Roseiral hurried back home, glancing over her shoulder every so often to ensure she wasn't being followed. The streets of Centro del Cuore were bustling as usual, but her recent encounter had left her more vigilant, every shadow and face in the crowd tinged with suspicion. Her mind was still racing, replaying fragments of what she'd witnessed in that haunting hall, and the faces of the figures who now felt burned into her memory.
As she approached the house, she spotted a familiar figure leaning casually against the wall. The blond hair boy from before—the one with the handgun. Only this time, he looked younger, almost like any other kid she might've seen running around the city streets. His depressive gaze was softened, his shoulders relaxed, and for a brief moment, he looked almost ordinary.
"You're here," he remarked with a kiddish smirk as she approached. "Good. It's time to start working. We're going to headquarters. You can bring Godless if you like."
Roseiral glanced at him, still a little on edge. "Headquarters? What exactly are we going to do there? Should I bring anything?"
The boy's eyes rolled as he shook his head. "Nothing. You'll get everything you need there." He turned abruptly, motioning for her to follow.
She took one last glance at her home before falling into step beside him, unsure of where this journey would lead. They walked in silence, leaving the familiar streets of the capital and moving toward a part of the kingdom she'd never ventured into. The clean, well-lit avenues of Centro del Cuore gave way to narrower streets and dim alleyways, where the ground was cracked and uneven. The sounds of the marketplace faded, replaced by the hum of machinery and the occasional shout from behind the peeling walls of tenement buildings.
The deeper they went, the starker the contrast became. Here, the sky was hidden by a maze of pipes, metal scaffolding, and crooked buildings that leaned so close together they seemed to almost touch. Rust streaked every surface, and the air was thick with a metallic tang, tinged with something bitter that made her throat burn slightly with each breath. It felt like they had stepped into a different world, one of grime and shadows, where sunlight struggled to reach.
"This... this place feels so different," Roseiral murmured, more to herself than to the boy. She couldn't help but wonder how such a stark division could exist within the same kingdom.
"This place has its own kind of order," the boy replied without looking at her, his eyes focused on the path ahead. "It's not pretty, but it's the reality for a lot of people here. You'll get used to it."
As they rounded a corner, a young boy caught her eye. He was sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest, with a hollow look in his eyes that spoke of hunger and weariness far beyond his years. His clothes hung off his small frame, tattered and thin, and his skin was stretched tight over his bones.
Roseiral stopped in her tracks, a wave of pity washing over her. She turned to the boy guiding her. "How can you just walk by? How can you see this and not feel… something?"
The boy paused, his face unreadable. After a moment, he let out a sigh, and his voice softened, almost reluctantly. "There's more of that than you can imagine in this part of the kingdom. People don't live here by choice. They survive, barely. But what would you do, Roseiral? Give him a few coins? Some food? It wouldn't change anything."
She felt a pang of anger rise in her chest. "So you just turn a blind eye? How can you be so indifferent to it?"
The boy met her gaze, his expression no longer kiddish. "It's not indifference," he replied. "It's acceptance. Things here… they're not like the city you know. People are broken. Crime, hunger, desperation—they're all part of life here. This isn't something a handful of people can fix with kindness. But that's exactly why our headquarters is here."
They walked in silence for a few moments, the weight of his words settling over her. She couldn't quite shake the image of the young boy they'd passed, but there was something in her guide's tone that held a quiet bitterness, a hint of something deeper than she'd first realized.
Finally, they arrived at a small, weathered building with a sign that read Eel Fishing Shop. It was unassuming, almost laughably so, in the middle of a district teeming with secrecy and tension. Her guide gestured toward it with a nod.
"This is it," he said. "Our headquarters. Disguised, sure, but it works. This place lets us do what we can to keep kids like that from starving." He paused, looking back at her. "We're not heroes, Roseiral. We're not villains, either. We're just fragments—pieces trying to find other pieces to make something whole. But no one's ever complete. A 100% fragment… that's impossible."
Roseiral felt a chill at his words, an unspoken depth beneath them. It was as though he was trying to convey something beyond what she could immediately understand, something about the very nature of their existence. Before she could respond, he walked up to the door and gestured for her to follow.
Inside, the air was damp and musty, with faint traces of salt and fish—an old, lingering scent that seemed woven into the walls. The front room looked like any ordinary fishing shop, with fishing rods, nets, and tackle boxes lining the shelves. But as they moved past the counter, he led her through a narrow hallway that twisted and turned, deeper into the building until they reached a set of heavy, reinforced doors.
He pressed his hand against a small, inconspicuous panel beside the door, and after a few tense moments, there was a soft click. The doors swung open to reveal a spacious underground room, lined with shelves stacked with supplies and walls covered in maps and charts.
"This is where the real work happens," he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he led her inside. "People here—the ones who work in the shadows—they're the ones who keep the city running. They don't ask for glory, and they don't expect anything in return."
Roseiral took a moment to absorb her surroundings. There were several others in the room, each one focused on a task—sorting through papers, analyzing maps, or inspecting equipment. Despite the dim lighting and clutter, there was a quiet sense of purpose, a determination that seemed to fill the air.
The boy explained, his tone shifting to something more serious. "We all have different roles here, but in the end, we're working toward the same goal."
Roseiral felt a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "What exactly is that goal?"
The boy looked at her, his expression oddly joyful. "To protect the kingdom from itself, to balance what can't be balanced. We're here to keep the peace, in ways that the powers of Centro del Cuore can't or won't acknowledge."
As they continued their conversation, Roseiral realized the depth of what she'd stepped into. These weren't mere rebels or outcasts—they were individuals who had chosen to shoulder the burden of a broken society, to try and fix it from within, even if it meant working in the shadows.
When the tour was nearly over, the boy led her to a corner where a large map of the kingdom hung on the wall, marked with symbols and notations she couldn't decipher.
"Centro del Cuore doesn't know half of what happens in their own kingdom," he muttered. "They look down from their golden towers and pretend this doesn't exist. But for us? This is reality. And we'll do what we have to, with or without their permission."
Roseiral studied the map, a strange sense of purpose stirring within her. She still didn't fully understand what she'd gotten herself into, but the weight of the lives surrounding her—their dedication, their hidden struggles—left her with an undeniable sense that she was meant to be here.
As Roseiral studied the map, trying to piece together the web of symbols and markings scattered across the kingdom, the boy beside her broke the silence with a low chuckle.
"Oh, and one last thing before I head out." He turned to face her, his expression softened but his eyes still holding that hard edge. "My name is Giovane. I apologize if I sounded aggressive at all during our interactions."
Roseiral blinked, taken aback by the sudden revelation. It was the first time he'd revealed anything personal, and she found herself momentarily at a loss for words. "Giovane…" she repeated, testing the sound of his name. Somehow, it seemed to fit the boy who balanced so easily between warmth and mystery, as if he belonged equally to both.
"Yeah," he replied, a hint of amusement flickering across his face before he stepped away, gesturing toward the room's core where several familiar faces were gathered. "And here are the people you'll be working with, including myself. You've already met them, in a way."
Roseiral's breath caught as she recognized the individuals before her—the figures from the grand hall with the empty throne, the same ones who had judged her with their piercing stares. Now, seeing them up close, they seemed less like distant symbols of authority and more like real people, each with their own peculiarities.
The first to step forward was the massive man with the dual blades strapped across his back. Up close, Roseiral could see his impressive frame even more clearly—muscles coiled with tension, yet his gaze was steady, almost kind, as he extended a large, calloused hand to her.
"Arvo," he introduced himself, his voice low and gravelly. "Don't worry, I don't bite," he added with a small grin. Roseiral couldn't help but feel a bit more at ease as she shook his hand.
The woman with the long black hair was next, her serene presence oddly comforting. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. "My name is Lucianna. I manage a lot of the operations here. You'll likely see me around often." Her voice was calm and measured, and Roseiral found herself instinctively trusting her.
Then, from the far right, came the man in the tight suit and top hat, his red hair a wild flame against the dim backdrop of the room. He tilted his hat to her with a mischievous grin. "You can call me Vero," he said with a dramatic bow. "Always happy to see a fresh face around here." His tone was lighthearted.
Finally, in the center of them all, stood the older man with short gray hair, the eyepatch, and the missing arm. Up close, Roseiral could see the scars etched across his face, each one a testament to a life lived on the edge of danger. He regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and restraint.
"I'm Ryker," he said simply, his voice deep and steady. "I oversee most of the missions here. Giovane may have brought you in, but you report to me."
Roseiral nodded, feeling the weight of each gaze upon her. There was an undeniable sense of power in this room, but it was different from what she'd sensed back in the hall. Here, these people weren't distant or untouchable—they were allies, bound together by a purpose she was only beginning to understand.
Giovane gave her a brief nod, his earlier amusement gone, replaced by something more serious. "We're a team, Roseiral. You may have come from the heart of Centro del Cuore, but out here, we look after each other. You've stepped into a world most people from the capital never see. Trust is hard-earned around here, but I think you'll prove yourself soon enough."
Arvo clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder, the warmth in his gaze contradicting his imposing appearance. "We're glad to have you, Roseiral. Takes courage to walk in here."
"And if you ever feel like you're in over your head," Vero added with a grin, twirling his top hat on one finger, "just remember, we all started out the same way. This place has a funny way of pulling the best—or worst—out of people."
As the group fell into a comfortable silence, Ryker spoke up, his voice grave but steady. "Our work here may not be glamorous, but it's necessary. What we do keeps the kingdom running, keeps people safe in ways they don't even realize. Out there," he gestured vaguely toward the city above, "they may have the gold and the power, but they don't see the cracks in their perfect little world. That's where we come in."
Roseiral nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose settle within her. The world she'd left behind felt distant now, its polished facades and lofty ideals nothing but illusions. Here, in this hidden headquarters, among these fierce yet vulnerable people, she felt something she'd never felt before—a belonging, rooted not in the glimmering allure of Centro del Cuore, but in the shadows that sustained it.
Giovane caught her eye one last time before heading toward the exit. "Welcome to the team, Roseiral," he said with a faint smile. "We're not like the people you're used to, but you might just find we're the family you didn't know you needed."
As Roseiral felt the weight of Giovane's words settle in, her vision blurred slightly, overwhelmed by a mixture of relief, purpose, and gratitude. She hadn't expected to find acceptance here, in this unlikely, hidden headquarters with strangers who felt like family.
Before she could stop herself, her eyes filled with tears, and a few slipped down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away, only to hear a small voice break the silence.
"Yay!" It was Godless, finally awake and seated with a big, enthusiastic smile. His timing was so innocent, so unguarded, that it broke through the silence as the others, one by one, burst into laughter. Arvo let out a hearty chuckle, Vero snickered with an amused grin, and even Lucianna's serene expression softened into a warm smile.
Roseiral couldn't help but join in, laughing through her lingering tears. Surrounded by the unexpected warmth of this strange new family, she realized she was exactly where she needed to be. For the first time, she felt truly at home in the heart of Centro del Cuore's shadows.