Past midnight, Lingchen Yao tiptoed home, a shadow slipping under amber street lamps. Near or far, only a few windows glowed. The landlady and tenants slept; not everyone was born a night owl.
His first visit to the black market had been a jolt—blood buzzing like a caught firefly. He’d walked in and ran into the boss face‑to‑face. The man’s power pressed like a storm front. A touch more pressure, and Lingchen’s body would’ve melted into mud.
Still, tonight’s haul brimmed like a full basin. The necklace the black market boss “gifted” him was more investment than charity. It soothed body and mind, stretching his combat hours—when he shifts, of course. It had other uses too. We both know what that means.
He sold two Magic Stones. The pair fetched tens of thousands. As long as he didn’t sprinkle cash on strange whims, it could keep him alive for a long, quiet season.
And there was the promise from that Magic Maiden, about to step into Cantata Three. If it worked, Lingchen would earn a little income—and receive a special wood carving.
He was born loving wood. He still remembered his father’s hands teaching him to carve. The memory was fog and smoke, yet whenever it rose, his lips lifted without asking.
He shoved the day’s spoils into the cabinet and glanced at the Eye Orb, crouched before an unfinished carving like a monk before a bell. The thing hadn’t said a word all the way home.
“Hey. What’s chewing your circuits?”
The Eye Orb paused, then spoke—voice heavy with servos, tinged by dense worry like ink in water.
“You should brace yourself. You admitted to the black market boss that you’re Aklatia’s remnant.”
“What of it?”
Lingchen blinked, confusion like mist on glass.
“I’m an old acquaintance of his. At least a third of the tech flowing through that market passed through my hands. The boss probably understands my current state. He also knows Aklatia has no hidden reserve.”
Lingchen tilted his head, gears turning. He got it fast.
“Right. The boss isn’t on our side. Not even an ally. It’s just transactional. Two camps at the root.”
The Eye Orb lifted thick nerve tendrils, hooked Lingchen’s gel pen, and scratched across blank paper like rain on slate.
“Aklatia was a research‑type organization. We monopolized many underground patents. After Aklatia fell, those patent holders became ghosts. Everyone started coveting those ‘ownerless things.’”
“Now those ‘ownerless things’ actually have owners. But those owners are weak as reeds. So what do people who know this do?”
The Eye Orb looked at Lingchen. Goosebumps crawled over him like ants. He drew a larger circle on the paper and spoke.
“Simple. Kill them, turn owned into ownerless again. Crush two ants and no one notices. And right now, we’re the lambs led to slaughter.”
“A clear read. But we’re safe—short‑term. If the boss meant to strike, he would’ve. He wouldn’t hand you that necklace as investment. But the underground isn’t just him. You saw it—Order Keepers appear in the market too. There were dozens of factions there, at least.”
“Investigate a little, and they’ll learn the one who blocked that Order Keeper is the same one the boss summoned. Bribe the guards, and they’ll learn you’re Aklatia. That’s the cost of binding yourself to that name.”
“They need legitimacy—a banner to bring all Aklatia tech and assets under their command. What’s left is little, but the stew’s still rich and fragrant. That greedy pack can’t resist the smell.”
“They’ll find you. They’ll force you to record everything. Then they’ll have legitimacy. How they dispose of you after—no idea. Probably murder.”
Lingchen went quiet. A normal man with a bracelet had been rehearsing panic every day. The Magic Maiden and the underground were denser than he imagined.
He thought of a Dreadwolf with power near Cantata Two, maybe Three—one versus three—and judged it only First Symphony. Against that Cantata Two girl, he could only run. Before the black market boss, he was a powerless insect under a boot.
And after this? Worse waits.
“There’s no way back, right? Bowstring drawn; the arrow must fly. Since I’m flying Aklatia’s banner, I might as well join Aklatia. What can I rely on? Only Aklatia, fading into history.”
He looked at the Eye Orb and caught a flicker of displeasure. Lingchen planted his hands on his hips.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? Look down on me? I’m using Aklatia tech, talking to you—an Aklatia researcher—under a banner of revival. Not calling myself Aklatia would be a joke. And revival needs people, doesn’t it?”
The Eye Orb seemed swayed. The guy’s tongue was sharp. It was about to agree when Lingchen cut in first.
“But I know nothing about Aklatia. Taking me in would be illegal. No detailed treaty, no trust. I’m a good student—I don’t scam, and I won’t be scammed.”
“Just paving a clean exit later, huh? You… are hard to handle.”
The Eye Orb refocused; blue light fanned across the amber wall. Lingchen went to the window, scanned the night like a cat, yanked the curtains closed, and killed the desk lamp.
“Aklatia is the second‑largest underground research institute in the Twelfth District. Slightly smaller than the Seeker’s overground institute. We were founded to topple the Magic Maidens’ rule.”
Lingchen sat on the bed, brows knit like tight string. He raised a hand.
“Topple their rule? Why?”
“With Order Keepers governing, safety holds. Monsters don’t breach the city.
With the Seeker’s urban system, the city runs… well enough.
With the Mutual Aid Society, peace and help circulate. What’s wrong?”
The Eye Orb flicked a glance at him, replying cool as rain.
“You were born at the tail of that war. You remember nothing of the former world. You’ve adapted to now. To Magic Maidens—or girls about to become them—this place is paradise.”
“But to some from the prior world, it’s weight and grind. I don’t care about that. I’m a plain researcher. Aklatia gave me experiments, paid me well, gave me materials. Why not?”
“Magic Maidens may have pressed on some lives. Magic Tools took jobs. They needed to resist. Those resisters joined different factions. Aklatia is one.”
The Eye Orb leaned close, voice dropping like a hush in an archive.
“Do you know what lies outside each district wall?”
Lingchen shook his head. He’d never left the Twelfth District; the outside was an unmapped dusk.
“This world is in ruins, ignorant boy. Outside is Monsters roaming free—their playground. It’s also exile for criminals. In the last decade, it became the largest slum on earth.”
“A slum?”
Lingchen froze. The Eye Orb tapped his shoulder with a nerve tendril—like a cold finger.
“After the war with the dragons ended, Magic Maidens gained power and capital. They had strength, stood atop the tower. At first, under Order, they followed Order and preached justice. Few felt unhappy then.”
“Until Order vanished.”
“The six who defeated the Black Dragon disappeared strangely. The unwritten pact between humans and Magic Maidens cracked in an instant.”
“The new ruler had some skill, but her policies favored Magic Maidens too much. She squeezed society in her fist and expelled the misfits. That’s a root reason why resistance groups like Aklatia multiplied in recent years.”
The Eye Orb fell silent. It slowly closed its eye and settled on Lingchen’s shoulder. Moonlight leaked through the curtain and spread over Lingchen lying flat, sleep posture odd as a glyph.
The Eye Orb’s warning snapped him alert to the visitor outside. He lay down carefully, clutching the black market boss’s necklace, mind taut like wire. The Eye Orb coiled around his bracelet to hide it—the most precious property Aklatia had left.
Invisible Mana poured into the moonlight, seeped through the window seams, and filled Lingchen’s little room like snowfall.
How many times now?
He didn’t know.
Lately, too many people had loved visiting his home, scanning everything he owned. Another sweep washed him bone‑clean.
The Mana ebbed. A faint sound fluttered outside. The window eased open.
Cold wind flipped the curtain; moonlight flooded the room like quicksilver.
A figure in pitch black, skull mask, dagger in hand, dropped in with steady feet. His pupils jolted like struck bells.
The bed was empty.
