Astral Library, Thirtos City
The basement beneath the Astral Library was known only to a select few. There were no windows, no doors—only a spiral staircase hidden behind a bookshelf that vanished as soon as the glyph key was locked. This place once served as a repository for forbidden tomes. Now, it had become the meeting ground where Gaia plotted murder.
Five figures sat around a small round table made of obsidian. They wore no ceremonial robes or symbols of authority—all were clad in shades of gray, their eyes weary.
Rinoa, sitting apart from the others, stared blankly at the table. Memories of her past at the Atlantis Academy flooded her mind like a tumultuous wave. Amidst the stacks of books and the painful sweat of practice, she had once been one of the top students; her genius and talent now twisted by the shadows of uncertainty. A single tragic event, the accident that claimed her friend's life, haunted her every step, creating a chasm between her and the world she had once known. The further she drifted, the deeper she sank into an oppressive solitude.
Inner conflict engulfed Rinoa like an unexpected storm. The foes she faced were not merely enemies; they represented a spectrum of what she once perceived as goodness, now overshadowed by darkness and hatred. Each attack, every mission, reflected her internal struggle, as the flames of vengeance smoldering within consumed the remaining tranquility. With eyes that bore the weight of pain and hope, she found herself torn between reminiscing about a bitter past and grasping at a murky future.
Physically, Rinoa appeared fragile. Her skin was pale, and her dark eyes, once shimmering with curiosity, now held an ocean of sorrow. She resisted the flow of power that should have surged within her, as an act of defiance against the hopes she once embraced. Her feelings toward that power resembled a lost peace; its presence was met with uncertainty and grief. In every heartbeat, she questioned the choices she made, striving to find answers amidst the bleak doubts that shackled her heart.
"Arkanum Veritas is no longer an idea," Lady Valeora replied bitterly. "It has become a body, and a body can be killed."
Lord Ludwig unrolled a parchment, revealing the faces of two individuals: Elena Iscariot and Kael Juno.
"Two puppeteers. One is the mastermind of ideology, and the other the head of logistics. They do not need an army—just the truth and a symbol. And that is more dangerous than any weapon."
Sir Thalor inserted a scrap of paper: a list of names. "I have gathered those who are not registered in the system. Former allies of Elbert, mercenaries from the southern lands, and a defector from the Atlantis academy who turned after Marquez's death."
Gravemind Sanctum, Titan District, Thirtos City
Rinoa stood before the gravestone of an unknown child, her cloak tattered by the ash-laden winds. Her hair was loosely tied back, and her eyes reflected an emptiness that could not be explained by mere wounds. Her past clung to her steps, colored by bitter memories of the Atlantis Academy, where every corner of the room whispered of injustice and betrayal. It was there that she learned trust could shatter as swiftly as the morning dew. Her courage and spirit had been snatched away by the cruel game of power. Each action, each participation in brutal training, shaped her into a figure now caught between the desire for revenge and the hope of finding peace.
Rinoa's inner conflict raged on, crushing her heart with guilt and anger. Her targets, Elena and Kael, were not just symbols of the power she sought to destroy; they were also reminders of the cost paid by her comrades, who could never return. The glimmer of hope faded in the shadows of sorrow that filled her soul. She wondered if ending their lives would free her from this perpetual chain, or would it ensnare her further in an endless cycle of sin?
His physical condition mirrored his struggle to reject what should flow through his veins; his skin was pale, appearing weary, like a lake's sky no longer filled with light. Each breath he took felt laden with the dust of the past, and the pain in his heart resonated with every step he took. He felt as if he were battling against a current trying to pull him back into the shadows, resisting the magical influence that sought to compel the deepest parts of him to comply. In this struggle, he was the poet of his own fate, striving to weave words of hope amidst the debris of sorrow that surrounded him.
Two envoys from Gaia stood opposite him. They bore a letter. But they knew he would not read it.
"There is a contract," said the taller one.
"The target is the Arkanum Veritas faction. Elena Iscariot. Kael Juno. Alive or dead, but… preferably dead," continued the other, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.
Rinoa regarded them for a moment, as if weighing not who they were… but whether this world was still worth caring about.
Behind her vacant gaze lies the dark shadow of Atlantis Academy. That memory is etched in her mind, a time when she remained steadfast to the ideals promised, before disappointment pierced her very soul. Amidst the cold walls, she was once shown the illusionary light of magic, only to be shattered by the failures that plunged her into a chasm of disbelief. As the cries of her classmates echoed, as one by one their hopes vanished, Rinoa fought hard to remain strong, battling the voice within her that screamed to escape from this dazzling world filled with deceit.
"Why me?" she finally asked.
"Because you are not visible in our glyph network. You are not registered as a magical entity. You cannot be tracked by the laws they have constructed. In a world shaped by symbols, you… are a void."
Rinoa smirked slightly. Not out of pride, but because she understood: a void is not merely invisible—a void consumes.
The memory of pain haunted her every step, her body marked with invisible scars from battles fought. That ache was ever-present, like a whispering voice assuring her that the wounds would never fully heal. Despite her efforts to reject what called to her, the presence of that entity seeped into her soul, creating a duality between strength and weakness, between hope and emptiness.
She stood up. Her movements were slow but deliberate: her body ached, always. Yet her will had been trained to dance upon that pain.
"I don't work for the kingdom," she said.
"We know."
"I don't kill for politics."
"We know that too."
Silence.
Then Rinoa walked past them. She didn't take the letter. She didn't make promises. But as her footsteps faded into the fog of the ruins, the two envoys exchanged glances.
"She will do it, right?"
"Who knows? But she has already moved. And that is the one thing that cannot be stopped."
Her steps were light, but not out of caution. Rinoa walked as one who no longer feared being recognized. Within her, that fear had transformed into something deeper—a longing that pierced through the walls of memory. She carried unseen wounds, bitter memories from the Academy of Atlantis, a place where acceptance and betrayal intertwined. There, she witnessed the sorrow of her friends who were trapped in helplessness, and that burden now shaped her view of the world, as if every corner served as a reminder of an unforgivable past.
Elena House, Thirtos City
The old house—small headquarters of Arkanum Veritas—stood on the edge of the old district, surrounded by dead trees and bent iron fences. There were no guards. No defensive glyphs. Just the belief that anyone who comes... would choose not to enter. Rinoa felt it, a weight on her chest, as if the image of the empty room was pressing down on her soul. For her, this place was nothing but a shadow, recalling the times when she was abandoned by those who were supposed to protect her. This isolation had become so familiar, transforming into a strong resolve as she stepped toward her target, even as her heart battled the desire to end the cycle of pain cultivated over the years.
Rinoa stood across from it, blending into the evening fog. Inside, she could hear Kael Juno's voice reading the Codex. Then Elena's soft laugh. And—strangely— the sound of a wooden chair shifting slowly, as if the room was still human, still ordinary. Not a fortress of revolution. Just the living room of a pair of souls trying to rebuild the world from the rubble. Deep within, she felt a strong pull from the truth that behind the smiles etched on their faces, lay unspoken wounds. And her body, which had only responded to physical pain until now, trembled with something nameless—an aspiration that stood in stark contrast to the deep-seated fear. Why do they sound like ordinary people?
Rinoa's body, which had only ever responded to physical pain, now trembled with something nameless. In the shadows of memory, she recalled the Atlantis Academy, a place that was supposed to be a sanctuary for young souls but ultimately left scars on her heart. Behind the jargon of knowledge and hope, the pressure to meet expectations tore apart dreams and left lasting traces of trauma. There, she encountered the keen gaze of Marquez—the headmaster she knew and loved in silence. A man who died in the name of the wrong truth, becoming a symbol of shattered hope.
From her perspective, filled with doubt, she pondered the young girl who once wrote poetry—a mirror of a soul yearning for freedom—before her body rejected mana, stripping away every drop of strength, like waves eroding a cliff. Now, each attempt to embrace the light only drew her closer to darkness. And she remembered herself: the girl who used to believe in the power of words, now trapped in the shadows of terrifying choices.
She stared at her hands. Those fingers once flipped pages and inscribed the unexpressed in the form of poetry. Now, as if tortured by her own fate, they only knew how to sever ties—trapped in a painful moral dilemma. Then she whispered, not to anyone in particular, just to the night:
"What am I protecting... if all I kill are those who still have hope?"
The night wind brushed against her face, offering no answers.
One thing was certain: tonight, Rinoa would not fire anything. She returned to the shadows, and for the first time in a long while, she did not feel sure of herself. Behind her seemingly vacant gaze lay the shadows of a lonely past, trapped in the bitter memories of the Atlantis Academy. There, every corner of the room echoed with the voices of her lost friends, consumed by ambition and betrayal. Those old wounds resurfaced, pulling her into a whirlpool of deep doubt and guilt.
Rinoa stood beneath a dead tree across from the house. It was late at night. A light rain began falling, framing the roof and windows with a faint white. She remained still, merely observing. Each drop of rain seemed to demand that she remember—remind her that she, who once fought for justice, was now ensnared in a dilemma as hope faded before darkness. Known as the 'Sharpshooter,' she had become a torn figure, caught between her desire to fulfill her mission and her horror at what she might have to do.
Then, the second-floor window opened.
A warm light spread outside, and behind it stood Elena.
Her hair flowed freely, her face pale yet resolute. She was neither surprised nor afraid, as if she had been waiting for Rinoa—or perhaps had known all along.
"You're cold out there," Elena said, her voice steady. "Come inside. We haven't set any seals tonight."
Rinoa didn't respond.
"Or do you prefer to kill from afar? In silence? Just as the world expects of us?"
It was still silent. But Rinoa moved. Slowly. Step by step, she navigated the muddy path, ascended the creaking wooden stairs, and finally stood at the threshold. Outside, the world never attempted to understand her wounds. No glyph could heal the disappointment embedded deep within Rinoa's soul, a long journey that began at the Atlantis Academy, where hope and fear intertwined, as she felt the bitterness of trauma still embedded in her being. The look in her eyes seemed to narrate fragments of history: memories of betrayal and rejection when her body refused the magic that tried to flow through her. The world expected her to wield a weapon, but all she could do was stifle the sobs that had never escaped her lips.
Elena opened the door from the inside.
They exchanged glances. No more than ten seconds passed. But within that gaze: fragments of the past and the shattered potential of the future.
Rinoa stepped inside.
In the old living room of the Elena House
Candles flickered on the wooden table. Kael had either gone to bed or pretended to sleep. Only Elena remained seated, pouring tea from a small cracked teapot.
"I know who you are," she said. "Rinoa from Atlantis. The one whose body rejects the world."
Rinoa remained silent.
"I know the contract. And I know you haven't executed it yet."
Still silent, Rinoa sat in the chair opposite. Slowly, with a heavy heart, she took a deep breath, trying to shed the guilt that always accompanied her. Deep within, she knew there was a battle between what she should do and what she truly wanted, as if two voices were struggling within her, each vying to win the heart that felt trapped.
"Do you know why I'm not afraid of dying?" Elena suddenly asked.
"Because you've gone mad?"
Elena let out a small laugh. Not mocking, but almost sad.
"Because I know that if I die… my ideas will still live on. In those who listen. In the children yet to be born."
"Ideas cannot defend themselves," Rinoa replied softly. "They simply… die along with the bodies that hold them."
"But those bodies can choose," Elena gazed at her. "And you, Rinoa, have chosen not to kill me tonight. That means more than all the glyphs and the curses of the kingdom."
Silence enveloped the room once more, broken only by the crackling of the wood in the stove. Rinoa, carrying the weight of her sorrow, recalled her time at Atlantis Academy, a place where she was taught to be a weapon rather than a human being. Those memories stirred her mind, awakening the pain within her heart. Behind her sweet smile lay countless wounds, filled with the grief of friends lost to unbridled ambition. Rinoa began to realize that she was not merely a sailor adrift in treacherous seas but also a victim of the storm wrought by the world's injustices.
She gazed at the untouched cup of tea before her. How could she enjoy a moment of warmth when so much injustice surrounded her? Each second spent at the Academy felt like a shackle, where hope was nothing more than an illusion. In these quiet moments, she wrestled with the voices in her mind, delving into the layers of her soul fragmented by the past. "I don't know why I didn't pull the trigger," she whispered, her voice nearly drowned out by the roaring flames.
"Maybe it's because you still have something you want to protect, even if you don't know what it is." Elena's voice brought him back to reality, to the struggle he faced not only against the enemies around him but also against the shadows of himself that continued to haunt him. "Or maybe I'm just tired." Rinoa understood that the fatigue she felt was not merely physical; it was a manifestation of all the fears and wounded hopes inside her.
"Tiredness can also be the beginning of hope," Elena replied. In that moment, Rinoa felt that this place... was not a fortress, but a space for recognition. A place where the world could be seen not as a machine of power, but as a mosaic of wounds that had yet to heal. With every slow heartbeat, Rinoa savored this moment, immersed in the realization that she was not alone. That night, she promised nothing. She took no sides. She did not change.
But she also did not return to the Gaia headquarters.