The chants of the soldiers echoed through the hazy woodland, their feet pounding against the dirt in rhythms. Gunfire cracked in the distance, mingling with the acrid smell of smoke and carbon drifting from a military camp. Trees surrounded the facility like it is a cage, barely shielding them from the outside world.
Today, though, something disrupted the monotony of marching boots and gunpowder.
A limousine, looking grand and elegant, glided up to the outside gate. One of the soldiers, trailing slightly behind the jogging formation, caught a glimpse through the fence. His eyes followed the sleek black vehicle as it stopped beside the checkpoint.
The guard outside, stoic and unblinking, confirmed the identity of its passengers and raised the barrier. It slowly moved towards the small hangar with glass-panes reflecting the outside sunlight. Their trail leads to a massive gate of rusted iron bars.
Inside the car, movement stirred as they stopped in the parking area where all the fortified vehicles were parked. The door opened, revealing the sharp tap of high heels and the rustle of silk.
A woman came out of the car like a spark against the soot-stained sky. Her curled light-red hair glistened under her wide-brimmed fedora, sunglasses shielding her from the sun's reflection. She flicked open a lace fan and let out a light sigh, as if the surrounding chaos and the heat inside the hangar were merely a backdrop to her personal stage.
"This place never gets old," she muttered, fanning her sweaty self.
"I wish they could've relocated to somewhere more... tasteful. The county's forest fires are bad enough without this inferno of carbon emissions."
From behind her stepped out her butler; a tall and meticulous man in his dark suit, a stark contrast to the grime-covered soldiers around them. His mechanical left hand clicked faintly as he opened an umbrella over the elegant woman.
"The heat index is high enough to ignite the entire woods surrounding this place," Max said. "You should've let me come alone, Lady Lindy."
She gave him a sideways glance and a teasing smile. "And miss seeing the kids for the first time? You wound me, Max"
Max's tone softened, but the edge of concern remained. "Are you really sure about this?"
"I don't seem to have a choice," She replied, laughing faintly.
"Apparently, I'm a mother now. So I suppose I should try to act like one."
"I've seen you rehearse the part," He replied dryly. "It doesn't quite suit you."
"Hmph! A little compliment wouldn't kill you, Max."
He reached into his suit and pulled out a folded document.
"It still seems odd. The King placing this on your shoulders. Let's see... Lincoln and Liberty. Twins. Eighteen. Kurtz survivors."
His voice dropped, the paper trembling slightly in his hand. "They're older than most adoptees."
"I need an heir, and the decision was unanimous. Perhaps it's a challenge I'm meant to rise to," Lindy replied. "Besides, I've heard good things."
As if summoned by the mention of their names, the metal gates connecting the hangar to the camp slowly opened, and two figures emerged. A boy and a girl. Pale hair and crimson eyes. The boy, tall and composed, walked with his head high, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The girl followed close, her twin-tails bouncing slightly with each step, eyes wide but unsure.
Max squinted. "That must be them."
Lindy's smile became fixed, professional. She walked forward, her fan fluttering like a butterfly in her porcelain fingers. Max followed her lead, stepping toward the twins.
"Are you Lincoln and Liberty?" Max asked, his gaze unreadable.
Lincoln's red eyes flicked toward Max with sharpness, seemingly analyzing him. Max caught wind of this and deepened his gaze.
"And you are?"
"Maximilian Schonberger of the Central Ministry. I'll be your handler. This," he gestured to Lindy, "is Lady Lindy Ramsay of the Ramsay Household. You'll be staying at her Lady's mansion."
The twins eyes grew wide as if something happened that they didn't expect.
Lindy approached, exuberant. "What beauts you two are!" Her fingers brushed Liberty's hair. "Such a fine young lady. What's your name, sweetie?"
"L-Liberty, ma'am," Liberty stammered, eyes darting to her brother for reassurance.
"Ma'am? How quaint!" Lindy laughed. "I am sure we'll get along splendidly. And you, young man?"
"Lincoln, ma'am."
"My, you're tall. The girls at home will adore you."
Max coughed lightly, signaling Lindy to ease up. She backed off, still smiling.
"Here" Max hands Lincoln a sealed envelope. "A parting letter from the General. Read it at the mansion. You're ready?"
The twins nodded. "Yes, sir. All packed."
As they entered the limousine, Max leaned close to Lindy. "Verschollen will handle security. I've assigned garrison units to your estate. We'll keep you safe."
Lindy gave a half-smile. "You always worry too much."
"Your brother's out on bail."
She froze, then looked away. "He won't be a problem."
"I don't believe that," Max said simply.
As the limousine curved out of the military perimeter and onto the highway, Lindy's phone buzzed. The soprano aria playing filled the limousine, Liberty quietly mimicking the melody under her breath.
Lindy took the phone out of her bag, and glanced at the caller ID with a faint sigh.
"Here she is again," she muttered, accepting the call. "Mademoiselle Avila! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
A sleek, smoky voice crackled through
"Lindy, darling. I've been dying to get in touch. You're coming to the gala next week, yes? You must. The House of Velure is showcasing their winter couture early, and they're dying to see you in red."
Lindy chuckled, fanning herself. "Winter already? You people are obsessed with skipping seasons. But yes, I'll be there... if I can find the time, that is. I've just adopted two teenagers."
The woman in the phone gasped. "What a scandal! I thought you hated children."
"I did. But now I own some."
Liberty stifled a giggle. Lincoln remained unmoved, staring out the tinted window.
"I trust you'll bring them, then?" Avila asked to her amusement.
"Gods, no," Lindy replied "It's not a barn show. Let me teach them to hold a wine glass first."
"Fair enough. I'll save you a front-row seat. Oh, and Lindy?"
"Yes?"
"Wear blood red. It's back in season. And it suits you when you're in a dangerous mood."
The call ended.
Max gave her a side glance. "You're going?"
Lindy nodded, slipping her phone away. "Of course. If I disappear for even a week, people assume I'm dead or bankrupt. Max, it's alright if you don't want to come--"
Lindy's thoughts were gently interrupted by Liberty's beautiful, melodic voice as her graceful humming seamlessly flowed into singing.
"I wonder if I could--" Liberty began, then coughed. "It's too high."
Lindy's eyes lit up and moved towards her. "That's Iridescence. I wrote it in school. So you're also listening to my songs?"
"Oh… I didn't realize this was your song! Your voice is amazing, ma'am!" Liberty said, both awestruck and a little shy.
Lindy chuckled softly. "It reflects how ambitious I used to be. Even I couldn't reach those notes at first. But with training, it's definitely possible. You have a beautiful voice, my dear. With time and dedication, I'm sure you'll surpass me."
"You really think so?" Liberty asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know so,"
Lincoln watched them in silence, his arms crossed.
Max turned to him. "Anything I should know?"
"Nothing you don't already know," Lincoln replied, eyes forward. "Speak to the General."
"Eighteen, huh?" Max muttered.
"Speak to the General."
"Your new identities are sealed. You are now Lincoln and Liberty Ramsay, children of Lady Lindy. Act accordingly." Max with his stern voice.
Lincoln nodded. "Understood. I'll brief my sister later. She seems to be enjoying herself."
"Have you killed someone?" A question seemingly out place that drew Lincoln's eyes back to Max.
There was no surprise in them. Just a long, grave stillness.
"Yes,"
"How many?"
"Enough to make me hope you never have to ask that question again."
He leaned closer to Lincoln "Have you felt anything?"
Lincoln turning his head slowly away from Max, his expression unreadable.
"I don't remember. No. Not really."
Silence hung between them like fog.
"I see," a short but a weighted reply from Maximilian as he fixes his coat and turns his gaze towards the window.
As the limousine continued through winding forest roads, music swelled, and laughter echoed inside. But Lincoln remained silent as he gazes towards his sister.
Lindy, sensing his gaze, leaned forward. "Is there a problem, dear?"
"…No, nothing."
She smiled and reached for Liberty, pulling her into a hug. Her other hand gently tapped Lincoln's shoulder. "Life won't be easy, I know. But I'll do my best for both of you. From now on, please address me as your mother and,"
she chuckles lightly, "Please be gentle with me."
"I'll be a good girl, Mother," Liberty said, snuggling into her embrace.
Lincoln said nothing.
They arrived at the estate.
The mansion loomed out of the forest its frame, a baroque-style and symmetrical, wrapped in gardens and fountain pools. Soldiers trained on the side grounds, their insignia stark on their uniforms. As Lincoln stepped out, he noted the discipline, the quality of their movements. They were no ordinary guards.
They're Verschollen guards and the courtyard were bustling with their presence as their colors stood like statues flanking the path toward the estate's inner gate. Polished helmets. Black overcoats. Eyes forward.
Maximilian stepped out of the limousine, adjusting his tie. He moved slower, as if listening to something. Then one of the Verschollen guards at the entry post caught sight of him. His expression shifted almost imperceptibly tightening and recognizing. Then, in a quick motion, he saluted. A second guard did the same. Then a third. Every one of them stood straighter, acknowledging him.
Lincoln, walking just behind Max, said nothing.
Max's eyes flicked toward the guards, composed. He didn't return the salute.
Then one of the guards let his gaze drift toward Lincoln.
It was immediate. The guard stiffened. The others followed instinct, eyes shifting to him who moved like a panther among sheep.
Lincoln's gaze met theirs. Still. The something terrible and old seemed to stir.
The saluting hands faltered. Two of the guards dropped their arms prematurely. The youngest among them paled visibly and looked away. Lincoln didn't blink.
Max noticed, but said nothing.
Liberty was already halfway up the stairs, spinning in slow circles to admire the stonework. Lindy followed her, trailed by her two aides.
Inside, the mansion was spotless, adorned with marble pillars, polished floors, and portrait-laden walls. Liberty's awe was obvious.
"This place is beautiful!" Liberty exclaimed in awe
"I'm glad you like it," Lindy said, smiling.
Lincoln's eyes locked onto a portrait of a stern man with blonde hair and glasses.
"That's your uncle," Lindy said. "He'll return someday. But when he does, this house will be yours, Lincoln. You and Liberty are the only heirs."
A knock echoed down the hallway.
Then, a familiar voice.
"It's good to see you all and well, my dear sister."
Laurel.
A tall man stepped forward, flanked by two uniformed bodyguards. The lighting behind him cast his face in partial shadow, but the resemblance was unmistakable. Those cold eyes, blonde hair, and glasses adorning his face, just like the same sharp-blooded lineage that stared down from the oil painting above.
Lindy's heart stopped. Her breath caught before she could speak, but his voice beat her to it.
"Well, well," he said, stepping into the light, lips curled in disdain amusement. "You look surprised, dear sister."
"Brother..."
Laurel offered a tight smile, more teeth than warmth. "It's good to see you alive and well, Lindy. Really. And I must say, you've done quite the redecorating. Stripping father's portrait from the grand hall? Bold choice. Who would've thought that erasing him would somehow cleanse the air in this place."
"What are you doing here?" Her voice taut.
"Oh? this is my house, is it not? Or have you been so caught up playing duchess you've forgotten that little detail? Besides... I missed you. Four long years in that pit you all called a prison. And now,"
His eyes swept over her. "You've grown."
She squared her shoulders. "Then you know I'm no longer the sister you once knew."
"Perhaps. But beneath that new silk and spine, I still see the same fragile little girl Father coddled. The same girl who took what was rightfully mine. You always had his favor, even when I earned it. I bled for it. I begged for it." His smile vanished, replaced by a cold fury.
"You took everything. And don't think for a moment I'll kneel to the likes of you."
"I never took anything," She replied, her voice rising.
"Father chose what was best for Millard. You would've burned this legacy to the ground if given the chance."
His eyes darkened.
"And now the dog learns to bark."
"I'm not afraid of you anymore."
He closed the distance between them in three long strides.
"Oh, darling… you should be."
His hand shot forward, gripping her chin tightly, tilting her face toward him. Lindy stiffened but didn't flinch.
"I will not let you undo what Father built," she hissed.
Laurel's hand dropped only for a second. Then it seized her throat.
"You illegitimate bitch," he snarled,
"I inherited Millard. I own every inch of this house, every stained glass window, every damn brick you cling to like a crown!"
"This is what Father wanted!" She gasped, struggling against his grip.
"How dare you speak like this in his house!" His fingers tightened.
"I will make sure you pay. For the money. For the humiliation. For everything."
The guards exchanged glances, uncertain. One took half a step forward, arm twitching as if to intervene, but didn't. Their faces betrayed the storm of hesitation, of dread. Choosing sides meant choosing consequences. They merely gestured weakly and their palms out, heads slightly bowed.
He was just getting started. Until someone intervened, gripping Laurel's wrist with unexpected strength. It was Lincoln, his eyes darting sharply towards Laurel.
Then followed Max who stormed in, weapon drawn.
"Take your hands off milady. Now."
Laurel froze. Then slowly, he turned his head. First toward Maximilian. Then toward Lincoln pressing down his arm with strength. A flicker of unease passed across his face.
"Tch. Max," Laurel said with a sneer, "you were once a loyal escort to me. You followed my orders like a trained hound. And now look at you, baring teeth for the runt of the house. Pointing that gun at your former master." Maximilian said nothing. His aim remained steady.
Laurel took a step backward. "Don't worry. I'll remember this day. All of it. You'll all pay for what you've done." His eyes locked on Lindy,
"Especially you, my little sister."
Then, with a flare of his coat, he turned and stormed down the hall. His escort guards moved to block him, but he shoved them aside with a snarl, pushing through them.
The hallway slowly breathed again.
Maximilian was at Lindy's side in an instant. "Milady are you hurt?"
"I'm… I'm fine," she managed, coughing lightly and gripping his sleeve.
"I'll double the security. No more surprises. If that bastard tries to set foot here again, we'll be ready," Lindy followed his gaze towards the twins and offered them a weak, apologetic smile. "Well… that wasn't a very good first impression, was it?" Her voice cracked with an attempt at humor, but her eyes shimmered with the fading aftershock.
"I'm sorry for the commotion," she said softly. "Are you alright, Lincoln? Did he hurt you?" Lincoln shakes his head. Liberty gave a small but reassuring smile, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
Laurel, outside, muttered to himself. "That kid…"
He turned to his guard. "Who's on the line?"
"It's the doctor, sir."
Laurel smiled. A smile that promised ruin.
Far away, in a candlelit room, three shadows gathered. The room they were in was absent of time. No clocks ticked. No windows. Only darkness and the low hum of a single hanging bulb presided over the air, illuminating across a polished wooden table. The three shadows sat around it.
The man seated at the head leaned forward, fingers tapping once against the wood.
"Gentlemen," his voice that of a gruff male, lowered in pitch. It was clear as day on how measured and calm he was.
"It is a good night. We are all present."
No one responded. The other two remained silent.
"I'll be brief," the first shadow continued. "I know your time is precious, and your hands... preoccupied. Let's discuss the matter at hand who is Maximilian."
The man seated to his right shifted slightly. "The Verschollen Elite? I thought he died."
The third figure, older by posture alone, added in a colder tone, "That's what the war logs say. Killed in action. Clean file. The control must have lied."
The lead silhouette gave a dry chuckle.
"Then someone forgot to bury him. He's alive. Active. I received a confirmed report from the Monarchy's last internal disturbance... he was seen, breathing, at Villabosque. No mistaking that face."
The table grew still again.
"Shall I push my contacts within the Monarchy?" he asked.
"No. The Monarchy's eyes are already wide. They'll notice the flicker of a match, let alone our hand stirring the flame. If we're seen poking around…"
"…we'll invite them right to our doorstep," the old man finished.
The leader nodded. "Very well. Then we remain dormant. For now."
His fingers drummed once more.
"But there's another issue. He isn't alone. He has allies-- operatives whose faces I can't place. They move quietly. Too disciplined to be hired blades."
"You think they're Monarchy-born?"
"No." The leader's voice dropped. "They're not government-trained. They're not mercs. I suspect they're the last of the true Verschollen breed."
"Most of them died in the war, it's possible that we're only just dealing with their regular henchmen here," the shadow of the old man muttered.
"There's never been anything 'regular' about the Villabosque estate. Even the damn paintings have secrets."
"So what's the next move?"
"We wait," the leader said softly. "And we watch. But not for too long. Lady Papillona is already circling our edges. She'll sniff out our scent soon. We must eliminate Maximilian's network before they dismantle us from within."
"You're moving too fast," the old man warned. "If we strike now, the Monarchy will see us."
"They won't get the chance, no. Not with Laurel on the inside."
The leader paused.
"Your contact?"
"Yes. He's within the Villabosque walls. Knows their movements. Their weaknesses."
"And his last report?"
"Twenty-two hours of silence."
The table grew cold.
"He's your responsibility," the leader, turning his head. "You opened that door. You let him in."
"Don't start," The third shadow snapped.
The leader sighed, but there was no emotion in it.
"This is bad for business. Just like Kurtz."
The second shadow laughed bitterly. "Kurtz was a damn disaster. That lunatic offered me a hundredfold just to run that port into the ground. And now? The only thing he's running is a smear campaign on his own damn name."
"Should've killed him," The third shadow muttered, voice monotonous.
"Too expensive," The second shadow shrugged. "I let the fools run their course. New players, new blood. Let them think they're making progress. And when they fall, when they come crawling for help, begging for scraps... that's when we drain them dry. Then we dispose of them."
"And if they don't crawl?" asked the third shadow.
There was a pause, long and deep.
"Then," the old man said with a grin that could be heard in his voice, "we'll see how it goes."
The light above them flickered once. And then, as if on cue, the bulb dimmed, swallowed by the dark.
END OF CHAPTER ONE