The wind had grown sharper here,biting through the thinning fabric of night like a blade whispered from the shadows.It tangled with silver strands of hair,tugging at the edges of a coat that danced like a midnight specter on the precipice.
Below, the sprawling Omnia Capital sprawled like a jeweled serpent—lights glittering, towers shimmering, all dazzling and cold as the lies they were built on. The city pulsed like a heart that had long forgotten the difference between life and decay, every beat echoing with ambition, betrayal, and gilded cruelty.
But atop the cliff where sky kissed earth, two figures moved with a grace that no common stage could hold.
The Dance of Blades and Silk
Mormond spun, lighter than breath, a whirl of ghostly motion in the moonlight. His laughter threaded through the night—a melody both haunting and delighting, a song wrapped in silk and venom.His coat fluttered like a broken flag, silver hair scattering light into shards that painted the ground in pale fire.
Nini was his shadow and his partner.Her footsteps whispered secrets to the earth, black silk cascading like smoke from her limbs, her eyes burning with a fire born from sorrow and hatred, hardened and remade into fierce loyalty. They twirled together—two souls locked in a dance older than blood and bone, their every movement echoing prophecy and ruin.
Mormond's voice wove through the breeze like a curse disguised as a lullaby.
"It's time to harvest the cloves… hahahahaha…"
The sound carried, like a knife grazing glass.
He spun again, catching Nini's hand in his, their fingers entwined like threads in a dark tapestry. His eyes gleamed, sharp and cruel beneath the mask of innocence he wore so effortlessly.
"I said I'd go to the empire…"
His words dropped low, silk wrapping around a snarl beneath.
"I said I'd play with her noble friends…"
His smile stretched wide, a blade sliding free from a sheath of charm.
"And when I'm done…"
The words slithered, venom dripping like liquid night.
"I'll come for Tifa. Tsk. That cursed harlot."
He spat on the wind, the malice in his gaze tightening like strings pulled to breaking. Even the stars above seemed to flicker in hesitation, as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the promise whispered there.
The Lie is Born
Then—without warning—his form shattered like a mirror struck by unseen hands.
Flesh softened, bones contracted, features melted and reshaped.Where once stood a pale youth of fifteen, now crouched a child of seven, brown hair messy like autumn leaves, eyes wide with false wonder.
Milos was born anew.
The child mask was flawless.The innocent bait was perfect.The beautiful lie—alive.
His laughter, light and high-pitched, fluttered like a sparrow's song.
False.Sweet.Empty of mercy.
Nini's soft giggle slid past the cliff's edge like a whispered secret, her slender fingers brushing dust from his shoulder, a tender gesture veiling the deadly intent beneath.
Behind them, silent and waiting, puppets stood like sentinels—souls caught in threads invisible to all but their master's eyes. Their wooden limbs poised to obey a command born in shadow. Their faces were slack, hollow, their humanity drained until they were but stage props of horror.
The Serpent's Feast
Far below, in the heart of the Omnia Capital, lords and ladies dined beneath crystal chandeliers, their faces painted with false smiles and veiled cruelty. They knew not the nightmare that lounged so close to their gilded thrones. The monster in a child's guise sat at their feet, sipping poison with their tea, planting threads in their skin—woven strands of doom entwined with every handshake, every curve of the lips, every glance they mistook for kindness.
They searched desperately for him—eyes wild, breath shallow, hearts pounding with the dread of a shadow they could not grasp.
But Mormond was already there.Watching.Smiling.Curious.Kind.
Their worst nightmare.
Behind the child's mask.
The First Pluck of Strings
They slipped through alleyways, past windows where silvered eyes peered but could not see. Nobles dreamt of power, of decadence, unaware that the strings tightening around their souls had been spun long before they had raised their goblets.
Mormond's hands moved subtly, weaving invisible threads between the stones, through the air, into the sinew of the city itself. The city's pulse quickened under his touch—buildings swayed imperceptibly, shadows lengthened and twined, and every whispered secret traveled on the breath of the night.
Nini walked beside him, a dark flame of beauty and menace. Her voice, when she spoke, was a soft melody barely heard above the rustling leaves.
"We will make them dance, brother. Each step a reckoning. Each breath a farewell."
Mormond nodded, eyes gleaming with cruel promise.
"Let them drown in their vanity. Let their laughter choke on the threads they cannot see."
They moved as one—two pieces of a living marionette show. The world around them blurred, caught in their performance.
The streets seemed emptier than before, or perhaps the city was holding its breath.
The Gala
They stopped near a grand estate, walls white as bone, windows glowing with soft golden light. Inside, music played—strings and horns weaving a symphony of false joy.
Mormond crouched, fingertips brushing the cold stone. The threads pulsed beneath his skin, hungry.
"Ready?" he whispered.
Nini's smile was a slash of moonlight.
"Always."
Inside, a gala was in full bloom. Nobles in silk and jewels laughed and danced, oblivious to the fate that had crept so close.
Mormond's presence was a ghost at their feast, a whisper in their laughter.The child mask was perfect—eyes bright, cheeks flushed with innocent color.
A young noblewoman approached, curiosity sparkling in her gaze.
"Oh, what a sweet child!" she cooed, reaching out to stroke his hair.
Mormond's breath hitched just so.A thread slid from his fingers, wrapping lightly around her wrist, unnoticed.Her smile faltered.Eyes widening in silent terror, she clutched her arm.
Nini watched from the corner, a specter of darkness, her gaze cold fire.
Mormond tilted his head, lips curling into a slow smile.
"Dance begins."
The Theater of Horror
Chaos bloomed like a poison flower.
Threads erupted from the floor, walls, and ceilings—wrapping, binding, twisting.Nobles screamed as their limbs betrayed them, bodies contorting in cruel ballet.
Silver hair flashed in the dim light as Mormond moved with unnatural grace, orchestrating the symphony of ruin.
Nini was death incarnate, her needles singing a lullaby of despair, puncturing flesh and bone.
The laughter they had stolen was swallowed whole.
The grand estate became a theater of horror—blood the paint, pain the music, terror the applause.
And all the while, Mormond's eyes never left the center of the chaos.
His voice, low and deadly, cut through the screams:
"You wear your crowns on rotten heads.""You trade your souls for gilded cages.""Tonight, your strings unravel."
When dawn touched the horizon, silence reigned.
The estate lay in ruin, nobles turned to puppets—faces frozen in fear and disbelief, mouths stitched in eternal screams. Some stood like grotesque statues at the gates, left behind as warnings, their eyes still moving, trapped in living torment. Others dangled like broken marionettes in the ballroom, their limbs creaking whenever the wind brushed through shattered windows.
The puppets would not decay. They would remain.Eternal guardians of Mormond's cruelty.A gallery of despair.A stage that would never close.
Omnia Reacts
The city awoke, ignorant, but ignorance could not last. By midday, whispers spread like wildfire:
The White Estate was silent.The nobles inside had not returned.Messengers sent found only horror.
Rumors bled into taverns, into markets, into palaces. Some claimed it was plague. Others muttered of demons. Some dared whisper a name they could not confirm—the Silver Shadow.
Guards doubled their patrols. Watchtowers burned brighter at night. Invitations to galas grew fewer, more discreet. Every noble eye turned paranoid, every hand gripped a dagger beneath silk gloves.
But nothing could protect them.The threads were already woven.Their souls already tangled.
And in their desperation, they invoked a name again and again:Tifa.
Some believed she was the answer, the symbol of divine opposition, a thorn that might defy the Silver Shadow. But behind their prayers was manipulation—she was their pawn, their shield of light, their false hope. Mormond's hatred for her deepened, not just as an enemy, but as the one they dared to raise as a banner against him. A banner he would burn.
Epilogue – The Harvest Has Begun
On the cliff's edge, the silver-haired boy once more stood tall, coat billowing like a shadow freed from its cage.
Nini's dark laughter rippled in the cold air as they faced the sprawling city below.
Mormond's voice was a cruel hymn.
"It's time to harvest the cloves…"
He twirled Nini in a dance of madness and mercy, his smile a crescent moon carved from malice.
"Omnia will bleed."
His eyes glittered with promise.
"And when I am done…"
His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with venom:
"I will come for Tifa."The cursed harlot.
His laughter shattered the night.
The empire did not yet know.But it would.Soon.
The strings tightened.The game had only just begun.
🕸️ To be continued. 🕸️