The East Wing was a different world. It lacked the metallic clatter of the training grounds and the heavy, oppressive mana-pressure that defined the Duke's private study. Here, the air was filled with the scent of jasmine and the kind of expensive, soft fabrics that only existed to look beautiful. Vane followed the maid through the corridors, his heavy boots feeling loud and clumsy against the ornate rugs. He kept his hands at his sides, but his fingers twitched with the urge to check the hidden dagger at his waist.

He was led into a small, sun-drenched parlor. Duchess Selene Sol was sitting by a wide window that looked out over the valley, a tea set made of thin, bone-white porcelain already laid out. Her violet hair was pinned up in an intricate style, but her shoulders were hunched, as if she were trying to make herself a smaller target for the room.

Vane sat down when she gestured toward the empty chair. He felt the familiar, cold itch behind his eyes.

[Skill Activated: Target Analysis]

Target: Selene Sol.

Rank: 5 (Justiciar).

Danger: Extreme.

Skill: Mana Chain (B-rank).

Vane felt a flicker of realization as the data settled into his mind. In the outskirts of the empire, a Rank 5 Justiciar was a force of nature, a general who could command thousands of soldiers. But here, married to a Rank 8 Grandmaster like Alistair, she looked almost fragile. She lacked an Authority, the conceptual, rule-breaking power that defined the true monsters of their world. She was just a woman who had reached a high level of mana-density through sheer effort or bloodline, yet remained trapped within the laws of physics.

"It is a bitter blend," the Duchess said, her voice soft as she poured the tea. She didn't have the sharp, ringing authority of her husband. "But it helps steady the heart. I imagine yours is quite strained tonight."

Vane took the cup, the warmth of the porcelain seeping into his calloused fingers. "I'm just surprised you called for me, Your Grace. We have a lot to prepare before dawn."

She didn't look at him. She kept her gaze fixed on the steam rising from her own cup. "Valerica thinks she is going into the mud for the mission. She thinks she's doing it to prove her worth to this family. She has spent her entire life trying to turn her heart into a star because she is afraid of being cold."

She finally looked up, and for a second, the noble mask slipped. Vane saw a flash of raw, desperate fear in her eyes. It was a look he knew. He'd seen it on his mother's face in Oakhaven when he'd come home with blood on his knuckles. He'd seen it in Isaac Glacium's mother, who burned with a protective heat in a palace of ice.

It was the look of a mother who loved her child but was utterly powerless to stop the machine of the world from grinding them down.

"I am a Justiciar," Selene said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "To the Empire, I am a successful noble. To my husband, I am a quiet necessity. But in this house, I am a ghost. I watch my children being turned into weapons and I don't say a word because Alistair does not tolerate dissent. He sees them as assets for the Sol legacy. I just see my children."

She leaned forward, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for a small silver spoon. "She trusts you, Vane. She doesn't trust many people, but she trusts the boy who crawled out of a puddle. She sees something in you that isn't just a blade."

Vane looked at the woman across from him. He realized then that she loved Valerica with the same desperate, quiet ferocity his own mother had felt for him. She was submissive to the Duke, buried under the weight of his Grandmaster presence, but she was using the only power she had left, the power to ask a monster to be kind.

"Keep her safe," Selene said. Her voice was steady now, but it held a weight that felt more binding than any academy contract. "Not for the Sol name. Not for the Empire. Do it because she's just a girl who's tired of carrying the weight of the sun on her shoulders. I can't protect her from her father, but you can protect her from the dark."

Vane set his cup down with a soft click. He gave her a single, heavy nod. "I'll bring her back. She's my partner."

The Duchess managed a small, sad smile. "Go. Before the dawn catches you."

Vane left the East Wing and made his way back to the staging area near the side gates. Valerica was already there, checking the tension on the mana-cables. She wore her dark combat leathers, and the Silver Fang spear was strapped to her back next to her own gear. She looked up as he approached, her eyes searching his face.

"What did she want?" Valerica asked.

"She just wanted to make sure I knew how to drink tea properly," Vane said, his voice returning to its dry, flat tone. "And she gave me some advice on the road."

Valerica looked at the hallway he'd just come from, her expression softening for a fraction of a second before she turned back to the gear. "She worries too much about things she can't change."

As they hoisted their packs and prepared to step out into the night, they saw two small figures standing near the stables. Leo and Mia, the younger twins, were huddled together in their nightclothes. They didn't say anything, but their eyes were wide with a mix of awe and fear as they watched their older sister prepare for war.

Vane looked up toward the main balcony of the manor. Duke Alistair Sol was standing there, a monolith of gold and white against the dark stone. He didn't wave or offer a word of encouragement. He simply stood there, his Rank 8 presence a silent, crushing reminder of the expectations he placed on them. He wasn't watching a daughter leave; he was watching an investment go into the field.

Vane adjusted his pack, feeling the weight of the specialized cables and the cold mercury of his mana. He looked at Valerica, who had already turned her back on the balcony.

"Let's move," Vane said.

They stepped through the side gate and began the long descent from the mountain peaks. Behind them, the lights of the Sol estate faded into the mist. Ahead of them, the air grew thick with the distant, grey smell of the industrial outskirts. The hunt had officially begun.

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