In a quiet office filled with stacked files and the faint smell of ink and paper, Sybil sat behind his desk, scribbling notes with one hand while lazily flipping through a report with the other.

His unruly black hair stuck out in several directions, clearly untouched by a comb...

He wore his usual casual clothes instead of the formal uniform expected of someone in his position... an open coat, a loose shirt, and trousers that had seen better days.

His posture was relaxed, almost careless, but the speed of his writing was quite professional.

A soft knock sounded.

Before he could respond, the door opened.

A tall woman with dark hair tied back in a severe, neat bun walked in.

It was Melanie, wearing the crisp, formal uniform of a Coven Investigator.

Her posture was perfect, a stark contrast to Sybil's relaxed slouch.

"Offering my respects, Sir Handler Sybil."

She said, her voice professional and devoid of warmth.

She didn't waste time with small talk.

She simply walked to his desk and placed a new case file in front of him.

Sybil grunted in acknowledgement, not looking up from his current notes.

He casually reached over, grabbed the file, and flipped it open.

He skimmed the first page...

His eyebrows drew together in a frown.

"Another one of those filth-ridden dumpster rituals?"

He muttered, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

"I'll read it later..."

He moved to close the folder and return to his earlier task.

The woman, whose name was Melanie, did not move from her spot beside the desk.

"Sir," she said, her tone quite flat.

"This file contains new information the previous cases did not. I recommend you read it now."

Hearing the firmness in her voice, Sybil paused.

He sighed, a sound of mild irritation, and reopened the file.

He began to read in earnest.

As seconds turned into minutes, his casual frown deepened into one of focused intensity.

His eyes scanned the pages quickly.

When he finished, he looked up at Melanie, his expression unreadable.

"Explain," he said, gesturing at the file.

'You just don't want to read the whole thing yourself, do you?'

Melanie thought to herself.

She was used to his ways...

Out of respect for his rank and ability, she kept the thought to herself and showed no outward displeasure.

"Yes, sir," she began, her explanation clear and thorough.

"A potential victim from last night's ritual incident survived. She came to us in a state of fear. She witnessed the event and according to her, something strange happened while the cultists were trying to force her to sign their poem."

Melanie continued.

"Arms suddenly emerged from the shadows and killed two of the male cultists... The victim said the attacker was completely invisible."

"She tried to follow the old advice—see no evil, hear no evil—but she still heard a man's voice. He revealed himself from the shadows and killed the remaining female cultist, who was holding a gun."

"A gunshot was heard, and the female cultist died. The assumption is the intervening man was also armed," she added.

"The local police, out of their depth, requested help from the Arcane Oversight Department. Their memory reading witch viewed the final moments of the deceased female cultist. The description of the man she saw is as follows..."

"Approximately five feet ten inches tall, black hair, a deep voice that sounded slightly altered or forced. From his build and voice, they assessed that he is quite young. His most distinctive feature was a plain black mask with a painted grinning face..."

Melanie took a slight breath.

"Two pieces of paper were recovered. One was the ritual poem for the Sin of Filth, identical to ones we've found before. The other was new... a note left deliberately by the man in the mask."

She recited the line from memory, her voice flat.

"You cannot walk a path paved with disregarded lives and expect to arrive at a destination of peace."

Hearing this the Sybil's ears perked up.

Knowing that this man would take hours upon hours to discuss this philosophical statement, Melanie immediately continued, not giving him a chance to speak.

"My interpretation is that the sentence is a direct criticism of the cultists' methods. It's a philosophical rebuke..."

"He is stating that their path, built on sacrificing others, was destined to lead to their own violent end. It could also have a supernatural connotation we don't yet understand, or it may simply be his... out of his own interest."

She moved to the next point.

"After eliminating the cultists, the masked man instructed the victim to seek out a coven immediately for spiritual cleansing. From this, we can tentatively assume his intentions align with maintaining order...."

"He appears hostile to the Cult of Filth and protective of innocent civilians."

Sybil leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Just because he's friendly to a civilian now doesn't make him an ally," he stated, his voice low.

"A man who operates from the shadows, kills with efficiency, and leaves notes is not a simple do-gooder... he's most likely backed up by a certain organization..."

He paused.

"After the matter of the Coven of Abomination, remind me to investigate this man more."

Melanie didn't argue.

She simply nodded, accepting his assessment.

Sybil changed the subject.

"What about the other matter? The family targeted by the Puppet of Disease?"

"That case is progressing, sir," Melanie replied.

"It's been confirmed the family are relatives of Fredero Tangen. The daughter, Phoebe, is almost certainly a stray witch. Our investigation shows a deep, hostile history between her and her uncle. The full details will be in a separate case file for your review later today."

Sybil nodded.

"And the broader situation? The Coven of Abomination's response?"

Melanie's expression grew more tense.

"The Coven of Abomination has issued no public statement. They are not openly retaliating against our investigations into their territory, but they are also not cooperating... It's a tense stalemate."

She hesitated, then asked the tactical question.

"Sir, given their clear involvement in these cult activities… should we initiate direct contact? Or prepare for conflict?"

Sybil shook his head, a look of grim frustration crossing his features.

"I don't know what the higher-ups are thinking. Normally, this level of public ritualistic activity would demand a swift and punitive response from the allied covens..."

"But the orders are clear... investigate, document, but do not act and do not provoke."

"And it's not just us. Look around... The other covens in the region who should be acting out punishments are silent too... They are all watching, but not doing anything at all."

The air in the office grew heavier.

Melanie understood the implication.

She asked the next question nervously, her professional mask slipping for a second.

"Sir… could this be related to… the prophecy?"

Sybil met her gaze, his own eyes serious.

"Yes. This stasis, this unnatural silence from powers that should be clashing… it has all the hallmarks of the calm before a storm foretold. This is likely the beginning of what that man spoke of."

Melanie's voice was barely a whisper.

"Will the city truly plunge into chaos, sir?"

Sybil was quiet for a long moment, looking past her at nothing.

Then he spoke calmly.

"This is the will of the progenitors."

His voice held no fear... only certainty.

...

Walking along the streets, Seth quietly made his way toward the run-down area where the fake pawnshop was.

He was here to collect the second set of information he'd asked Matilda to gather...

When he arrived, he saw the pawnshop was still closed and locked.

Matilda also wasn't in the alleyway.

He used [Null Presence] and began to search the nearby alleys and side streets.

Eventually, he found her in a small, surprisingly clean alley a few blocks over.

She wasn't alone.

She was talking with an old man who looked to be in his sixties.

The man was well-dressed in a simple but tidy suit, with neatly combed hair that was a mix of white and dark grey.

He looked at Matilda with a gentle, kind expression.

Seth watched them quietly.

He noticed Matilda looked different...

She wore a light, natural makeup that softened her features instead of the bold colors she usually used.

She had on a conservative, elegant dress that covered her from neck to knees, showing a quiet, reserved beauty he'd never seen in her before.

Her way of talking was completely different, too.

There was no vulgar flirting and no loud laughter meant to attract customers.

She spoke softly and politely, with a refined tone.

She had hooked her arm lightly through the man's, and there was a calm, content smile on her face.

Her eyes, which usually held a cold and calculating glint, now held a warm, genuine affection.

'Hm. Love really can happen at any age...'

Seth thought to himself.

He felt no need to interrupt.

He just leaned against a shadowed wall and waited patiently for them to finish.

They talked for about an hour, their conversation a quiet murmur in the alley.

Finally, the old man offered Matilda a small bouquet of wildflowers he had been holding.

"Thank you for your time today," the man said gently.

"Spending time with you always brings me peace."

Matilda accepted the flowers, her smile deepening.

"The pleasure is mine," she replied.

"Your company makes the day feel lighter."

The man chuckled softly.

"I must return home now, my dear. It would please me greatly if you visited these next few days."

Matilda nodded.

"I will try to in the next couple of days," she said.

"I promise."

The man hesitated, then spoke again, his tone warm.

"Do not rush yourself. I will be happy as long as I know you are well."

Matilda reached out and adjusted his collar, her movements careful.

"You worry too much..."

She said fondly.

"But I appreciate it."

He smiled, eyes gentle.

"Then I shall wait patiently," he said.

"As one should, when something is precious."

They exchanged a few more quiet words, simple and sincere.

From Seth's eyes...

They were just two people finding comfort in each other's presence.

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