Leaving his Personal Warehouse, Fenric heard a chime.
Message received: Your friend "Aurora Morwyn" left you a note.
He paused, opened the message, skimmed—then, after a moment's thought, initiated a return video call.
She answered almost immediately, as if she'd been waiting.
On screen, Aurora Morwyn's expression was calm but intent.
"Shura," she said, skipping pleasantries, "I'm in Private Room 3327 at the Entertainment City Teahouse. Can you come? We need to talk."
He was free. And curious.
"On my way."
Connection ended; Fenric had the system port him to Entertainment City → Teahouse → Room 3327.
She was alone when he entered.
"Sit," she said.
He waved off the menu; she ordered anyway—two cups of Calm Tea, 70 points total flashed across the holo.
A delivery spirit arrived moments later, set the tray, then left.
"Calm Tea," Morwyn said. "Settles the mind, restores clarity. Nightmare runs burn mental stamina—you just cleared one. Drink."
Fenric took a sip. Warmth spread upward; the dull ache behind his eyes unwound. Fatigue lifted like fog.
He glanced around the teahouse interior beyond the half‑open screen partitions. "No wonder this place is packed. Stuff like this exists and no one told me? Samsara never stops surprising me."
She only smiled.
"You know why I asked you here," Morwyn continued.
"Strategy," Fenric replied. "Mountain Village Old Corpse."
"One of the reasons," she allowed. "Shura, name your price."
He shook his head.
Her brows drew together. "You don't want to sell?"
"It's not that." He set the cup down. "I don't want to cheat you."
She waited.
"To deal with the female ghost in Mountain Village," he said, "fearlessness was the key—and you already gave me the thing that made the difference: Heart of the Brave. Without that, most of what I did would be impossible to replicate."
Aurora Morwyn wasn't surprised. "I suspected as much. In that instance, the ghost kills through hallucinations; the weaker your mental backbone, the easier you fold."
She didn't press further. Even if Shura listed every step, without Heart of the Brave—or comparable will defense—duplicating the clear would be near impossible. And there wasn't a second copy of that artifact lying around.
Morwyn exhaled, set aside the now‑empty porcelain lid. "Then let's move to the other matter. I'm carrying a proposal from above."
"Let me guess," Fenric said. "Join the state. Serve the country."
"Interested?"
"Not interested," he answered instantly.
She tried again. "At least hear the conditions?"
"Still not interested." He met her gaze squarely. "I like freedom. I don't like leashes. Even if you gave me a direct generalship on day one, that isn't freedom. And no—'nominal autonomy under supervision' doesn't count."
His tone left no room.
Aurora sighed—no anger, only resignation. Even she, ranked second in the world, ran errands and fielded directives. Freedom was relative; the higher you climbed, the heavier the stakes.
"Then I won't press you," she said. "But I'll ask one thing: don't join foreign forces lightly. If someday you decide you must lean on an organization, come to us first. Whatever else happens, at least we're from the same birth place."
Fenric nodded. "I don't like chains. That doesn't mean I'm not patriotic."
That got a real smile from her. She rose. "Thank you for being direct. I need to file my report. Rest up."
"Safe trip."
Her avatar blinked out as she logged off. Fenric finished his cup, then exited Samsara Space to grab real sleep.
Real World · Western Hemisphere.
A dim conference room. Rows of hard faces—men and women in their forties and fifties, federal posture, clipped haircuts. The crest on the wall was stylized, internal codename: CTA—a covert branch bundling intelligence and off‑ledger tasking; sister to the better‑known three‑letter agencies.
They were mid‑brief.
A senior analyst clicked through holo slides.
"TARGET HANDLE: Shura.
Probable nationality: Veilian (moderate‑high confidence).
Performance summary: Three SSS‑grade clears in ~10 days. Two came from Sacred Tower environments."
(TL/n: Cindralock people analysis often calls the Samsara Tower the "Sacred Tower," and instance worlds "Trials." Naming aside, data matches. Jadeveil people on the other hand call it Samsara. It means 'Reincarnation'.)
Murmurs rippled.
"Three SSS? You kidding me?"
"Wish he were ours."
"Christ."
The Director let the noise die before speaking. "The President has flagged this individual as an emergent strategic threat. Give him a few years, he could destabilize parity. We need to locate him and confirm identity."
A hand went up. "And once we do?"
"Phase One: Recruitment. Offer nationality track—quietly. If he accepts, jackpot. If he refuses…" The Director's eyes hardened. "For our Dominion stability, we remove the threat."
Silence. Then, from the table's far end:
"Authorization level?"
"Full resource mobilization for ID. All field assets. All data taps. Burn budget if you have to. Once confirmed, Mr. Adam will engage personally."
"Hiss!"
A sharp collective inhale.
Adam—the lone S‑rank Cindralock Dominion champion, symbol and deterrent rolled into one.
Meetings like the CTA session weren't isolated. Similar rooms lit up across capitals: high command briefings, private dynastic councils, think‑tank war rooms. Everywhere the same topic:
Shura.
How to court him.
How to box him.
How to kill him if courting fails.
The board had a new piece—and everyone wanted a hand on it.