[Guard Headquarters – Central Command]

  Commander Vargas stood behind his massive desk, buried beneath piles of documents—a structure of wood, ink, and eroding authority. The flame of the wall-mounted torch trembled, as though reflecting a tension it refused to acknowledge.

  Before him stood Seybid. His shoulders were slumped, his breathing heavy, his clothes stained with road dust—dust that did not belong inside headquarters.

  Vargas rubbed his brow with two fingers.

  “Repeat what you said, Seybid… slowly this time.”

  Seybid exhaled, as if the words themselves weighed too much to carry.

  “Sir… he said it clearly. He took the list of strangers and told me to inform you not to wait for him until morning, because he believes—no, he is certain—he will close the case tonight.”

  Vargas’s palm struck the desk. Not anger—old impatience.

  “Tonight? Does he think he’s dealing with a bread thief? We are speaking of an inspection officer and his assistant… First-Level Lords of the Qaz who vanished into thin air. That Ained will drag us to ruin with his arrogance. Did he say where he was headed?”

  Seybid hesitated.

  “He went toward the tavern near the Ear of Grain Inn. He looked as though… he had found valuable prey. His eyes were shining that way, sir. The way that means a disaster is about to happen.”

  A brief silence followed.

  Vargas stared at the flickering flame.

  “The problem with Ained is not his arrogance… it’s that he is usually right. If he went there, it means the killer did not leave the city as we assumed. He is sitting somewhere now, drinking to his success beneath our noses.”

  Seybid spoke with unease.

  “But sir, if the killer eliminated two First-Level Lords of the Qaz without a sound… how can Ained face him alone? Should we not send support?”

  Vargas gave a dry laugh.

  “Support? Ained considers support an insult to his intellect. And we lack legal grounds for a raid. He is playing his own game now… pressing nerves until they snap. All we can do is prepare a cell… or a coffin.”

  He gestured toward the list Ained had left behind.

  “Seybid. Search the northern records. I want any mention of the name Karsu, or any Second-Level Lord of Stone Qaz who passed through conflict zones. If Ained chose this man… I want to know everything about him before dawn.”

  ---

  [Tavern of the Ear of Grain Inn]

  Ained leaned forward, resting his chin upon interlocked fingers. His Sadeem filled the tavern like a viscous membrane, turning the air into heavy water—no voice escaped, no breath entered, except by his will.

  Instead of throwing accusations, he placed something small upon the table.

  A handful of fine gray dust.

  “Do you know what is amusing about Stone Qaz, Lord Karsu?” Ained whispered, his tone sharp as a blade. “It leaves no blood upon carpets. No screams to wake neighbors. Stone closes in silently… crushing existence until it becomes… this.”

  He pointed to the dust.

  “The inspection officer and his assistant did not disappear. They are now merely atmospheric contamination above the eastern gate. What truly puzzles me is not their death… but that ‘clean intent’ recorded in the assistant’s ledger before he vanished. How does a man crush two souls without his pulse shifting even slightly?”

  Ained slowly nudged Karsu’s empty cup a few millimeters.

  “I am not searching for physical evidence. Stone leaves no prints. I am searching for motive. Were they obstacles in your path? Or did you kill them simply because you could?”

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  Karsu stared at the cup. The suffocating Sadeem did not disturb him in the slightest—Ained’s pressure felt like a gentle breeze.

  He raised his eyes slowly.

  “You speak too much, Ained. Which means you are trying to convince yourself of your conclusion… more than you are trying to convince me.”

  Karsu leaned forward until their faces were inches apart.

  “You said I am Third Level. Do you truly believe a man of my level would fear an inspection officer enough to hide his corpse? If I wished to kill them, I would have done so in the public square. No one would have dared question you about ‘dust.’”

  A faint, unreadable smile curved his lips.

  “Perhaps the ‘clean intent’ was truly clean. Perhaps your intellect is the prison you are trying to force me into—so you can prove to yourself that you are not ordinary.”

  Suddenly, Karsu placed his hand over Ained’s.

  In that instant, Ained felt as though his hand were crushed beneath a mountain—not by muscle, but by overwhelming presence. His surrounding Sadeem trembled and cracked like fractured glass.

  Karsu’s voice carried a terrifying warning.

  “I will give you advice. Do not search for the monster in the dark while he sits before you and tells you plainly who he is. I did not say I did not kill them. But I did not say I did. The difference between us… is that I do not need to prove anything.”

  He withdrew his hand slowly and stood.

  “Finish your drink. Your Sadeem is beginning to drain you, and I dislike speaking with exhausted men.”

  Ained remained frozen for seconds after Karsu removed his hand. The suffocating silence of the tavern, bodies unconscious around them, weighed heavily. Cold crept through his fingers where Karsu had touched him.

  Then—

  His shoulders began to shake with restrained laughter.

  “Ha… wonderful. Truly wonderful!”

  He lifted his head. His eyes gleamed with something bordering madness. The smile that split his face was genuine this time.

  “Valuable advice, Lord Karsu. I shall treasure it. But you misjudged one thing. I am not trying to prove I am the smartest in the room—that is self-evident to me. I simply enjoy… resistance.”

  Sweat rolled down his brow under the strain of his own Sadeem.

  “You are correct—I possess no physical evidence. Not yet. But do you not think the ‘monster’ before me has left something stone cannot erase? Your clean intent at the gate is the greatest evidence against you. An ordinary killer wavers. You… killed without even realizing you had done something worthy of regret.”

  Ained stood abruptly, retracting his Sadeem from the tavern in a single motion. Air rushed back into lungs; unconscious patrons stirred and groaned.

  “Go now, Lord Karsu. Enjoy your night at the Ear of Grain Inn. But remember—good investigators search for evidence. I search for the flaw. And I will find it before dawn.”

  He waved dismissively and sat again, exhaustion striking his body—but his mind raced.

  He admitted it implicitly… He fears no consequences. Which means he holds something stronger than Third Level… or he is waiting for something in this city.

  ---

  Karsu stepped into the cold night air. It felt pure compared to the tavern’s mixture of wine and Sadeem.

  He walked steadily along the stone pavement. His footsteps echoed through streets emptied except for shifting shadows.

  A faint mocking smile crossed his face.

  No wonder I have never heard of him. He is merely a fool who worships his own intellect.

  To Karsu, Ained was an open book—brilliant, yes, but drowning in arrogance. He believed truth was the ultimate goal of existence.

  In Karsu’s world, truth was merely a tool.

  Or sometimes… a burden to be discarded.

  As he neared the turn leading to the Ear of Grain Inn, glass shattered somewhere nearby. Muffled cries followed.

  He paused in the shadows.

  A few meters away stood one of the hunters from the tavern—the same one humiliated by the Lord of the Qaz. Ained’s Sadeem had clearly worsened his temper. He staggered drunkenly, clutching a broken bottle, hurling curses at a trembling beggar child cornered with no escape.

  “Because of filth like you, we live in this rot!” the hunter roared, raising the jagged glass with murderous intent.

  The child’s eyes met Karsu’s for a single moment—a desperate plea drowning in raw fear.

  Karsu did not blink.

  His pulse did not quicken.

  The Jowf within his chest did not stir.

  He walked past as if passing a stone wall. The cries of the weak were nothing more than background noise in a city built upon injustice.

  He reached the inn, climbed the wooden stairs that groaned beneath his weight, and entered his room. He cast his coat aside and stood by the window, watching distant city lights.

  ---

  [Guard Headquarters – Later]

  Seybid burst into the office and dropped a worn file onto the desk.

  “Sir! The northern records… I found him! Karsu—or as he was known before exile: the Fallen Prodigy.”

  Vargas stopped writing and pulled the file into the candlelight.

  “So… from that clan. The Ghout Clan.”

  A flicker of old memory passed through his eyes.

  “He was expelled months ago after a bitter clash with their leader, Fethrayel. I have not heard of them in years. The reports came like curses—storms, endless rain, their resource stronghold burned, then the beast assault. All at once.”

  He closed the file slowly.

  “At this rate… the Ghout Clan is not in exile. It stands on the edge of extinction.”

  A sudden gust extinguished the torch momentarily as Ained entered.

  His face was pale from Sadeem exhaustion, but his eyes burned with manic clarity.

  He dismissed Seybid with a look and leaned against the commander’s desk.

  “Vargas… leave dead clans to grave historians.”

  His voice was firm.

  “I want everything. Any event to be announced. Any celebration. Any relic the nobles plan to display for neighboring cities. Every detail—even the color of the curtains covering the stage.”

  Vargas frowned.

  “What do noble decorations have to do with murder?”

  Ained tapped his temple sharply.

  “Karsu is not a random killer. He is an architect of situations. He did not kill the officers to hide. He killed them to be discovered. He chose me as the thread that would lead him to the top of this city’s hierarchy. Something will happen soon… and he wants a front-row seat.”

  He paused.

  For the first time, doubt edged his voice.

  “That is the only explanation, Vargas. Otherwise… we are dealing with an entity beyond my comprehension. And that—I refuse to accept.”

  ---

  [Ear of Grain Inn – Karsu’s Room]

  Karsu sat at his small wooden desk. No fatigue marked his face—only calm, like the stillness before a storm.

  Under a single candle’s light lay a carefully written sheet.

  He drew a bold line through the first sentence:

  (Attract the nobles’ attention and obtain a certificate of strength).

  He gazed at the flame.

  “Fame is the only ladder that requires no physical steps… only psychological shocks.”

  If he had wished to avoid trouble, he could have erased the officers without a trace—or subdued them with his Sadeem and left silently.

  But silence did not open closed doors.

  He needed a reputation that would reach noble salons before he did. A mystery whispered about:

  A powerful, enigmatic Lord of the Qaz… accused of a crime the brilliant investigator failed to prove.

  That reputation would become a magnet.

  Instead of Karsu knocking upon noble doors—

  They would open them for him.

  Ained was the rope that would pull him into the arena. Once the rumors spread, the stairs would descend, lifting him toward the true purpose of his arrival.

  He set the pen aside and read the next line:

  (Obtain the invitation card).

  He extinguished the candle between his fingers.

  “The performance has begun… and the audience is still unaware.”

  A faint smile touched his lips—calm, without bitterness. Like that of a man who had finally solved a riddle he had pursued his entire life.

  He made no sound.

  There was no need for sound anymore.

  He walked to the window with steady steps. Opened it. A cool night breeze entered.

  He did not hesitate.

  Hands on the frame, he cast one final glance at the stars scattered across the vast darkness.

  Then—

  With absolute fluidity, like a dry leaf falling from its branch—

  He jumped.