Scene I – Lyra's Inquiry
The library of Saint Irelle had always been a place of silence.
Tonight, it sounded like guilt.
The old librarian, Father Dorem, trembled as he lit the lamps for her — unwilling to meet her eyes.
"Your Highness, these are forbidden texts. Even I require sanction to—"
"Then consider this sanctioned," Lyra interrupted. Her tone was soft, but the weight of command pressed behind every word.
She moved among the dusted shelves like a phantom, pulling open scrolls and codices that reeked of age and ink.
She was looking for patterns — for anything that resembled Ace Valemont's methods.
But the deeper she read, the more she found the same name written in the margins of old reports, sometimes scratched out, sometimes underlined in panic:
A. Valemont
Royal Collegium of Medicine. Expelled for heresy and anatomical violations.
Subject: human vivisection, regenerative catalysis, nerve-binding.
She whispered the words aloud. "Nerve-binding."
Father Dorem swallowed. "A theory that pain can be converted into vitality. Banned by the Faith Council after... experiments."
Lyra's hands tightened on the parchment. "Whose experiments?"
The priest hesitated. "His mother's."
Lyra froze. "...What?"
"She was a healer. Beloved by the people. Tried to save plague victims with her own blood. The Duke denounced her to the clergy when the results turned… unnatural."
"And the boy?"
"He watched her burn."
The candle sputtered, and for the first time, Lyra felt her hatred waver.
Because suddenly, she could see him — a child behind a mask of precision, standing before the flames and taking notes.
So that's where the mercy died, she thought.
She gathered the documents and hid them beneath her cloak.
If Ace Valemont was a monster, she was starting to understand who made him.
Scene II – The Physician's Web
At the same hour, far beneath the palace, Ace was standing over a different kind of text — a body.
Sylene Crowe, his raven-masked assistant, watched as he extracted a vial of luminescent fluid from a patient's vein.
"She's digging," Sylene said quietly. "The Princess. She's been seen at the archives."
Ace didn't look up. "Good. Let her."
"You're not concerned?"
"Curiosity is the first symptom of infection."
Sylene tilted her head. "You mean to infect her?"
He smiled thinly. "Knowledge spreads faster than plague."
He moved to a nearby desk, where a dozen glass hearts floated in nutrient fluid, each pulsing faintly in rhythm with one another.
He placed the new vial among them, watching the synchronized motion.
"Every mind has a threshold," he murmured. "A point where revelation becomes worship. She's close to hers."
"And when she reaches it?"
"Then she'll understand that I never lied to her. I simply omitted mercy."
Scene III – Intersection
Later that night, they crossed paths again — by accident, or perhaps by design — in the moonlit corridor leading to the observatory.
She carried a bundle of papers hidden under her shawl. He carried nothing but a single glass of wine.
"Your Highness," he said smoothly. "You're awake late. Reading, perhaps?"
She met his gaze. "Researching."
"Ah. Dangerous habit."
"So I've heard. Especially when one researches monsters."
He took a slow sip, eyes gleaming like obsidian.
"Careful. Stare too long into a monster, and you might begin to admire its efficiency."
"Or its arrogance."
"The two are often confused."
They stood there, two predators pretending at civility.
Finally, Lyra stepped past him — the faintest brush of silk against leather.
"Goodnight, Doctor."
"Sweet dreams, Princess."
When she was gone, he turned toward the window, gazing out over the sleeping city.
The rain had begun again, soft and relentless.
"She's learning," he whispered to the glass.
"Excellent."