The sunlight beating down on the kingdom of Aerlion felt less like a warm embrace and more like a heavy, suffocating blanket. While the common districts buzzed with the distant, indistinct hum of daily life, the noble quarter sat in a rigid, manicured silence.

The red brick mansion dominated the landscape, rising three stories into the air like a fortification against the common world. It was wide and imposing, casting long shadows over the yard where hedges were trimmed into unnatural perfection. The steady, rhythmic splashing of the fountain out front offered the only sound that dared to compete with the birds.

In the backyard, the heat was stifling.

The gardener moved with the slow, practiced rhythm of someone trying to conserve energy. He tipped the watering can, letting the stream soak into the parched earth around the red roses. The scent of damp soil and blooming petals rose in the humid air, but he found no comfort in it.

He shifted his stance, and the movement pulled the skin at the nape of his neck tight. A sharp, stinging burn flared up instantly.

He flinched, his teeth sinking hard into his lower lip to stifle a gasp. Slowly, he raised a gloved hand, hovering his fingers just over the inflamed flesh without daring to make contact. The brand was fresh. The letter 'M' had been seared into his skin recently enough that the edges were still angry and raw, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The heat of the sun only made the burn feel deeper, as if the iron were still pressed against him.

He lowered his hand, exhaling a shaky breath, and forced himself to look up.

Above him, the tall windows of the mansion reflected the clear blue sky. Through the glass, he could just make out the interior of the library. It looked cool and dark inside, a sharp contrast to the baking garden. He saw vague shapes of bookshelves stretching to the ceiling, a world of knowledge and quiet leisure that was infinitely far away.

He always watered the grounds and stayed in the worker's dorms situated outside the main house. That was the extent of his job: to work in the gardens and maintain the exterior, never to work inside the mansion itself..

Movement flashed behind the glass of the library window, and the gardener's breath hitched in his throat. He instinctively snapped his head down, pulling the brim of his large straw hat lower to shield his face from view. He gripped the handle of the watering can tighter, tilting it to pour faster, desperate to finish the task and make himself invisible.

He knew exactly who was inside. She was one of the Heroes, a woman notorious for her obsession with conflict. In the past, she had been known to pick out anyone nearby just to start a fight or test her strength. Though rumors said she had calmed down lately, he wasn't willing to gamble his safety on a possibility. He finished soaking the soil, kept his head down, and quickly moved on to the next section of the garden, putting distance between himself and the window.

Inside the library, the atmosphere was a world away from the heat and dirt outside.

The floor was paved with pristine white tiles that gleamed in the light, polished to a mirror-like shine that reflected the soaring height of the ceiling. Bookshelves lined the walls, stacking high enough to require a massive ladder to reach the upper tiers. The air was cool and still, carrying the dry, dusty scent of old paper mixed with the calming fragrance of fresh lavender.

Beside the ladder stood a man with grey hair and a neatly trimmed grey mustache, peering through a pair of spectacles. He was dressed in a crisp black-and-white butler's uniform, standing with the rigid discipline of a statue. throughout his years serving nobles and heroes, he had mastered the art of perfect posture, but whenever this particular person appeared, his spine stiffened even further, locking into a state of absolute readiness.

The figure was standing far across the room from him, and to his relief, she seemed completely uninterested in his presence.

The butler's round spectacles caught the reflection of the figure, distorting her image slightly as she moved.

She was dressed for utility rather than nobility, wearing fitted black pants tucked into heavy black boots and a small black coat that fell to her mid-thighs. Her short red hair framed a face set with piercing red eyes, and her athletic, slightly curvy frame moved with a predator's restless energy.

The butler had rarely seen her in anything else; she favored garments typically tailored for men, attire that offered unrestricted movement. She lived for combat, and she had once claimed that anything less than practical gear was a shackle she refused to wear.

She strode across the pristine tiles toward the corner of the room, closing the distance to the one person the butler held in even higher regard: her older sister.

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The elder sibling sat in a high-backed chair, her presence commanding a different kind of respect. Her hair was a deep, blood-red crimson that cascaded down her back in a long, silken wave.

She wore a sleek black dress, her arms sheathed in black gloves that reached her elbows, and her attention was entirely consumed by the book open on the table. The butler knew this was her sanctuary; in her spare time, she valued the quiet escapism of stories above almost anything else.

But the woman approaching her was nothing but trouble.

The younger sister stopped at the table, casting a shadow over the pages, but the elder sister didn't deign to lift her red eyes to acknowledge the intrusion.

"Have they come back yet?" the younger one asked, letting out a sharp, impatient sigh.

"Who?" the elder sister replied, her voice calm and detached.

"You know." The younger woman gestured vaguely toward the large window, as if the subjects of her inquiry were waiting just outside. "Your freaking pets. You said they would bring back the guy."

The elder sister calmly reached out and turned a page, her gaze never leaving the text.

"I never made any promises."

"What? But you said she'd bring him back." The younger sister leaned against the table, the excitement draining out of her posture. She looked down, her shoulders slumping with the heavy weight of disappointment.

The elder sister didn't look up. "No. I said if she can." Her tone was dry, stripping the promise of any certainty. "If the target proves too difficult, she has orders to cut him down. In that case, she brings the head." She paused, her finger tracing the edge of the page. "Assuming she is capable of even that."

"But if she can't..."

The younger sister dug into her pocket. She withdrew a messenger stone, its rectangular crystal surface catching the sunlight filtering through the high windows. It gleamed with a dormant inner light

"Then this thing sends a warning, right?"

The elder sister finally lifted her gaze from the book. Her red eyes narrowed slightly. "When did you get that?"

"You don't need to worry about the details," the younger sister said, tossing the crystal in the air and snatching it back out of the sky. "I got it from one of them."

The elder sister closed the book with a soft, final thud. "You know you shouldn't do that."

"What? We made a bet, remember?" The younger sister stepped forward, her restlessness spiking again. "We agreed. The next mission they take, if they aren't able to complete it, then I get to go. I get to take care of it."

The elder sister closed her eyes, exhaling a long, weary sigh. "You just want another toy to play with."

"Wow," the younger sister grinned, leaning closer. "It's almost like you can read my mind."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the elder sister's lips. "I don't need to read your mind to know that." She opened her eyes, locking gazes with her sibling. "Fine. If she brings him back, or if she fails, the mission is yours to finish."

"Yes!" The younger sister pumped a fist into the air, the sharp sound of her victory cry ringing through the quiet library.

"You do know that is very unlikely to happen, right?" The elder sister watched her sibling with a steady, knowing gaze.

"I know, but..." The younger sister hesitated, a spark of anticipation lighting her eyes. "I think this time it's going to happen. It's almost like I can feel it, you know? Finally, I get to find someone who can challenge me."

She pressed her fist against her chest, clutching the fabric over her heart as if trying to squeeze the beat into a faster rhythm. A twisted smile curled her lips. "Someone who can actually hurt me."

The elder sister offered a faint, amused smile. "There are plenty of people out there capable of hurting you. Why don't you train with your cousins?"

The younger sister scoffed, folding her arms and looking away. "Hmph. I got tired of them. It's the same thing over and over. I already know their moves." She shifted her weight, restless. "Even if I know they're going to end up winning in the end, it's not the same anymore. My blood doesn't run like it used to."

The elder sister tilted her head. "What about facing me?"

The younger sister's eyes widened. A sharp, feral grin split her face, but just as quickly as it appeared, the light died in her eyes. The smile dropped into a frown.

"Yeah, right. Like you're ever going to allow that."

The elder sister chuckled softly. "I know. So, I'm guessing you want something unexpected. Unpredictable. Something to get your blood pumping again."

"Yes, exactly," the younger sister groaned. "But it's taking so much time."

"You know, it's ironic," the elder sister mused, her voice smooth. "Patience is your name, but you never seem to have any."

The younger sister giggled, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. "Well, your name is Mary, but you never seem to want to get marry-ed."

The elder sister's expression instantly hardened. The faint amusement vanished, replaced by a cold, heavy silence. She stared at her sibling, her red eyes boring into her with a intensity that made the air in the library feel thin.

Patience swallowed hard, the laughter dying in her throat. "Oh... I'm sorry."

Mary held the stare for a second longer before letting out a sharp sigh. She turned her attention back to the table, though the tension lingered.

"If you manage to find anything interesting about him, *if* it happens, which implies a miracle, do you mind bringing him here alive?"

"What?" Patience frowned. "Are you just going to take him away from me and turn him into your pet?"

"No. I'm just curious," Mary said, her voice thoughtful. "I want to know the nature of his power. The reports said he covered an entire town in shadow. I'm not sure if that was a physical manifestation or just an illusion. Whatever it was, the scale implies significant power."

She tapped her finger against the cover of her book. "If it was an illusion skill, he has a very potent one. Who knows? It might even be similar to mine."

"What?" Patience scoffed, shaking her head. "There's no way. There's no one in the entire kingdom who can match your illusion magic."

"I know," Mary replied smoothly. "But the thought of it being a possibility... it amuses me."

"Oh, you see?" Patience leaned in, her grin returning. "I've always told you that you're just like me, but you've always refused to listen."

Mary's face went dull, her expression flattening into a mask of indifference. "Don't compare us."

"Oh, come on," Patience pressed, leaning closer across the table. "You like challenges just as much as I do. Come on, admit it."

Mary didn't look up. She simply waved a hand toward the door.

"You know what? Get out. You're starting to annoy me."

"Really?" Patience slumped, the disappointment heavy in her voice.

"Yes," Mary said simply.

Patience let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Okay. I'm going to wait in my room. If anything happens, I'll tell you."

"All right." Mary opened her book again, her fingers deftly flipping the pages to find her place.

Patience turned to leave, but her breath suddenly hitched in her throat. She froze.

She looked down at her hand. The messenger stone was no longer dormant. A faint, bloody red light bloomed from the center of the crystal, faded into darkness, and then bloomed again. It pulsed like a dying heart.

This was the warning. The Pale Reaper was asking for help.

Patience slapped her left hand over her mouth, but the gesture couldn't contain the reaction. A sharp, stifled giggle escaped through her fingers. Beneath the gloved hand, her teeth flashed in a feral grin.

Mary lifted her head, her gaze sharp. "What is it?"

Patience didn't answer immediately. Slowly, she lifted her eyes. Her irises glowed with a faint, predatory light as her gaze met the butler's across the room.

The old man, already rigid, straightened even further. His throat worked as he swallowed, paralyzed by the sudden spike of killing intent filling the room.

Patience turned back to her sister, her voice trembling with suppressed delight.

"It actually happened," she whispered, clutching the pulsing stone. "It's... it's time."

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