The morning air was crisp as Adonis rose early, feeling the weight of the day ahead pressing down on him. He stretched his stiff muscles and made his way to the kitchen. As the kettle boiled, he thought about the second article that had just hit the streets. This one was more dangerous than the first—an escalation designed to provoke. It even included a name: Dante Graves.
Adonis had chosen this name carefully, pulling it from the depths of his old life on Earth. It was a name that sounded foreign in this world, and yet, it carried a weight to it, a kind of presence that the people of the city would latch onto. He planned to use this identity as a mask—an alias to lead the uprising while distancing himself from his role as a member of the City Council. It would also allow him to fake his death at the right moment, leaving behind nothing but the ashes of a revolution and a trail gone cold.
As he ate his breakfast, Adonis unfolded the morning newspaper, his eyes scanning the familiar text. The article was prominently displayed, and just as he had expected, the name Dante Graves was splashed across the page. The piece was more inflammatory this time, directly calling out the city's aristocrats and corrupt officials, urging the common folk to rise against their oppressors. Adonis smiled to himself. The city was a powder keg, and he had just lit the fuse.
After finishing his meal, he put on his usual attire—plain but professional—and stepped out onto the streets. The atmosphere had already changed. People were talking, shouting even. Groups of citizens huddled together, reading the article aloud, discussing the man named Dante Graves, a man no one had ever heard of before today. His name was on everyone's lips.
Adonis kept his head down as he walked, blending into the crowd, letting their voices wash over him. Perfect, he thought. The name was working. Soon, the discontent that had simmered beneath the surface would boil over into something uncontrollable.
Arriving at the City Council building, Adonis made his way to his small office. It was a quiet space where he could work undisturbed, the perfect place to maintain his double life. Once inside, he shut the door and began his morning routine. First, he practiced his Chain Path abilities, focusing on refining his control. Thin, translucent chains flickered into existence around his fingers, winding around his wrists before dissipating. He still wasn't entirely used to these powers, but every day, he grew more comfortable with them. Each practice session brought him closer to mastery.
After a solid hour of training, Adonis returned to his duties, completing the various reports and tasks required of him. He played his role well—the loyal, low-ranking investigator—showing no signs of the chaos he was orchestrating behind the scenes.
Around midday, he received a notice. It wasn't unexpected. The Council had been stirred into action by the growing unrest. As he read the memo, a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. The Council was assigning a group of low-ranking members, himself included, the task of finding the man responsible for the articles—Dante Graves. It was laughable. The Council had no idea that the man they were hunting was sitting right under their noses.
Adonis composed himself, folding the notice and slipping it into his pocket. He knew this would happen sooner or later. Now, he had to be careful. He couldn't afford to slip up. Every move had to be calculated, every lie perfect.
He made his way to the Council chamber, where several other low-ranking members had gathered. The room buzzed with tension as they awaited instructions. Soon, one of the senior Council members entered, his expression stern.
"As you all know, there's been a series of provocative articles published in recent days, stirring up unrest in the city. The name Dante Graves has been mentioned as the author of these articles. Your task is simple: find him. Bring him in for questioning. We cannot allow this instability to grow."
Adonis nodded along with the rest, keeping his expression neutral. He had expected this. The Council was desperate to control the situation, and they were throwing their low-level investigators into the hunt, hoping someone would turn up a lead. But there was no lead to follow. Dante Graves didn't exist—at least, not in the way they thought he did.
After the meeting, Adonis left the building, his mind already working through the next steps. He couldn't just ignore the assignment; that would raise suspicion. He had to act like he was genuinely investigating the articles, just like the others. But the difference was, Adonis knew exactly where the trail led—to him.
He slipped into a nearby alley, where a few informants loitered, exchanging whispers and coins for information. Adonis approached one of the men, a lanky figure with a sharp face, and quietly asked about Dante Graves. The man furrowed his brow and shrugged.
"Never heard of him. But people are talking about him like he's some kind of hero."
Adonis nodded thoughtfully, paying the man a few coins for his trouble. He wasn't expecting any real information—after all, the man didn't exist. This was all part of the act. He had to keep up the appearance of being a diligent investigator, someone following every lead, no matter how futile.
After gathering enough useless information to create a convincing report, Adonis returned to the Council and handed in his findings. The report was vague, filled with dead ends and empty leads, just enough to keep the Council satisfied without drawing attention to himself.
As evening fell, Adonis found himself in a familiar bar. The atmosphere was livelier than usual, with patrons speaking in louder, more excited voices. The second article had clearly stirred something within them. He ordered a drink and took a seat near the back, listening to the conversations around him.
"The man who wrote that article—Dante Graves—he's onto something," one man muttered to his friend. "People are getting fed up. We're working harder and harder, but the rich keep getting richer."
"Yeah, but who is he?" the friend asked, leaning in closer. "No one's ever heard of him before now. He's a ghost."
Adonis hid his smile behind his drink. That's exactly what I want you to think, he mused.
As the night wore on, the bar grew even more boisterous. The conversation about Dante Graves spread from table to table, and the tension in the room became palpable. Adonis stayed for a while longer, soaking in the atmosphere. The city was like a cauldron ready to boil over.
Finally, he left the bar and made his way back to his apartment. The streets were quieter now, but there was an undercurrent of energy in the air. Tomorrow, the city would be one step closer to the uprising he had planned. The people were already talking about Dante Graves as if he were a real person, a symbol of their discontent. Soon, they would be willing to follow him, to rise up against the system that oppressed them.
Adonis lay down in bed, the weight of his plan pressing down on him. Tomorrow would bring more chaos, more uncertainty, but it was all part of the process. The storm was coming, and he was ready to ride it to freedom.
As sleep overtook him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The Council had given him the perfect cover to hide in plain sight. They had no idea that the man they were hunting was already pulling the strings from within.
And in nine days, this city would be engulfed in chaos.