Time flowed on, filling the days with the steady rhythm of training, alchemical experiments, and elixir consumption.

  Kael continued his relentless training—every day, every night, until exhaustion set in. His body grew stronger, his mana channels expanded, and his mind grew clearer and sharper. With each passing week, he drew closer to a breakthrough.

  Meanwhile, his enemies and allies alike were making their own plans.

  Magister Duran trained with the ferocity of a man who had been given a second chance.

  The Forsaken Brotherhood gathered the necessary ingredients, venturing into mountains and marshlands where only well-prepared squads from Lasthold dared to tread.

  The Vengeful Thunder Family prepared to put Elder Zeiran’s plans into motion.

  The world around Kael lived its own hidden, tense existence. In every house, every family, every corner of Lasthold, something was happening—something that would one day form a single bloody mosaic.

  And all of it unfolded against the backdrop of the approaching winter.

  As the Day of Winter drew near, the snowfall grew heavier. The cold became sharper, deeper, seeping through window cracks, slowing the breaths of the city’s inhabitants. Smoke rose from chimneys in thick columns, and beneath the roofs, icy spires formed in earnest.

  Lasthold looked calm, like a winter whirlpool. On the surface—beauty, radiance, patterns of frost. But one only had to peer a little deeper…

  …and it became clear that predators were already swimming within those quiet, snow-covered shadows.

  They circled one another, savoring the moment they would bare their teeth. Each waited for their chance. Each watched. Each prepared.

  ? ? ?

  At that very moment, Kael was within the training zone.

  He sat on the cold stone floor, legs crossed, back straight, eyes closed. It looked as though he were asleep… but in truth, his mind was far away.

  Deep within his mind, the Mantra of the Primordial Void repeated again and again, as if carrying him into another dimension.

  He was fully focused on his training.

  Around him, a vortex of mana hummed and swirled, drawn in by a special magic circle on the ground. At the same time, a dense wave of mana rose from his stomach—from the elixir he had consumed earlier—and mingled with the external currents.

  All of it gradually flowed toward a single point—his heart.

  If someone could have looked inside Kael’s chest at that moment, they would have seen the Mana Core around his heart pulsing with heavy, confident beats. Each pulse sent powerful waves of energy through his circulatory system, reinforcing every vessel, every minute section of his channels.

  These waves layered atop one another, as though forming a new steel framework over his veins and vessels.

  That part of his circulatory system, which not long ago had been “mortal,” unadapted to high mana density, was now covered in a dense, “metallic” layer.

  For nearly three months straight, Kael had been growing his mana channels without pause.

  In the next instant, a surge of mana erupted.

  THU-DUUM!

  A shockwave spread outward from Kael’s body, rolling across the training zone and making the tools hanging on the walls chime softly. The magic circle beneath him flared for a second, as if confirming: the training cycle was complete.

  Kael opened his eyes.

  His pupils were slightly dilated, his breathing slow and deep. He took a slow breath, fully emerging from the depths of the trance, and muttered, “The elixir’s effect keeps weakening… my tolerance to its active compounds has grown too high…”

  He raised his hands, clenched and unclenched his fingers, feeling the familiar tingling—a result of the internal mana pressure, which had long since ceased to feel unusual. He rolled his wrists, stretched his palms, and continued inwardly:

  “I was hoping to break through before the meeting with the Forsaken Brotherhood… but it seems that won’t be happening.”

  Kael slowly rose to his feet, glancing at the window in the ceiling and noting that the sun had been up for several hours already.

  “The celebration will begin very soon,” he said quietly. “I need to get myself ready.”

  With those words, Kael walked over to the table and began gathering his belongings. The evening before, he had taken inventory of his belongings, leaving the sorting for the morning.

  Kael quickly sorted everything into two spatial rings, habitually checking that not a single tool or ingredient remained on the table. Last of all, he picked up the wooden case containing finished mana elixirs, flipped open the lid, and counted the contents.

  “Seven elixirs left…” he muttered, frowning slightly. “Will that be enough to break through?”

  He shook his head, waved his hand, and the elixirs vanished into the pocket space of the ring.

  But as soon as he straightened up, his mind naturally drifted to another, far more pleasant subject. Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a satisfied, almost predatory smile slowly spread across his face.

  “Today, I’ll finally receive the ingredients for a spirit-summoning ritual from the Spirit Realm of Space…” he said softly, almost solemnly. “I can hardly wait.”

  He felt a light excitement stirring within—that rare sensation when one’s own plans finally begin to move off a dead standstill. Everything he had been preparing for over the past months was finally about to take shape.

  With these thoughts, Kael threw on a cloak lined with fur and headed for the exit of the training room at a brisk pace. Today, he was supposed to return home early, so he could go to the celebration together with his family.

  ? ? ?

  The city buzzed with festive noise. Children’s laughter mingled with the ringing jokes of adults; the air was full of motion, bustle, and anticipation. Even though it was only midday, it felt as though the Day of Winter had already arrived.

  The streets shone brightly—decorated with blue crystals that emitted a soft, cold light, as if sparks had been frozen into ice. Long crimson banners, adorned with shimmering embroidery, fluttered between the houses.

  People adorned their homes with red cloths and patterned lanterns. Merchants hung ribbons above their stalls, adjusted prices in honor of the holiday, and called out to customers more cheerfully than usual. Meanwhile, workers from the Chamber of City Works moved in unison, installing decorations and large ice sculptures—symbols of the coming celebration.

  Amid all this lively winter splendor stood a man few people noticed.

  An old man.

  At first glance—a pitiful vagrant. Thin, almost shriveled, with gray hair sticking out in all directions. He wore light clothing utterly unsuited for the weather, and his feet were in open sandals—yet he stood directly on the snow, as though he felt no cold at all.

  He leaned against a stone wall, exhaled—and the puff of vapor that left his mouth began to freeze before the eye, turning into a thin silvery mist. The old man rubbed his red, wind-chapped palms… then lazily glanced toward the street along which Kael was calmly passing.

  His deep blue eyes glinted.

  But they did not linger on Kael for even a second.

  They slid onward—across the crowd, the rooftops, the corners of the street. As if checking something. Or… someone.

  The old man casually unhooked a small flask from his belt, shook it, and took several deep gulps, paying no mind to the cold or his burning throat. He exhaled noisily, pleased by the warmth of the alcohol spreading inside him.

  But at that very moment, two women passed by him, each carrying a basket of incense.

  And it so happened that the old man exhaled… straight into their faces.

  Both women grimaced at the same time.

  “Ugh!” one of them exclaimed, and, unable to restrain herself, smacked the old man on the head. “It’s only midday, and you’re already drinking!”

  The old man laughed with clear satisfaction, as if the slap had brought him pleasure.

  “It’s a holiday, after all!” he declared cheerfully.

  The women shook their heads and whispered to each other, hardly concealing their displeasure:

  “Some people just like living like beggars.”

  But after they had taken only two steps, the old man’s loud voice rang out behind them:

  “Don’t judge me. This kind of life gives me the most important thing—freedom! Heh-heh…”

  The women flinched. Their faces clearly showed they hadn’t expected him to hear them. Both women’s cheeks slowly flushed pink, and they quickened their pace, as if eager to vanish from his sight as soon as possible.

  The old man, meanwhile, remained where he was—calm, relaxed, with a satisfied smile on his face. Yet beneath that outward serenity, his mind was racing.

  “Something’s off…”

  His gaze slid once more along the street, across the people, over the distant rooftops.

  “If the others are keeping only a half-hearted watch on the boy—then the Vengeful Thunder Family is being far too active.”

  He squinted, noting subtle details: a youth lingering too long at an intersection, studying the crowd too intently; two men he had seen earlier on another street.

  “Did they find out about our deal?” the thought cut coldly through his mind. “Hmph… trying to sniff out the location of our lair?”

  The old man took several more deep swallows from the flask, as if intent on draining it to the last drop. Then he narrowed his eyes and muttered softly:

  “The Head will owe me for this little affair…”

  For a moment, his eyes flashed with a faint white light—cold, sharp, utterly unlike the gaze of a weary vagrant. In that same instant, the snow at his feet stirred ever so slightly, as though a weak wave of energy had passed through it.

  By then, Kael had already disappeared around the bend of a distant intersection.

  The old man stared at the noisy street for a few more seconds, then slowly pushed himself away from the wall and rubbed his palms together, warming them. With no haste at all, he calmly set off after Kael.

  ? ? ?

  Time flew by. The sun slowly sank toward the horizon, painting the sky in deep crimson and golden hues. That color—soft, warm, almost festive—became an invisible signal to all of Lasthold’s residents: the beginning of the Day of Winter.

  Across the city, blue crystals flared to life one after another. Their cold light reflected off the snow, and the strange fabric of the red banners—the same ones that had been hung everywhere over the past few days—began to shimmer, as if absorbing the glow and rippling with scarlet highlights. It felt as though the streets were merging with the sunset sky, turning into a single vast stream of fire and crystal light.

  More and more people stepped out of their homes. Families, children, elders, couples—it seemed as though all work in Lasthold had come to a complete halt. Today no one hurried, no one argued, no one rushed home—the city lived in a single rhythm, awaiting the festival.

  At that moment, the doors of Kael’s family restaurant swung open.

  Kasias stepped out first, holding the door as he pulled out the keys. Mira followed, adjusting the knitted hat on Kris’s head.

  “I don’t need a hat, Mom!” Kris protested at once, frowning and turning her head away.

  Mira didn’t even blink.

  “As soon as the sun sets, it’ll get colder. So don’t get smart.”

  Kris puffed out her cheeks, but obediently let her fix the hat.

  Kael came out last. He already had his hat on and didn’t even try to argue. If his mother had decided a hat was necessary, disputing it was pointless—he knew that perfectly well.

  Kael had barely taken a few steps when the jingle of keys rang out behind him, followed by the firm click of the lock. Kasias laughed deeply, looking over the street with satisfaction.

  “All right, we can go!” he declared solemnly. “First, let’s buy crystal candles!”

  Spreading his arms wide, he wrapped them around the whole family in a single motion, gently urging them forward—straight onto the festive street.

  The trading quarter, which by day looked merely lively, had now transformed completely.

  Lights. Countless lights—blue, white, and crimson—reflected off the snow and glass, making the entire district glow.

  The air was filled with the scents of street food: fried roots in spices, sweet hot flatbreads, steaming soups, and thick meat stews. Interwoven among them were delicate aromas of spices, honeyed sweets, cinnamon, and floral infusions.

  People weren’t just talking—they were laughing, shouting, trading jokes back and forth.Someone was already carrying a tray of hot wine; nearby, children ran past holding wooden snowflakes on sticks. Vendors loudly called out, inviting everyone to try warm brews, fragrant teas, and sweet drinks.

  The atmosphere was so cozy it felt as though all of Lasthold had turned into one big family.

  Even Kael couldn’t hold back a smile, thinking to himself:

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “Beautiful… I didn’t think sights like this could still stir my soul. It’s been a long time since I celebrated the Day of Winter.”

  And immediately, with a touch of self-irony, he added:

  “About seven hundred years, give or take.”

  But before he could fully sink into his own thoughts, something—or rather, someone—jabbed him in the side with an elbow.

  “Brother!” Kris flashed him a sly, almost predatory smile. “You’re obligated to buy me lots of tasty and pretty things!”

  Kael turned his head, raising an eyebrow.

  “And why is that?”

  Kris didn’t even blink.

  “You earn a lot and spend very little. What kind of stupid question is that?”

  The sheer confidence and audacity of the remark made Kael open his mouth, ready to protest… but eventually, he simply exhaled, looked at his sister, and smiled warmly.

  “All right, I get it,” he gave in. “But don’t get carried away. I’m not as rich as you think. I’ve got things to spend money on.”

  The family kept walking along the festive street, and Kasias kept stopping now and then to greet neighbors, customers, craftsmen, or merchants. His low, warm voice sounded almost nonstop:

  “Oh! Maren, how are things?”

  “Hello, Lina! Your daughter’s grown—would you look at her!”

  “Hagir, you’re still selling that horror? Ha-ha, good luck to you!”

  It seemed everyone here knew him—not just in passing, but greeted him with genuine warmth. People smiled at him, waved, clapped him on the shoulder, and traded jokes.

  Walking beside him, Kael couldn’t help but think:

  “Even though my father isn’t a mage… he lives a happy life. A full one. Calm. Warm. I wouldn’t be able to live that way.”

  At that moment, Kasias stopped again—by a bright stall selling carved ornaments and drinks. This time, Mira stepped closer as well. Judging by their gentle smiles, casual exchanges, and easy familiarity, they had known the vendors for many years.

  Kael realized the conversation was going to drag on.

  He stepped closer and said calmly:

  “Mom, Dad, Kris and I are going to take a walk. I’ll buy us some crystal candles while we’re at it.”

  “We’ll meet at the main square,” Mira nodded, not taking her eyes off the conversation.

  “Yes, yes, go on,” Kasias waved them off, already discussing something with the vendor, as if Kael had just mentioned running out for bread rather than heading off to who knew where.

  Kael smiled faintly and turned to Kris.

  “So, ready to pick out your ‘tasty things and pretty things’?”

  Kris’s eyes lit up, and she happily tugged her brother by the hand, pulling him deeper into the glowing quarter.

  Kael only shook his head tiredly, then followed his sister with warmth in his heart. He was glad he had the chance to indulge her.

  ? ? ?

  The next hour flew by for Kael.

  Crowds of people, lights, the scents of sweets and hot drinks—everything was so overwhelming that time itself seemed to lose its weight. He didn’t even notice that he and Kris, darting from stall to stall, had almost reached the city center, where the fairs were even more lavish, brighter, and more abundant.

  There were far more people here. Hundreds of voices merged into a festive roar. The snow underfoot had been packed down to ice, and now and then someone slipped and fell, laughing. The air was thick with the smell of caramel, fried dough, and pine incense.

  At that moment, Kris was eagerly choosing something at yet another stall—small glass candy figurines, glittering in the crystalline light.

  And Kael, standing a little behind and watching her out of the corner of his eye, drifted into thought:

  “Once the sun fully sets, the ceremony will begin. I’ll need to find the right moment to slip away and vanish into the crowd… The Forsaken Brotherhood said they would find me themselves. I’ll have to trust them…”

  He gave an almost imperceptible nod to himself, sealing the decision.

  And at that very moment, a familiar female voice sounded behind him:

  “Kael? Is that really you?”

  He turned his head at once.

  Roselle stood before him with two other girls beside her. Both looked very much like her and were clearly older than her. On the left—full-figured, with soft facial features. On the right—tall and slender, yet with a noticeably fuller bust and sharper features.

  All three wore identical red fur cloaks of the Sacred Flame Family—flashy, expensive, and standing out vividly in the crowd.

  Kael raised an eyebrow slightly but smiled:

  “Roselle? I’m glad to see you.”

  At that moment, the two girls—Roselle’s older sisters—exchanged glances and almost in unison said:

  “Sis, we’ll go take a walk. Don’t wander off.”

  Roselle nodded politely, smiling softly:

  “All right. I’ll find you later.”

  As soon as the others had moved a few steps away, Kael inclined his head and asked:

  “Are those the older sisters you told me about?”

  “Mm-hm,” Roselle nodded. A light, homely smile appeared on her face. “Lianna and Saira may seem gloomy, but they’re actually good people.”

  Kael thought to himself:

  “If I remember correctly, she also has an eldest sister—Evrenna…”

  But the thought was cut short.

  “You’ve gotten taller…” Roselle suddenly said, looking at him closely. “And… more manly.”

  Kael blinked but replied calmly:

  “Thank you for the compliment. But tell me, how are your results coming along?”

  He was clearly referring to the training based on the Canon of Magic he had given her.

  The moment those words were spoken, Roselle visibly flinched. She straightened slightly and said in a quiet, trembling voice:

  “Kael… I… I’ll never be able to thank you. That day, I didn’t even understand what exactly you had given me.”

  Kael gave a faint chuckle.

  “Exactly—a gift. I’m not expecting anything in return.”

  Then the corner of his lips lifted slyly, and he added:

  “Though in the future, I might come to you with a few requests.”

  Roselle smiled softly and had already opened her mouth to say something else, but—

  DONG! DONG! DONG!

  The dull toll of bells rolled over the city, drowning out the noise of the fair. The crowd fell silent for a moment, then burst into joyful noise—the signal was clear to everyone.

  Kael turned his head toward the main square.

  “The celebration is starting,” he murmured with anticipation.

  He looked back at Roselle, raised his hand, and gently rested his palm on her shoulder.

  “Go to your sisters, or you’ll get separated in the crowd. I’ll go look for my parents.”

  Roselle parted her lips, as if she wanted to object, say something important, or at least hold the conversation a moment longer… but Kael didn’t give her the chance.

  He leaned in slightly, still smiling calmly.

  “Don’t worry about the little things. If we run into each other in the crowd, we can talk more.”

  With that, he turned away and headed briskly toward Kris, who was just turning back in his direction.

  A few seconds later, Kael dissolved into the flow of people—as if he had plunged into a river of people.

  Roselle remained standing where she was, watching after him for a few moments.

  Then her face lit up with a warm, slightly shy smile.

  She took a deep breath, adjusted her cloak, and broke into a light run toward her older sisters.

  ? ? ?

  The bells continued to toll.

  DONG! DONG! DONG!

  Each boom rolled through the air in waves, making the windows of nearby houses tremble slightly and the snow on the rooftops quiver. With each new strike, more and more people flowed toward the central square—as if thousands of rivulets were merging into a single vast lake.

  The dense crowd filled the space so completely that within minutes the square was packed to its limits. The rest began to occupy the adjoining streets, alleyways, balconies, and stairways. Many lifted children onto their shoulders so they could see the stage.

  The city shone.

  All around, people took out strange crystalline rods—thin, transparent, candle-like. As soon as a thin thread of mana was poured into them, their tips flared with bright light—white, blue, or golden.

  Within moments, all of Lasthold turned into a sea of lights.

  On the large stage set up in the central square, figures began to appear.

  Several dozen elders in strict ceremonial attire stepped forward. Many of them were well known to ordinary townsfolk—scholars, masters, renowned craftsmen, leaders of the guild halls.

  But there was neither Durimar, Zeiran, nor Vulnar.

  The Three Families were conspicuously absent from the front row.

  This had been done deliberately—so that the address would come on behalf of the entire Council of Elders, not individual families. So that none of the common people would feel the pressure of authority or an attempt to emphasize superiority.

  The festival was meant to feel shared and unifying, free of status and influence.

  By then, Kael had already found his family, and they too stood amid the crowd.

  Kasias held Kris on his shoulders, and the girl, beaming, waved her crystal candle. Mira held her own candle in one hand, and with the other gently linked her arm through her son’s, standing beside him with a warm, gentle smile.

  The bells continued to toll somewhere overhead, their resonance echoing through the excited murmur of thousands of people, which gradually subsided—all eyes were fixed on the stage.

  Then an elderly woman stepped to the center of the stage.

  Slender, composed, with neatly arranged silvery hair and a smile so warm it felt as though she could be a beloved grandmother to everyone in Lasthold.

  The moment she reached the center, a magic circle flared beneath her feet, amplifying her voice.

  The woman raised her hands, and her voice carried across the city.

  “We have endured another cycle…”

  The city fell silent, frozen in place.

  The old woman’s smile grew even warmer, her wrinkles smoothing, as if the gazes of thousands of townsfolk were lending her strength.

  “Just as red banners flow through blue, cold light…” she began, spreading her arms wide, and her voice, amplified by the circle, filled every street. “…so too will our blood flow through yet another winter, to greet the resurrection of nature. And thus begin a new cycle of life!”

  The crowd stirred slightly, but not in disorder—in living response, in that inner warmth that always awakened in people on the Day of Winter.

  The woman raised her hands higher.

  “This year, we gathered a rich harvest! We discovered new mines and opened pastures! We welcomed many wonderful children into the world!”

  The crowd smiled in approval—parents lifted their little ones, and academy students straightened their shoulders with pride.

  “Others have graduated from the Academy and become full-fledged mages—the future foundation of Lasthold itself!”

  The burning candles around them shuddered in a single wave of light, as if the crystals themselves were rejoicing at these words.

  “Many discoveries were made that improved our lives even further!”

  The crowd listened in rapture. It was clear—everyone felt involved. Some worked as miners. Some as farmers. Some were researchers, alchemists, builders, mages… Each had their own small part in what the elder proclaimed aloud.

  But the woman did not pause.

  She stepped forward, her voice growing deeper, more solemn.

  “Our ancestors endured the ancient catastrophe! They crossed mountains thought to be impassable! They fled a world in collapse so that we might live in safety!”

  The crowd fell silent. Even the children stopped swinging their legs on their parents’ shoulders.

  “And we still carry their will! And we endure!”

  She flung her hand upward, and the snowflakes in the air glittered.

  “Five hundred and twenty-seven years ago, our founders came here and founded Lasthold! And today begins the five hundred and twenty-eighth year of our continued life!”

  The crowd roared so loudly that the sound rolled across the square like a living wave.

  Joy, laughter, ecstatic cries—as if Lasthold itself had drawn a deep breath.

  It seemed that every resident of the city loved the Day of Winter more than any other festival.

  People clapped, raising their crystal candles high, lending the moment an even more magical atmosphere.

  But the old woman’s speech on the stage was only beginning—she had no intention of yielding to the crowd’s roar. Her voice rose again, continuing the ancient tradition.

  At that moment, Kael seized the perfect opportunity.

  The crowd hummed so loudly that words were easily lost, and people stood shoulder to shoulder—it was the perfect cover to slip away unnoticed.

  He leaned toward his mother.

  “I’m going to step away, Mom. I need to take care of something.”

  Mira blinked in surprise, but only for a second. Remembering how busy and independent her son had become lately, she merely sighed and nodded.

  “Just don’t be long.”

  “Of course,” he replied gently.

  Kael stepped aside, immersing himself in the dense flow of bodies. He bent slightly, letting his silhouette fade into the crowd and began to make his way forward in small, precise steps.

  The crowd roared, and no one noticed the young man who skillfully dissolved into the sea of people, as if he were part of it.

  His heart beat evenly, his gaze focused—everything was going according to plan.

  ? ? ?

  At that very moment, on the roof of one of the buildings overlooking the central square, two figures sat dressed entirely in black. Their cloaks and masks concealed every detail of their faces, and their auras were suppressed so completely that even a highly sensitive mage would not have noticed their presence.

  One of them leaned forward slightly, watching the crowd from above.

  “The boy’s on the move…” he drawled in a low, cold voice. “Maybe he needed the latrine.”

  The second figure snorted. A female voice, soft yet confident, responded with clear satisfaction:

  “That works in our favor…”

  But suddenly the woman straightened and shuddered, as if a chill had run down her spine.

  “Something’s wrong!”

  The man narrowed his eyes, never taking his gaze off the space below them.

  “What are you talk—”

  The words froze on his tongue. Because in the very next moment, he saw it too.

  Kael’s figure… split in two.

  One Kael continued pushing through the crowd, heading toward one of the narrow alleys.

  The other moved in the opposite direction just as covertly, as if he knew he was being watched.

  Two Kaels walked in different directions—both with identical movements—light, shadow, even breath.

  The man jerked as sharply as if struck, instantly shifting into full combat focus.

  “That kind of magic shouldn’t be available to him,” he hissed. “Someone powerful is helping him escape.”

  The woman rose as well—smoothly, but there was steel in her movement.

  “I’ve marked the original,” she said coldly. “After him. We can’t lose him!”

  The air flared.

  TRR—RAKH!

  Two short flashes of white lightning, and both figures vanished from the rooftop, reappearing below, dissolving into the seething crowd. They moved in quick bursts, deftly weaving between people without revealing themselves through magic or aggression.

  ? ? ?

  Meanwhile, Kael had no idea that a hunt was unfolding just a few dozen steps behind him.

  He was simply walking.

  Measured and calm, as if he had no goal at all—yet drifting toward one of the dark, poorly lit alleys. He didn’t need to look for the Forsaken Brotherhood—he knew they would find him themselves.

  And then, just as he was about to reach the mouth of the alley…

  A hand closed around his shoulder.

  Cold.

  So cold that frost seemed to race across his skin.

  Kael flinched and spun around sharply.

  An old man stood before him—a vagrant by the look of him.

  Worn clothes, sandals in the snow, gray disheveled hair—he looked ridiculous and harmless. Except for his eyes… deep, blue, attentive… they looked at Kael as if they could see straight through him.

  The old man grinned, revealing an incomplete row of teeth.

  “Come with me, boy. Move faster. Black Rat’s been waiting.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  The old man clicked his tongue lazily, as if remembering something.

  “Ah, right… the password,” he drawled. He smiled wider, more predatory, and said loudly, with unexpected force in his voice, “The Three Families are pathetic bastards! Heh-heh…”

  Realizing the man before him was from the Forsaken Brotherhood, Kael didn’t ask any unnecessary questions. He merely gave a short nod and followed the old man with a confident stride into the alley’s depths.

  And in that same instant, in the very spot where he had stood a second earlier… an exact copy of him appeared.

  A perfect illusion: gait, silhouette, even breath—everything looked real.

  But it didn’t move at all. It simply froze, as if lost in thought, staring at a single point.

  ? ? ?

  Less than a minute later, a man in black clothing hurried toward this “Kael.” He looked as if an enormous weight had slipped from his shoulders.

  “Come on, kid, let’s step aside…” he said coldly, and placed his palm on “Kael’s” shoulder.

  CRACK.

  The figure crunched strangely, as if it were ice rather than flesh.

  And then…

  FWOOSH…

  “Kael” collapsed, breaking apart into ordinary snow. Right beneath the man’s hand.

  The crowd around them gasped and then burst into laughter.

  “Whoa! Look at that! A magician!”

  “Do it again!”

  People began to clap, thinking it was a street performer trying to earn a few coins during the festival.

  The man beneath the mask grimaced as if he had swallowed poison.

  “Damn it…” he cursed silently. “If we miss our chance and don’t abduct him today… Elder Zeiran will tear our heads off!”

  He scanned the surroundings sharply, but it was useless.

  There were no traces. Not even the faintest trace of magical distortion.

  As if Kael… had simply vanished into thin air.

  ? ? ?

  And the real Kael, meanwhile, was already walking after the strange old vagrant, disappearing into the darkness of the alley. The light of the festival remained behind him, fading somewhere far away, as Kael walked toward where the shadowed side of Lasthold began…