The carriage trundled forward, and I peered out past the silk curtain, my newly adorned earrings jingling softly as the vehicle lurched uphill. The incline would have strained an ordinary carriage, but this one—mechanically enchanted—handled it with ease, gliding forward.

  Magitech advancements in Varkaigrad never failed to impress me.

  For a moment, an urge flickered in my mind—a deep desire to tear the carriage apart and examine the enchantments woven into its frame. What runes hummed beneath the cquered wood? What core kept it moving without strain? I imagined prying open the mechanisms, tracing every delicate glyph and pulse of mana—

  I shook my head.

  Intrusive thoughts. Later.

  I could always borrow some books on the subject. For now, my gaze drifted back outside, watching as the city changed around us.

  The Middle District—already refined in its own right—gave way to something else entirely.

  Here, the roads widened, paved with fwless dark stone, their surfaces reinforced with faintly glowing mana lines that pulsed every few seconds, likely redistributing weight and preventing wear. Lantern-like mana mpposts stood at precise intervals, exactly twenty feet apart, their elegant crystal cores casting an ever-steady glow without flicker or variance on the snow covered roads. Separate nes had been designated for different kinds of travel—one for incoming carriages, another for outgoing ones, and a narrower, rune-marked strip meant exclusively for pedestrians.

  The buildings changed as well.

  Gone were the clustered structures of the Middle District. Here, vast estates stretched across expansive plots, each estate separated by well-manicured hedgerows or wrought-iron fences adorned with silver filigree. Towers of obsidian and marble jutted into the sky, adorned with banners dispying sect insignias. Even from a distance, I caught glimpses of floating ptforms—private teleportation arrays, no doubt—carrying elegantly dressed figures between estate balconies.

  And then, rising before us, was another wall.

  If the previous district divide had been subtle, this one was anything but.

  Massive stone blocks—seamlessly fitted together—rose high above the road, each one covered in runic formations that pulsed. Wards, yered thick as armor, wove a web of protection across the structure. I traced the glyphs with my gaze, recognizing shielding runes, anti-teleportation locks, and some more that I couldn’t recognize myself—likely something meant to incinerate intruders before they could even touch the wall itself.

  A fortress.

  That’s what the Upper District truly was.

  And beyond those walls? Sect fortresses disguised as mansions. I could already feel the yered security measures pressing against my senses. I never stepped foot in upper district myself, although I was always curious. And now that I look at how deeply protected this pce was?

  No wonder Lysska called me reckless, I thought, recalling her scoff when I’d suggested sneaking in st night. One misstep here, and you’d be ash before the arm sounded.

  The carriage rolled toward the massive archway where uniformed guards stood in polished, mana-etched armor. One of them—a man with sharp features and a neatly groomed beard—approached, his eyes flicking to the insignia on our carriage.

  I expected questions. A thorough inspection.

  Instead, he saluted crisply and stepped aside.

  I frowned.

  Lysska remained utterly unbothered, humming a lighthearted tune as if she hadn’t just bypassed some of the highest security in the city with nothing more than presence alone.

  And with that, the carriage eased through the enchanted gate.

  ***

  "Where exactly are we going? I thought the goal was to check out Viera’s pce and see if something was up. She definitely doesn’t live around here—"

  And by around here, I meant I had absolutely no idea where the hell we were. The estates were massive, each one surrounded by towering stone walls marking the domains of the sects that resided here. Every one of them looked eerily simir—like fortresses wrapped in yers of wealth and silence.

  Too silent.

  For the past five minutes, I hadn't sensed a single person walking these streets. No passersby. No servants hurrying between estates. Just the soft crunch of our carriage wheels rolling over the frosted road.

  Lysska tilted her head, her foxian ears twitching. "And why do you think you’ll find your answers there?"

  "Because her resonance was infected," I said, folding my arms. "Someone is doing some messed up shit in there, and I need to know who."

  Lysska nodded, unbothered. "While that may be true, I think you’re looking in the wrong pce. If this ‘mirror summoning,’ as you call it, is the real focus, then the most important location isn’t Viera’s home. It’s the venue of the ball itself."

  Oh. Right. I had no idea where that was.

  "So that’s where we’re headed?" I asked.

  "Exactly. The Sablethorn estate. The Ashwind Sect is a lesser sect under Sablethorn, and in events like these, lesser sects that are closely tied to the main one often hold their functions at the superior sect’s estate to borrow their prestige."

  That… actually made a lot of sense. But before I could respond, my Air Sense fred.

  Dozens of breathing signatures entered my perception all at once.

  The carriage slowed to a halt.

  "We’re here," Lysska said, producing two absurd wide-brimmed hats from under the seat. Hers was a riot of silk peonies and ivy, holes neatly cut for her vulpine ears. Mine? A monstrosity of fake sunflowers and rosemary sprigs. "Floral couture’s in this season," she said, tossing it at me. "Py along."

  I grimaced at the petals brushing my temples. "Since when do you do botany?"

  "Since never. But Milena Vorash does." She fshed a guild-certified florist’s seal—stolen, forged, or ‘borrowed,’ knowing her. "Clients owe favors. Identities get… recycled."

  I sighed but complied, tucking my own ears under the brim as I stepped down from the carriage.

  "So this is Sablethorn estate?" I muttered, taking in the scene.

  "One of their properties," Lysska corrected. "Think of it as an external house. The main mansion lies in Fang’s Ascent, alongside the other five ruling families."

  Made sense. Even from outside the gate, the sheer opulence of the estate was evident. The path leading up to it was bnketed in freshly fallen snow, and despite the cold, a crowd had already formed near the entrance. Many were dressed in fine winter cloaks, their breath curling in the air like mist. But what caught my attention first was the Iron Pact enforcers stationed along the perimeter.

  They were everywhere.

  Standing by the gate. Watching from the estate walls. A quiet but undeniable presence.

  Above the entrance, a massive silk banner swayed in the frigid wind, bearing the insignia of Sablethorn—a great serpent coiled around a pearl, its fanged maw frozen mid-snarl.

  Lysska swept toward the head guard, posture shifting into someone meek, harried. "Finally!" she huffed, her accent now honeyed and provincial. "These roads! Three caravans stuck in slush near the Ashen Crossroads—apologies for the dey, sir!" She thrust the seal at him, fingers fluttering like a spooked bird. "The peonies for the Grand Hall—are they still needing the frost ward on the vases, or…?"

  The guard squinted at the seal, then her face, before chuckling. "Rex, Miss Vorash. The steward’s already wrung six florists raw today. You’re te, but not repceable te." He waved us through. "East courtyard. And tell your girl there to quit gawking—Sablethorn’s seen enough spies for one winter."

  I snapped my gaze away from the enforcers’ rune-etched cudgels, adjusting my hat. "Charming," I muttered as we passed.

  Lysska waited until we rounded a topiary dragon before snorting. "See? Milena’s ‘reputation’ precedes her. Turns out she’s the only florist in the capital who doesn’t faint at the sight of bloodvine bouquets."

  "Or you just threatened the real Milena into a vacation."

  "Crass. I commissioned her. A month in the Sunspire hot springs, all expenses covered." Her smirk sharpened. "In exchange for her guild pin and a very detailed client list."

  The inside opened up to a whirlwind of movement—workers bustling back and forth, carrying out st-minute preparations for the grand event. Servants in fine yet practical uniforms darted between ornate tables, adjusting extravagant centerpieces of enchanted ice sculptures that shimmered in the candlelight. A pair of attendants struggled to carry a towering floral arrangement, their arms nearly buckling under its sheer weight. Across the hall, a tailor knelt before a noblewoman, hurriedly adjusting the hem of her embroidered gown as she inspected her reflection in a gilded mirror.

  Massive chandeliers—each one an eborate weave of gold and gss—were being suspended from the ceiling by levitation spells, flickering slightly as the enchanters fine-tuned their stabilization. Meanwhile, another set of workers carefully positioned incense burners along the perimeter, their delicate plumes of perfumed smoke twisting through the air.

  The sheer extravagance of it all made my head spin.

  But I forced my focus back to the task at hand.

  "Now," Lysska said, her voice low, "let’s get to work. If this ball is the focal point of the summoning, then the preparations should already be in pce. The main hall is massive, so I’ll take the left side and search for clues. You handle the right. If you notice anything strange, report it immediately."

  I nodded as we stepped forward, making our way into the heart of the estate’s grand banquet hall.

  It was overwhelming.

  The sheer size of the space, combined with its absurdly expensive decorations, made it difficult to focus. My eyes kept drifting to the impossibly detailed carvings in the marble pilrs, the vishly embroidered drapes framing the tall windows, the sprawling banquet tables already stacked with delicate porcein dishes and trays of rare fruits dusted in edible gold.

  But I forced myself to push past the distraction. I wasn’t here to admire the décor—I was here to find evidence.

  Mirror summoning materials…

  There were many ways to conceal the components of such a ritual, but with the sheer density of decoration in this hall, spotting the clues would be a nightmare. Whoever had set this up had used the decadence itself as a smokescreen.

  So, with due diligence, I moved through my assigned area, adjusting floral decorations as a cover while I examined the surroundings more closely.

  It didn’t take long to find something.

  Beneath a particurly intricate centerpiece, tucked just out of sight, was a metallic rune.

  At first gnce, it seemed harmless—just another aesthetic addition to the décor, designed to light up when activated. But the engravings were too precise. This wasn’t just an ornamental charm; it was something far more dangerous.

  My suspicions were confirmed when I found supplementary runes scattered throughout the hall.

  Each was subtle. Painfully so.

  Etched into the delicate carvings of table legs. Hidden within the swirling embroidery of the drapes. Even beneath the carpets.

  The worst part?

  They were already active.

  These weren’t just decorative enchantments. They were directional runes, the kind used to pinpoint specific locations beyond the fabric of reality. For mirror summoning, that meant someone was trying to reach something—or someone—on the other side.

  And yet… something wasn’t adding up.

  Why were these runes active already?

  It made no sense. Rituals of this scale had to be contained until the moment of execution. Activating the runes this early—when the ball was still a day away—was incredibly reckless.

  This wasn’t just a summoning setup.

  Something else was happening.

  The ritual itself hadn’t started, but the groundwork was already live. That meant either someone was testing the array before the real event… or something had already slipped through.

  I clenched my jaw and searched more aggressively, even checking beneath the buffet tables. Every time I found another rune, I felt my unease grow. The engravings were subtle enough to escape detection—just faint enough that only someone who knew what to look for would see them.

  This wasn’t a crude attempt at ritual magic.

  This was deliberate.

  Someone had pnned this with extreme precision—just subtle enough to evade the notice of the powerhouses attending this ball.

  Unless, of course, you already knew what to look for.

  Lysska approached just as I was inspecting a particurly curious rune beneath the buffet line.

  "Seems your suspicions were correct, Jade," she murmured. Her expression was unreadable, but her tail twitched—a telltale sign of unease. "Someone is definitely trying to tamper with Parda from here. The pieces are all in pce, carefully hidden in pin sight."

  I exhaled sharply. "Whoever it is, they’re damn good at it."

  She hummed in agreement. "Very, very clever."

  My cws flexed instinctively. "So what do we do? Do we start dismantling it?"

  Lysska shook her head, her voice edged with caution. "Dismantling it would be like kicking a hornet’s nest mid-swarm. The perpetrator’s watching. Always."

  I exhaled sharply through my nose.

  "You think it’s Sasha’s teacher, right?"

  Might be, I wanted to say. I had no concrete proof. But my gut told me I was right. “Eighty percent certain, at least.”

  "Probability’s irrelevant. What matters is this." Her tail shed toward the hall’s vaulted ceiling, where Sablethorn banners hung. "A mirror summoning here, under a Gold-rank’s nose? Either the culprit’s suicidal…" Her pupils slithered to the nearest shadowed alcove. "Or this is a poisoned gift. Meant to provoke."

  It was a fair point.

  The deeper I thought about it, the messier it became. Maybe this wasn’t just a reckless summoning attempt—maybe it was political. If that was the case, we were stepping into a game far bigger than just magic and rituals.

  I sighed, but I trusted Lysska to handle this. It was her element more than mine. That gave me a strange sense of relief.

  We were just about to move when—

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  A strange, rhythmic ticking sound filled my ears.

  It was soft. Almost harmless. Like the gentle winding of an old pocket watch. But something about it made my blood run cold.

  My skin prickled with unease. My instincts screamed at me.

  I turned—

  Or at least, I tried to.

  "Jade." Lysska’s voice cracked like a whip, but her hand trembled as she gripped my elbow. "Walk. Don’t. Look. Back."

  I obeyed, muscles locking.

  She kept walking, her stride never breaking—but now, I saw it. The subtle tremor in her hands. The slight shake in her usually refined gait.

  I didn’t know why I did it. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was sheer morbid curiosity. But there was a mirror to my right. And in it—

  I almost stopped breathing.

  A face.

  A clown mask, grinning too wide, frozen in a grotesque expression of amusement. Its eye sockets burned with red embers, bright as dying coals.

  And in its cwed hands—

  A broken clock. Ticking.

  That was why our conversation had been so short. That was why Lysska had suddenly decided to leave.

  We had been watched.

  "Eyes forward," she hissed, her smile pstered for the passing servants.

  "The peonies need rearranging, Milena! Such fussy clients, no?"

  Her act was fwless. Her voice perfectly controlled. As if nothing had happened.

  Only when we were inside the carriage—far away from that clown—did she finally exhale.

  And her hands were still shaking.

  "Hah." She gave a short, humorless ugh. "Ruling Families… It’s easy to forget how absurdly powerful they are. And just as easy to forget what kind of things their enemies will use to fuck with them."

  I clenched my fists. My mind was still repying that clown’s image over and over, burned into my vision like an afterimage from staring at the sun.

  "What. Was. That."

  Lysska turned to me sharply. "A reminder. That some entities thrive when you acknowledge them."

  That made my blood chill even further.

  "I knew you were perceptive," she continued, voice low. "And your instincts are sharp. But I didn’t think you’d notice it this early—not at low Yellow Core."

  She looked at me now, gaze serious.

  "Jade, this isn’t something you can fight with alchemy."

  I flinched. "So it’s—"

  "Don’t." Her cw pressed my lips. Cold. "Names have weight. It was guardian left by whoever’s truly pulling strings. A red core familiar." She withdrew, her mask of calm reassembling. "Alchemy won’t burn this away. Swords won’t cleave it. All it’s there to do…"

  The carriage lurched forward. Outside, snow swirled like ash.

  "...is to ensure nobody tempers with the ritual before the real monster arrives."