SIX MONTHS LATER…
A man in a dark cloak moved through the streets of Freedonia, his hood pulled low over his face. A foolish name, really. It had once been Faelor—the City of Sound—so named because the mountain winds would hum through its ridges, weaving an eerie melody through the streets. But the resistance…in all their arrogant pride had rechristened to…Freedonia.
His steps were steady, unhurried, blending into the rhythm of the restless night. Around him, men and women revelled in their brief hours of freedom, voices rising in drunken camaraderie, their laughter rough with exhaustion.
He slipped into a bar, its entrance unremarkable, its interior anything but. The air was thick with smoke and the sharp tang of spilled liquor. The din of conversation was loud, reckless—the kind of talk that only the drunk and desperate indulge in.
At the bar, a heavyset man poured drinks with a practiced ease, his grin wide and easy in the clear signs of a profitable night. The cloaked man waited, patient, until the barkeep turned his attention to him.
"What can I get you, my friend?"
"I'm waiting for someone."
The barkeep's smile didn't waver. "Busy night. Who are you waiting for?"
"You'd know him. His skin is white, and he bleeds red."
A pause. The grin faltered—only for a second—before the barkeep wiped a glass and responded.
"What is his trade?"
"Freedom."
Another beat of silence. Then, the barkeep gave a small nod. "Follow me."
The man complied, slipping behind the counter as the barkeep led him through a narrow passage, weaving between barrels of aged wine. Then, with a practiced flick of his wrist, the barkeep moved one of the larger vats aside, revealing a hidden door.
'How cliché', the man thought, a smirk tugging at his lips.
The room beyond was dimly lit, thick with the scent of dust and damp wood. Only one other person sat inside. A figure clad in deep red, their hood drawn so low that their features were nothing more than a shadowed suggestion.
The barkeep gave the faintest nod before stepping out, sealing the door behind him.
The cloaked man remained standing for a moment, observing. His counterpart was tense, shoulders rigid, hands twitching slightly against his cloak. Nervous.
"Why so uneasy?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost amused as he finally took a seat.
The informer let out a harsh breath. "Because we're being hunted," he muttered. "Picked off one by one. And no one knows how."
"You're in your own city now," the man countered, tilting his head slightly. "Surely you're safer here. Take off your hood."
A derisive snort. "Your hood is still up. Don't give me that 'safe' nonsense."
The man didn't reply. But the informer got the distinct impression that he was smiling beneath his mask.
Eager to move on, the informer leaned forward. "What squad are you from?"
The man chuckled. "I think it's best if we keep our backgrounds… masked…don't you?"
The informer exhaled sharply, then gave a knowing smile. "The weather has been rather pleasant today, don't you think?"
"It has," the man agreed, "But it'll be even better when it's white and red, rather than black."
The informer stilled. "This city isn't black."
"No," the man murmured. "And one day, not a single one will be."
The exchange was complete. The coded words confirming both their identities.
Tension shifted into something sharper, more focused. The man leaned in. "Fort Lanai. When?"
The informer hesitated only a moment before answering. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Two weeks. They'll strike in two weeks."
The man's expression remained unreadable under the hood, the shadows seeming to coalesce around his features. "Do you know how?"
The informer chuckled, a bitter, humorless sound. "Of course."
"Then you must be highly trusted."
A flicker of pride entered the informer's voice. "I am. Anything for the resistance."
"Details," the man pressed.
"They plan to use tunnels," the informer said. "A diversionary force will attack above ground while the real strike comes from beneath. They're making their move while Commander Ravix is out."
A pause. The man's eyes darkened beneath his hood. "How do they know he'll be absent?"
"Spies." The informer shrugged. "Fort Lanai has its own share of them. It was only a matter of time before one of them picked up on his schedule."
The man leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Of course."
The informer drummed his fingers on the table. "That's all I have for now. It's getting harder. They're cracking down. People are vanishing."
"How do I know your information is still reliable?"
The informer's lips curled into a smirk. "Because I was told directly. By General Charon himself."
The man studied him for a moment. "Have you shared this with anyone else?"
The informer shook his head. "Too risky."
"Wise choice." The man nodded. "You did well getting here undetected."
The informer pushed his chair back abruptly. "I need to get back. Anything from your end?"
The man shook his head. "I have to relay the information first. You've done your part."
The informer straightened slightly, a self-satisfied smirk returning to his lips. "Well, of course. There aren't many like me, you know. I've been playing this game for years now. Two years of gaining trust, mingling with those Imperial scum." He spat on the ground.
The man watched him, expression unreadable. "Leave now. I'll follow in ten minutes."
The informer nodded, slipping out the door.
Only when the room was empty did Arthur release the breath he'd been holding. The Mask of Shadows dissolved, cool air brushing against his face for the first time in hours.
'One of the last ones,' he thought grimly.
For three months now, Commander Scarlet's unit—along with a select few—had been working to root out informants within the Empire. General Thanason's meticulous planning had ensured that his entire army, save for Arthur and Noah, already had records tying them to the rebel forces. It was a measure of foresight Arthur could only admire.
He and Noah had been the final pieces, their forged records only recently solidified, allowing them to undertake true missions. Arthur had worked alongside Commander Scarlet, infiltrating the network, discovering and weeding out the resistance's spies.
'Two weeks,' Arthur mused. 'So, it's Orpheus.'
Each member of General Charon's inner circle had been fed different invasion dates, each sworn to secrecy. Now they had their answer.
They wouldn't kill Orpheus. He was far too useful.
No—he would serve another purpose.
He would feed them lies, unknowingly. Now that they knew, they could use him as a reliable source of information to trick the rebellion, while keeping themselves in the clear.
Arthur smirked.
The game had only just begun.
Resummoning the Mask of shadows, he waited a while before making his way up.
He gave the barkeep a subtle nod before slipping out into the night, swallowed by the bustling streets of Freedonia.
Time to return.
He moved with purpose, adopting the casual haste of a man eager to be home but not desperate to flee. The moment he reached the city's edge, ensuring no eyes lingered on him, he activated Earthstep.
The ground beneath his feet softened—not quite liquid, not quite solid—yielding just enough to propel him forward with each step. The terrain molded to his movement, absorbing the impact and hardening the instant he passed, reducing the strain on his body. A movement ability, born of his Earth affinity. He was grateful for it.
Combined with Mana Surge, it allowed him to run faster, farther, and with minimal exertion. More importantly, it kept him off the roads—off the grid. No trails, no tracks. Just whispers of dust where he had been.
Still, he couldn't help but compare it to Noah's Wind Sense. A truly broken skill if Noah ever learned how to wield it properly.
"Truly named characters get all the luck," he lamented.
Hours later, Arthur slowed as Fort Lanai's towering walls came into view, its walls cutting into the moonlit sky. He expected to slip in unnoticed. Instead, he found someone waiting for him.
Commander Duleryon.
Arthur clicked his tongue. 'This bastard.'
Unlike the others, Duleryon never let his guard down—not even here, behind their own walls. His sharp, calculating gaze remained ever-watchful, his posture effortlessly indifferent. A silent message.
'I don't trust you. I never will.'
Arthur schooled his expression into one of professional detachment as he approached, snapping a crisp salute.
"Commander."
Duleryon barely acknowledged it. "What did the informant say?"
Arthur got straight to the point. "An invasion in two weeks. General Charon is leading it. They plan to tunnel beneath the Fort while a ground force acts as a diversion."
Duleryon absorbed the information with a single, curt nod. "I'll inform Ravix myself. You are dismissed."
Arthur saluted again before turning toward the barracks, his steps measured. He had no doubt Duleryon was still watching.
Or, more likely, he had already sent someone to tail him. As he neared his quarters, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A shadow slipping into the darkness.
'Predictable', Arthur mused. 'For someone who claims to trust no one, he sure falls into patterns easily'.
Just before he entered the barracks, he passed by an open window, muttering one word under his breath.
"Orpheus."
No one was there to hear it. No one visible, at least.
The barracks were empty—Unit 7 had been assigned night duty. Another calculated move, no doubt to keep him isolated. Arthur changed quickly, climbing into bed with an air of exhaustion. To any observer, he had returned from a mission and fallen into much-needed sleep.
His role was finished.
Now, it was up to Noah.
...................
Noah exhaled slowly, closing his eyes against the chill of the night air.
Activating Wind Sense always put a strain on his mind. The moment he let it flow, his awareness expanded, carried along the currents of the breeze. Conversations drifted to him as if whispered directly into his ear. Every hushed murmur, every rustle of fabric, every breath the wind touched—he heard it all.
He focused, narrowing his range to within the walls of Fort Lanai. Even then, the overlapping voices pressed against his consciousness, threatening to overwhelm.
But he forced himself to focus near the Unit 7 barracks where Arthur had just entered.
Then, faint—almost lost in the wind—he caught it.
"Orpheus."
Noah's eyes snapped open. His body swayed slightly from the strain before he shut down Wind Sense, silencing the flood of voices.
That was it. The name of the informant.
He resumed his patrol as if nothing had happened, walking past Officer Mara, who stood at her usual post.
"Officer." He gave a casual salute.
Mara barely looked at him. "Noah."
A beat of silence.
Then, in the same flat tone, he murmured, "Orpheus."
A slight nod was his only sign that she understood his message. "South station. With Petro."
"Yes, Officer." He saluted again before turning away.
The mission was complete. The information had been passed.
Noah let out a slow breath, relief settling over him.
Now, all that was left… was a long, miserable night of patrolling. A long, miserable, cold night of patrolling.
He sighed, imagining Arthur already sound asleep, wrapped in warmth.
"Some people just have all the luck."