The convict scrambled backward across the floor, chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths. His trembling hand flew instinctively to his neck, fingers tracing the place where cold steel had so recently lingered, almost slicing through his skin. His eyes darted frantically around the room, confusion melting quickly into suspicion, and then fear.

"Who… who the hell are you?" he finally managed to choke out, voice raw and trembling. His gaze locked onto the woman standing so casually in front of him, seemingly unfazed by the chaos she had unleashed.

Lyra tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She flicked a strand of violet hair from her face, the casual gesture almost mesmerizing in its practiced ease. "Oh, sweetie~ You still haven't caught your breath yet? Take it easy, I'm not here to bite… Unless you ask very nicely~"

The convict shook his head sharply, clearing away the fog of near-death experience. "Did… did the Syndicate send you? I told them—I told them I wouldn't say a thing! I didn't talk to anyone, I swear!"

Lyra rolled her eyes dramatically, a hand placed theatrically on her hip. Her expression shifted from amusement to mild irritation, as if his words were a minor inconvenience rather than a major misunderstanding. "Oh, please~ The Syndicate? Darling, if they cared enough to send someone, you'd be wearing your head as a lovely little hat right now. Those grumpy old bastards don't waste resources on liabilities~"

The convict's eyes widened, his breath hitching as if punched in the stomach. He stared at her, disbelief and dread intermingling on his face. "No… no, you're wrong. They promised me! They promised I'd be safe if I kept quiet—"

"Oh, honey," Lyra interrupted smoothly, her voice gentling slightly despite the brutal truth it carried. "They promise everyone safety, loyalty, riches—the whole shiny package. But they're not known for keeping promises to pawns like you. You were scheduled for an appointment with the axe because you're disposable. Honestly, you should be thanking your lucky stars your sister has better judgment than you do~"

"My sister?" His eyes sparked with sudden clarity, his voice turning hoarse, thick with emotion. "Is she alright? Did they—"

"Relax~ She's fine, better than fine, actually," Lyra said soothingly, taking a deliberate step closer. "That smart little cookie worked herself to the bone, earned enough Sul, and then she came knocking at my door—well, figuratively speaking, of course. She was desperate, and desperate sisters are my favorite kind of clients~"

He sagged slightly, relief washing over him before suspicion tightened his shoulders once more. "Who… who are you? And why help me?"

Lyra chuckled softly, shaking her head as though mildly exasperated. "As I have said, just call me Lyra, darling~ A simplewoman from the Eastern Liberatorium." she leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if sharing a great secret, " Though, between you and me, I've always been a rather big fan of the Southern Liberatorium. Freedom, chaos, passion—everything my dreary homeland lacks. I figured this was the perfect excuse to pack up my things and move in permanently~"

He stared at her blankly, her casual revelation leaving him utterly bewildered. "Move… move in?"

She nodded enthusiastically, violet eyes twinkling with mischief. "Indeed~ Your sister made me a generous offer—your family home, sweet and quaint, all to myself. In return, I'll make sure you and your darling sibling find yourselves safely settled far away from here, somewhere charming like Arkalomald~"

Shock morphed into stubborn defiance, his fists clenching at his sides. "No! That's our home. Our parents lived there, died there. We can't just leave it behind. We'll… I'll speak with the Syndicate. I'll explain—"

"Explain what exactly, sweetie?" Lyra cut him off sharply, eyes suddenly hard and serious beneath her flirtatious veneer. "The Syndicate isn't a knitting circle you can chat with over tea and biscuits. They're the largest criminal organization in the entire world. These are the people who waged war against not one, but two whole Liberatoriums simultaneously. Do you really think they're going to give you a nice little chat and a pat on the back? No, they'll bury you, and your sister, to make sure there are no loose ends~"

He flinched, the harshness of her words slicing through his last threads of denial. His shoulders slumped, his fight evaporating like smoke. "But… we grew up there… it's everything we have."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Lyra sighed gently, a rare moment of genuine empathy flickering across her face. "Look, darling, I get it. Memories, nostalgia, childhood dreams—they're beautiful things, truly. But none of them matter if you're dead. The Syndicate sees you as a loose end, a little mistake to tidy up. They'll send assassins, and trust me, their blades are a lot sharper than that crude axe."

She stepped forward again, placing a reassuring hand gently on his trembling shoulder. "Here's the deal. You leave now, with your sister, for a sleepy little town at the edge of the world. Start fresh, live quietly, and let the Syndicate forget you ever existed. Meanwhile, I'll take your place here, in this vibrant, messy Liberatorium that I've been dying to call home."

His eyes searched her face, desperately seeking a lie, a trick, something that would betray her true intentions. But all he saw was a strange honesty, a playful sincerity that unsettled him even as it convinced him of her intentions. "You… you're really serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious~" she replied cheerfully, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. "This isn't charity, dear. Your sister made me a very tempting offer, and I plan to enjoy every second of it. Besides, I adore the South far too much to leave it in the hands of someone who can't appreciate it~"

He sighed deeply, resignation finally taking root. His gaze dropped, voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you… I… thank you."

Lyra's smile softened, her eyes kind for the briefest instant. "You're welcome. Now, come on~ You have a long journey ahead, and I do believe your sister is waiting quite anxiously. Let's get you two somewhere safe before the Syndicate realizes they've lost their little sacrificial lamb~"

She stood up, offering a hand to help him rise. He hesitated only a moment before accepting her grip, pulling himself to his feet, uncertainty still etched deeply on his face. But beneath it, a fragile, tentative hope began to take hold, born from the strange woman's confident grin.

Leos' hands shook as he pressed himself flat against the wall. "If you're not with the Syndicate, then how did you—"

Lyra laughed, the sound both musical and cutting, as if she found his naivete adorable. "Oh, honey, you really think a girl like me can't get things done?" She flashed him a wink, the suns glow dancing across her violet eyes. "I don't need the Syndicate to save a pretty face like yours. I'm full-service, all on my own~"

She sauntered toward the battered wooden door, reached for the handle, and without a warning jumped backward as if burned, nearly bowling Leos over. "Stay down," she hissed, one arm snapping out to shove him behind her. In a single fluid motion, she slipped two straight daggers from a pouch at her hip. The blades drank the light, their edges so black they looked like cracks in the world itself.

Before Leos could stammer a protest, the sun's glow guttered, replaced by a creeping, unnatural darkness that swallowed the room whole. Shadows ran riot, filling corners, swallowing walls, seeping into the cracks of the warped old floorboards. The doorway shuddered open… Just an inch at first, its hinges screaming a protest, then wider, the shriek so high-pitched it made Leos clamp his hands over his ears.

"By the Eighth's rotten eggs…" Lyra muttered under her breath, crouched and ready, daggers poised. "Whatever's out there, it's not from around here."

From the black mouth of the hallway, a pair of eyes materialized. Not ordinary eyes, not merely red—they were incandescent, glowing with an inner fire. They hovered at an impossible height, far above any normal man's head. As the darkness thickened, the air seemed to freeze, every sound except the creaking door snuffed out.

Leos shrank behind Lyra, voice barely a whisper: "What… what is—"

Lyra cut him off, voice suddenly hard and very small, "Shut up. If it moves, I want you behind me, got it?"

A figure stepped forward, no, strode, as the world bent to make way for him. He moved like someone for whom the concept of danger was a fond, distant memory. Those burning eyes swept the room, and the shadows cowered, peeling back from his boots.

He did not pause in the threshold. Instead, he leaned casually against the doorframe, as if he'd simply chosen this particular spot in the world for a break.

"My apologies for the theatrics," he said, each word as crisp as a blade. "I find that fear does most of the talking in a city like this." He regarded Lyra's blades with faint amusement.

Lyra, despite herself, let her mouth curve into a slow, impressed smile. "Now that's an entrance~ Can't say I've seen anyone wear black quite like you, big man. Name, if you don't mind, before I decide whether to stab or swoon~?"

Kaiser stepped fully into the room, letting the remaining light wrap him in a jagged silhouette. His height was inhuman, his posture regal, his eyes… those eyes—like the world's last sunrise seen through a hurricane.

"I am Kaiser Dios," he said simply, as if it explained everything. "Recently arrived from the Orlogolog on business of my own. And I would suggest you lower those blades unless you wish to feel exactly how sharp they are."

Lyra let out a short, breathy laugh, blades lowering a fraction, but not sheathing. "Kaiser, huh? That's a hell of a name to drop in a place like this~ What brings you kicking down doors, hmm?"

Leos, still crumpled on the floor, struggled to find his voice. "What… what do you want with us?"

Kaiser's gaze flicked to Leos, sizing him up with a glance sharp enough to carve marrow from bone. He let the silence stretch, every heartbeat a drumbeat in the pitch-dark room. "Want?" he echoed, as if tasting the word and finding it slightly amusing. "What I want is rarely so small as a single life. But for tonight, let's call it curiosity…"

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