too with their foolish decisions.'"
The realization hit him like a sledgehammer: due to the capital's interference and their entanglement with Luna, he—who was already on Javrian's kill list—would now be marked by Luna as well.
It was a death sentence wrapped in political machinations.
He was trapped between monsters, with no safe harbor in sight.
With his hastily packed hand bag clutched against his chest, he ran toward the door, his usual composure completely shattered.
As he burst through the exit and into the narrow alley beyond, he yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking with desperation:
"Luna Vasquez! Just stay put inside that cell until I'm far away from this town!"