Arlon paused, the faint clang of a distant bell echoing through the sleeping city. The night air, sharp and cold, carried with it the faint scent of blooming ivy from the garden below.
The cool night wind whistled through the deserted streets of Falcon, carrying with it a faint chill that clung to the stone walls. Arlon moved soundlessly, his black robe trailing like a shadow behind him. Beneath the ethereal glow of the full moon, the city lay in quiet stillness, its lanterns casting a dim, wavering light that seemed to echo the city's subdued pulse.
Ace sat perched on his shoulder in his feline form, his black fur shimmering faintly under the moonlight. His crimson eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Alright,noble Arlon," Ace said, his voice low but filled with anticipation. "We're almost at the edge of the market district. You'll need to move quickly from here on out."
Arlon's sharp gaze flickered upward, to the rooftops that lined the city like a jagged horizon against the star-filled sky. "How much faster?" he asked, his tone calm and measured.
Ace's tail swished with satisfaction."You've got the Sky Soul, haven't you? Stop hesitating and let it guide you. The wind isn't just beneath your feet—it's part of you. Move with it, noble Arlon, and let it carry you beyond the ground's limits."
Arlon paused for a brief moment, allowing Ace's words to settle. Then, closing his eyes briefly, he reached within himself, summoning the faint, rippling energy of the Sky Soul.
Swoosh—
It stirred like a breeze at first—subtle and uncertain—before growing stronger, swirling around his form like invisible tendrils of wind.
"Let it lift you," Ace murmured, his voice almost reverent now, his claws kneading gently into Arlon's shoulder.
Whoosh—
The air beneath Arlon shifted. In an instant, the ground seemed to fall away as a sudden updraft carried him upward, his boots touching the edge of a rooftop in one smooth, effortless motion. The wind responded to his will, pushing gently but firmly, like hands guiding him forward.
Tap-tap-tap
He ran, his pace faster than it had ever been, the rooftops blurring beneath him as the wind propelled each step.
Ace let out a delighted sound, half-laugh, half-purr, clinging tightly but still poised. "Now this is what I'm talking about! Look at this view!"
Arlon didn't reply, his focus sharp as he leapt over a narrow alley, the wind catching him midair before setting him gently down on the next roof. As they gained height, the city opened up before them, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of the full moon.
The stars stretched endlessly, scattered like diamonds across a velvet sky, while the moon's silver glow bathed the rooftops in soft light, casting intricate shadows over the winding streets below.
The city of Falcon looked alive yet still—lanterns flickered like scattered fireflies, and the rivers that carved through the city reflected the moon's glow in shimmering bands of light. It was beautiful—unexpectedly so—and for the first time in a while, Arlon allowed himself to take it in.
Ace's tail curled in excitement as he turned his head, his crimson eyes wide with awe. "Would you look at that, noble Arlon? It's like something out of a dream." He paused, his tone softening as though struck by the serenity of it. "Peaceful, isn't it? Almost makes you forget the world can be so… messy."
Arlon said nothing, his purple eyes scanning the vast expanse of the city. The wind brushed against his face, cool and reassuring, carrying with it the faintest scent of lavender and earth.
In this moment, atop the rooftops, it was easy to believe they were untouchable—two fleeting shadows against the endless night.
"You're not terrible at this," Ace added with a playful flick of his tail, his voice breaking the silence. "For someone who hates showing off."
"I'm not showing off," Arlon replied evenly, though a faint hint of satisfaction crept into his tone. "You're just easily impressed."
Ace snorted, though he sounded more amused than offended. "I call it appreciating the moment. You should try it sometime."
Arlon's steps slowed slightly as they reached the peak of a sloped roof. He stopped, the wind dying down into a soft, lingering breeze. The city stretched out before him in all its moonlit splendor, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to stand still, his gaze fixed on the vast, quiet beauty around him.
The weight of his mission still loomed at the edge of his mind, but here—under the full moon, with the wind as his guide—it didn't seem quite so heavy.
"Don't get too comfortable," Arlon said finally, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. "We still have work to do."
"Fine, you win," Ace relented, glancing out at the moonlit city. "Even you can't ruin a view like this."
Arlon didn't answer, but the faintest flicker of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. With a final glance at the starlit city, he shifted his weight and pushed forward, the wind rising to meet him once more.
Ace let out a delighted hum as they surged forward, disappearing into the silver shadows of the rooftops, the night stretching endlessly before them.
The city of Falcon stretched out beneath the velvety night sky, a patchwork of rooftops and winding streets glowing softly under the full moon. From this high vantage point, it almost looked peaceful—though Arlon wasn't here to enjoy the view.
Tap-tap-tap
Arlon landed lightly on the next roof, his steps deliberate yet swift, his hooded figure blending effortlessly into the shadows. Perched on his shoulder, Ace, in his sleek feline form, clung with practiced ease. The breeze tugged at his black fur, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief.
"You know," Ace began, his voice a playful drawl, "for someone who once walked into a door trying to be stealthy, you're really starting to nail this rooftop-running thing."
Arlon cast him a side-eye glance, his expression flat. "Remind me why I keep you around."
"For my undeniable charm," Ace purred, swishing his tail dramatically. "And because, let's face it, you'd be lost without me."
Arlon sighed but didn't respond, his focus fixed ahead. They reached the edge of a sloped roof, pausing briefly to reassess their path. Below, the streets were illuminated by warm lantern light, winding like threads of gold through the city's dark expanse.
The rivers gleamed like molten silver, and above, the sky was a tapestry of stars. The full moon bathed everything in an otherworldly glow, softening even the city's rougher edges.
Ace's ears twitched as he gazed at the view, his tone unusually relaxed. "You know, this isn't half bad. Stars, moon, a city that looks like a painting… Almost makes you forget we're sneaking around like criminals."
"Almost," Arlon replied dryly, though his gaze lingered on the horizon for a fleeting moment, as if begrudgingly acknowledging the beauty of the night.
Ace chuckled, flicking his tail. "Oh, don't pretend you're not impressed. Admit it—this is the kind of scenery you'd read about in one of those fancy poetry books."
"I don't read poetry," Arlon said curtly, stepping forward to leap across another gap.
"Not even when you were ten?" Ace teased. "Bet you had a secret stash under your bed. Something dramatic about stars and destiny."
Arlon landed silently on the next roof, ignoring him entirely. "Focus. We're almost there."
"Right, right," Ace muttered, though the amusement in his voice was clear. "Killjoy."
The pair moved seamlessly across the rooftops, Arlon's movements guided by subtle bursts of wind. With every leap, the Sky Soul responded more naturally, the power bending to his will like an extension of himself.
Ace perched confidently on his shoulder, occasionally giving a quiet direction or a low whistle of approval when Arlon's landings were particularly smooth.
After a few more leaps, they reached their destination. The noble's mansion rose like a sentinel of opulence, its grandeur illuminated by the golden light pouring from its towering windows. The air was thick with the sounds of music, murmured laughter, and the distant chime of clinking glasses, a symphony of indulgence echoing into the still night.
Nobles in extravagant attire moved through the hall, their silhouettes visible through the glowing panes.
It was the kind of ostentatious display that spoke of old money and hidden agendas.
Ace let out a soft, impressed hum. "Well, look at that. The height of excess. Nothing says 'we're definitely up to something shady' like a party this fancy."
Arlon knelt at the rooftop's edge, his keen purple eyes locked on the noble mansion's silhouette. A soft, golden glow from the windows spilled over the cobblestone paths, casting long shadows that danced in the faint breeze.
Ace, perched on his shoulder, flicked his tail lazily. His crimson eyes glinted with amusement. "Plotting something dramatic again, aren't you?"
Arlon didn't respond, his attention fixed on a single window. Inside, three figures stood in close conversation—Lords Everson, Dwyer, and Fontaine, the nobles he had been tracking.
A faint golden glow flickered before him, sharpening into shimmering words.
Flutter—
["The three nobles huddle around a table, their voices low and tense."]
The script unfolded further:
["Fontaine speaks first. "The Pry wants results. They won't wait forever.'"]
["Everson replies coolly. "The heir's name is tied to this. If things go wrong, he takes the blame—not us.'"]
["Dwyer smirks. "Tomorrow's meeting will seal the deal. By then, the Throndsen boy will already be ruined.'"]
Arlon's jaw tightened. The stakes were higher than he had anticipated. Rejecting the Pry had altered the story more than he thought.
"Let's move," he said, retreating across the rooftop, his movements swift and determined. Tomorrow's meeting will decide everything.
He turned away from the window, his movements swift and silent as he retreated across the rooftop. His sharp eyes scan the mansion's perimeter. He spotted the servants' entrance tucked away to the side—unassuming, far from the bustle of the main hall. "That's our way in," he said quietly.
Ace shifted on his shoulder, his tail flicking with anticipation. "Think they've got any decent food in there? Maybe a roast chicken or some fancy cheese? I could snack while you do your sneaky noble takedown thing."
"Stay focused," Arlon muttered as he prepared to drop down from the roof.
"Fine, fine. But if I catch even a whiff of roast beef, I'm out," Ace said, though his smirk betrayed his playful mood.
With practiced ease, Arlon dropped silently to the ground below, his form disappearing into the shadows. Ace followed suit, landing gracefully beside him before climbing back onto his shoulder. The mansion stood before them, glowing like a gilded fortress against the night.
Ace leaned closer to Arlon's ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Ready to crash the party?"
Arlon pulled his hood lower, his expression unreadable. "Let's go."
They moved swiftly and silently, blending into the shadows near the servants' entrance. Arlon led the way, his steps precise and soundless, his every movement guided by the mental map Dimitri had provided of the mansion's layout.
The dimly lit corridors stretched ahead, their silence broken only by the faint creak of old wooden beams. Navigating the twists and turns with practiced ease, Arlon kept his focus sharp.
It didn't take long. Just as Dimitri's notes had indicated, the room lay ahead—a sturdy oak door slightly ajar, faint light spilling into the hallway.
Arlon pushed the door open with measured care, the faint creak of the hinges barely audible in the stillness. His sharp purple eyes scanned the room as he stepped inside, his movements precise and deliberate.
The study was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace casting a soft, flickering glow across the room. It was lavishly decorated with heavy bookshelves, thick rugs, and golden accents on the furniture—an indulgence befitting noble status. Arlon slipped inside, careful to close the door silently behind him.
His purple eyes swept the room, scanning for anything out of place, anything that might hint at the hidden secrets he sought.
Ace perched on his shoulder, his black fur blending with the shadows of Arlon's dark robe. His crimson eyes flickered with sharp curiosity as he glanced around the room. "This is it, huh? Fancy. Very 'I'm-hiding-something' vibes. Where do we start?"
Arlon didn't answer immediately, his focus fixed on the details around him.
His gaze settled on the ornate desk at the room's center, its surface unnaturally pristine—unused but carefully displayed. Across the study, rows of towering bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, the leather-bound volumes clearly for show.
Above the fireplace, a hunting scene in an elaborate frame dominated the wall. Its placement felt deliberate, too perfect to be innocent.
"Start with the obvious," Arlon muttered finally, moving toward the desk.
He knelt beside the drawers and ran his fingers along their edges. Locked, as expected. Without hesitation, he retrieved a slender lockpick from his robe. Ace let out a soft hum of approval from his perch.
"Impressive," Ace mused, his tail flicking with approval. "Next, you'll be leading your own covert league of thieves."
"Save it," Arlon said flatly, though the faintest flicker of a smirk crossed his face.
Click—
The lock clicked open, and the drawer slid out smoothly. Inside, stacks of neatly organized correspondence and records awaited him. Arlon sifted through them quickly, his sharp eyes scanning each page. Most of it was mundane—purchase orders, financial transactions, formal letters. Then he paused, pulling out a folded letter sealed with wax.
The seal bore an unfamiliar insignia, but the words inside needed no introduction. As Arlon scanned the parchment, his expression darkened, the message confirming his suspicions.
"To Lords Everson, Dwyer, and Fontaine,
The arrangement is proceeding as expected. The Celestial Clan has agreed to our terms, and in exchange for their share of Throndsen east land, they will ensure financial support for our efforts. It is imperative that the heir remains the scapegoat for any suspicion. His position ensures plausible deniability for all parties involved."
"The meeting tomorrow must conclude with an agreement. Remind the Throndsen heir that his loyalty to maintaining the family's alliances outweighs any personal ambition."
Arlon's grip tightened on the letter, his jaw clenching. The Celestial Clan. The Pry. So, this is what they were up to. The three nobles had struck a deal with the Clan—a deal to hand over Throndsen east land in exchange for financial support. And they planned to frame him, the heir, as the one behind it all.
"Lovely bunch, aren't they?" Ace muttered, reading the letter over Arlon's shoulder. "Selling off land to the Celestial Clan and pinning the blame on you. Classy."
Arlon didn't reply, his mind racing. The three nobles had been against him taking the heir's title from the very beginning—he remembered that much from the novel. They hadn't agreed to his appointment, and now, they were twisting the role of heir to their advantage.
Their ploy to frame him wasn't just about discrediting him; it was about forcing him to carry the burden of their schemes, so they could claim innocence while benefiting from the deal.
He set the letter aside and moved to the bookshelf next. His hands brushed over the spines of the books, scanning for anything that seemed out of place. Many were large volumes on history and politics, clearly for show. Then, his fingers found a gap—a space too small for a book but just wide enough for something to be hidden. Reaching in, he pulled out a small ledger.
Scrrrk—
Flipping it open, he scanned the contents. It was handwritten, the script hasty but legible, detailing transactions and notes. It was a financial log, and as Arlon read, the pieces of the conspiracy became clearer.
"Dwyer: 10,000 crowns—arranged transport for Clan operatives."
"Everson: 15,000 crowns—secured loyalty from smaller noble families to sway the vote."
"Fontaine: 20,000 crowns—bribes to key council members for their silence."
Arlon's jaw tightened further. They were using their funds to not only secure the deal with the Celestial Clan but also to manipulate other nobles into supporting their actions—or at least turning a blind eye. The money was coming from Throndsen resources, disguised as necessary expenses to "maintain the family's alliances."
"They're bleeding the family dry," Arlon muttered, his voice low with restrained anger. "And framing me as the one responsible."
Ace hissed softly, his tail flicking irritably. "I never liked these guys, but this is a new low. What's next, though? Got enough proof, or are we looking for the cherry on top?"
Arlon's gaze flicked to the painting above the fireplace. It was too prominent, too perfectly placed to be ordinary. Setting the ledger aside, he approached the painting, his fingers running along the edges of the frame.
Creak—
Sure enough, he found a hidden groove at the bottom. With a soft push, the painting swung outward, revealing a small compartment.
Inside was a black leather-bound folder, its edges worn from frequent handling. Arlon pulled it free and opened it, revealing a set of carefully written documents.
The first page outlined the terms with chilling precision: "In exchange for Throndsen east land along the eastern border, the Celestial Clan will ensure annual financial support of 100,000 crowns…"
"The transfer of land will be formalized through a forged decree bearing the Throndsen heir's signature."
The second page bore the forged decree itself, complete with an exact replica of Arlon's signature. The words accused him of willingly ceding the land to the Celestial Clan in exchange for "strengthening ties" between the two factions.
Ace let out a low whistle. "That's it. That's the nail in the coffin. These guys are done."
Arlon tucked the documents into his bag, his movements quick and precise. "Not yet. This isn't over until I've exposed them."
Arlon scanned the study one final time, his sharp gaze ensuring nothing appeared out of place. The documents—tangible evidence of the conspiracy—rested securely in the satchel strapped beneath his shirt. He moved toward the door, his reach on the knob, preparing to slip out unnoticed.
A faint creak shattered the stillness, followed by the soft shuffle of footsteps. Arlon's hand froze on the doorknob, his senses sharpening as the sounds stopped just beyond the door.
Flip— Flip—
The narrator screen flickered faintly, its golden glow reflecting off the polished floor.
[—As Arlon opened the door, he came face-to-face with an unexpected obstacle: a servant. Swift action was no longer optional—it was inevitable.]
Of course, Arlon thought, suppressing a sigh. This won't end without a surprise.