In the bustling port city of Levaridt, everything appeared as it was supposed to. The city, perched on the western edge of the Kerrasuk region, was the closest point of contact between the region and the rest of civilization. For that reason, Levaridt seemed modestly advanced compared to the rest of Kerrasuk—save for the Hearth City.

  Along the eastern shores, the water rose and fell in rhythmic waves, surfers riding their crests while fliers glided through the skies. People roamed the streets, the markets buzzed with life, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Including the Korindt—Levaridt's house of care.

  From the outside, the Korindt appeared closed for the day. The usual hustle and bustle of healing rituals and community gatherings had long subsided, and the building sat in peaceful silence, as though it, too, had settled for the night. In every sense, it seemed like just another quiet evening in the city.

  But it was all a thin illusion.

  Beneath that calm fa?ade, a different story unfolded. From a lit window above, faint but unmistakable, came the muffled sound of a woman screaming. Her cries pierced the night air, the only sign that the Korindt was still very much alive with activity. In that room, shadows danced across the walls, casting flickering shapes into the dim space.

  On a bed, a woman lay in labor. The sheets around her were a chaotic tangle, mirroring her own frantic state. Her eyes, wild with pain, fixated on the wall behind her, where a carved image of a woman cradling a child stood watch. She clung to that image, desperate for some kind of solace amidst the agony.

  Two Feydaks, a race of people who use essence to control their physiognomy, flanked the woman, one standing to her left, the other to her right. One Feydak placed her hand on the woman's head, the other pressed her hand against her swollen belly. Both wore strained expressions, silently cursing their luck. They should have known this was a trap the moment a stranger appeared that night, carrying the pregnant woman in his arms, begging for their help. What they thought was a simple favor had quickly turned into something much more complicated—and dangerous. Now, they couldn’t just leave.

  The man who had accosted them didn’t need to hold them hostage with force. The very identity of the woman, and the child she was bearing, was more than enough to keep them bound to the room.

  Thin needles extended from the Feydaks' palms, through which they channeled the chemicals of their own bodies, working tirelessly to stabilize the woman’s vitals. It was delicate, exhausting work, and it was draining them fast. One of them, named Pairasan, glared at the man sitting in the corner of the room, frustration etched into every line of her face.

  "Would you hurry up? We're dying here!" she snapped, her voice taut with the strain of her task.

  The man, seated comfortably at his workstation, didn't even glance up. His shaded eyes remained fixed on the blue screen in front of him, his fingers moving deftly across the keyboard. The glow from the screen highlighted his features—a young adult with sleek, long black hair and a finely pressed suit, though his blazer was casually draped over the back of his chair. Upon closer inspection, it became clear this was no ordinary noble. He was from the Full-Bright family.

  The woman writhing on the bed, her breathing shallow and uneven, was none other than Lady Varessi Severidth, of House Severedith—the wife of Lord Koleson, ruler of all Kerrasuk.

  And standing behind them all, overseeing the entire tense scene with a mix of eager anticipation and impatience, was the one who had orchestrated this entire operation: Sir Mascious, Lady Varessi’s retainer.

  “Quiet down,” Sir Mascious ordered, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension in the room.

  That moment truly underscored just how strange this entire procession had become. The man seated in the corner was busy encoding an algorithm into his entangled drive. From the base of the drive, four cables extended, each tipped with a pin that gleamed ominously in the dim light. He muttered his own regrets under his breath. It had been his master who encouraged him to come here, but had he known he was about to assist in the birth of a Lord's child, he would never have gotten involved.

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  Children of High Rankers were notoriously difficult to birth—especially those belonging to someone as powerful as Lord Koleson, a Lancer of immense influence.

  Once the encoding was complete, the man grabbed the four cables and told the exhausted Feydaks to step aside. They gladly complied, collapsing to the floor, drained from their efforts. The man then inserted the pins into Lady Varessi's body with precision—one in her head, one in her heart, and two into her swollen belly.

  Almost immediately, the process of maintaining the woman's vitals became fully automated. The screen hovering above the core processor of the entangled drive began to display a stream of cold, clinical data—numbers that reflected her heart rate, her breathing, and the chemical balance in her blood. The machine was now in full control. It would regulate her muscle movements, manage chemical imbalances, and administer medicine when needed.

  The Feydaks, now resting on the floor, sighed in relief for the first time. They whispered quiet thanks to the gods that their grueling work had been taken over by the machine.

  Sir Mascious, the ever-watchful retainer of nobility, couldn’t help but lean forward to study the machine's output, peering intently at the screen and then at his Lady. As sophisticated as he was, even he couldn’t hide his awe at the technology. The empire’s advancements never failed to impress him.

  With the worst seemingly behind them, Mascious walked over to Lady Varessi's side. He gently took her hand in his, feeling the warmth of her skin despite the ordeal she had been through. Her breathing had steadied, her body now calm, her expression drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep.

  He stared down at her, gripping her hand tighter. This woman—the one he had served, protected, and known for most of his life—looked fragile in that moment, and the sight nearly broke his heart.

  The Engineer glanced at Mascious and said, "She should be able to deliver the baby without exerting herself now that she's stabilized."

  Mascious was about to thank him when a ripple suddenly disturbed the illusory barrier he'd set around the Korindt. He stiffened, sensing the disruption. Across the room, the Fullbright boy felt it too. Their eyes met, both instantly aware that something was wrong. Only the Feydaks remained oblivious, but they quickly caught on from the alarmed expressions on Mascious and the Engineer’s faces.

  "Man, curse my luck. Really, curse my luck," muttered the Fullbright Engineer, shaking his head.

  "What happened?" asked the second Feydak, a woman named Peprin. Her voice quivered with fear. "Is someone here? No, no, no, no, no," she whispered, the words filled with dread.

  Mascious, regaining his composure, took command of the situation. "Continue to assist my lady with her labor," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll go see what’s happening."

  Without waiting for a response, he dashed out of the room, his mind already racing toward whatever was approaching.

  The Engineer hesitated, torn between wanting to follow Mascious and lend his aid but unsure of just how troublesome the situation could become. He glanced back at the bed, where Lady Varessi lay laboring, the Feydaks squatting around her, their faces drained of color, their fear palpable. The tension hung thick in the air.

  After a moment of indecision, he made his choice. He would stay.

  Mascious raced up the stairs of the Korindt, his footsteps echoing in the narrow passage. As he reached the surface, the cool night air greeted him, along with the sprawling view of the city surrounding him. The stars above flickered faintly, but his mind was elsewhere, focused on the disturbance he had sensed.

  A voice broke the silence.

  Mascious’s eyes darted toward the far end of the roof, where a figure stood, partially shrouded by the night. "A weaving that conceals the sound, light, and life of an entire building," the man said, his gaze fixed on the faint shimmer of the illusory bubble encasing the Korindt. "A simple and old reflection, really. I suppose you can't beat that."

  The man turned away from the view of the city and faced Mascious. His hair, long and braided, flowed down his back, and a reel inventory rested at his side. Wrapped around his waist was the distinctive Keffeyek, the traditional sash of the Southern Garrison. But what struck Mascious most was the man's hair—a striking blend of turquoise and blue, radiant like the sea itself.

  This was no ordinary man. He was a Whydit, one of the many scions of Lord Koleson Whydit.

  The man smiled, a hint of amusement in his expression. "But I must say," he continued, "I find it a rather paltry trick, not fitting for the Lady of our Lord, whom you've so boldly absconded with."