The underground didn't care for titles. Here, even an emperor's name could be tossed in the gutter and forgotten by sunrise.
Lady Mary of the central city—cousin to the reigning Emperor Lukas of Erlost, and once the envy of the court—sat in the corner of a raucous alehouse, fingers tight around a silver fan that hadn't opened all night. Her eyes were sharper than ever. Tonight, the name haunting her was Wisteria
"Wisterian blood," she whispered.
Dahlia, seated beside her, tapped ash from her pipe. "Where?"
"That girl." Mary gestured subtly toward a figure beyond the smoke, half-shrouded in darkness. "The curve of her chin, the way she walks. I've seen Naina move like that."
Dahlia didn't answer immediately.
Mary leaned closer. "You knew I was looking for her. For years. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because there was nothing to tell," Dahlia said coolly.
It had been nine years since Wisteria fell. Naina, the noblewoman who once ruled the land, had vanished with her children after being declared a traitor for allegedly plotting rebellion against the Willow household. Her husband, a foreigner of no noble blood, had once healed her from a deadly illness and was rewarded with her hand. His potions—some whispered the work of a fairy—made Wisteria famous and enviably wealthy.
Too famous. Too free.
"Lukas seized the household, declared them enemies of the crown. Yet not a drop of Wisterian blood was spilled," Dahlia said, voice low. "Naina's cousin bought them out. Pardoned them quietly. A mercy Lukas wouldn't have given himself."
"A mercy that ruined everything," Mary hissed.
She had begged for the estate—not just the land, but the secrets that came with it. Rumors claimed Naina's chamber held vials of gold-threaded potion, formulas for beauty, youth, and grace.
"I asked Lukas for the residence. And what did he give me? A broken greenhouse."
Mary turned to Dahlia. "I want the full ownership. Now. I know you have it."
"I don't."
"Don't lie. We were friends."
"It wasn't me who bought the estate. It was Earl Heraldson. Naina's distant cousin. He bought it during the auction. Lukas allowed it to silence sympathizers."
Mary's jaw clenched. "And you believed he freed her?"
"He wanted the prestige, not the burden. No one has seen Naina since."
"I don't understand why he did that despite the power he has" Mary grunt.
"Maybe the emperor feared what was in that house. Or maybe, just maybe, he knew he had no right to it.
Mary stilled."What do you mean"
Dahlia didn't answer.
But the silence spoke.
Wisteria was supposed to fall because of rebellion. Because its lady, Naina, and her husband Alfred were accused of treason. That was the official record.
But Mary had seen the edges of the story fray. She remembered Thalia—Lukas's wife—dying in a bloodbath that should never have happened. She remembered whispers of a man with healing hands and immortal blood, a man who wasn't from Erlost but from elsewhere.
"It's because he was afraid," Dahlia said quietly. "Afraid of what Wisteria still kept. Afraid that if he claimed that house, something—or someone—would come knocking."
Mary went still.
She remembered those nights—rumors spreading through the palace. Of a healer, not of noble blood, who married Naina. Of potions that made her beautiful beyond reason. Of a man who appeared out of nowhere and made the Wisteria region richer than half of Erlost.
And then... silence.
No trial. No execution. Only words sealed in history as "rebellion."
But Mary had always suspected there was more.
"They say he died," she murmured. "But no body was ever shown. Not even to Lukas."
Dahlia exhaled smoke. "You think Alfred's still alive?"
"I think Lukas knows something," Mary said. "Something he never wrote down. Something tied to the day his wife died."
The name Thalia didn't leave her lips, but it lingered between them.
The woman who was never human. A half-snake, a Nabau. A secret Lukas had planned to reveal.
But the day he gathered the court...
She was found dead.
And before anyone could name her truth, the world called it rebellion.
Erlost was nearly razed. The snake people stormed the capital, wild with grief. Their princess had been promised safety. And they believed the humans had failed her.
Alfred running through fire to protect Thalia.
His body never found.
His name never cleared.
Just a story rewritten in Lukas's voice.
"The rebellion," Dahlia said, her voice quiet, "was not what they said it was."
"No," Mary replied, eyes burning. "It was a cover. A failure. A punishment for telling the truth."
She turned back toward the girl across the room.
"You think I still believe that house holds recipes? Beauty secrets?" she scoffed. "No, Dahlia. I want the truth. Whatever that man—fairy, myth, whatever he was—left behind, it's more than a vial of youth."
"Then why accuse me?" Dahlia asked. "You think I bought her? Naina's child?"
"I saw it in her posture. In her face."
"She's not mine."
"Then who does she belong to?"
Dahlia smiled faintly. "No one belongs to anyone in the underground, Mary. Not anymore."
Mary stared at her for a moment. Then quietly said, "You protected them. I don't know why. But you did."
Dahlia didn't answer.
But in her silence, Mary heard the echo of a name not spoken aloud:
Alfred.
The man who tore apart history just by existing.
As Mary stood to leave, she whispered under her breath, "I will find them, Dahlia. And when I do, I'll take what Lukas was too much of a coward to claim."
A group of half-drunken men stared toward them. One with silver-studded ears slammed his chair down across from them.
Dahlia crossed her legs slowly, resting one thigh over the other, her pipe hanging lazily from her lips. Her leg bounced slightly, drawing attention. Her gaze locked with the brute across them.
He reeked of sweat, clad in rough leather like a northern raider. His arms bulged with scars and pride. The men behind him murmured. Boisterous laughter, the clinking of metal mugs, and the sudden crash of ale spilling across the floor. A group of half- drrunken men stared toward Mary and Dahlia with leering hunger.
One of them, all gold teeth and filth, slammed his chair down across from them.
"Ladies," he greeted with the smug grin of someone who mistook breeding for bait.
Dahlia puffed on her pipe again, smoke curling like a veil between them.
"She's a servant," Dahlia said flatly. "Maybe adopted. Maybe bred for elegance by the merchant who owns her. You know how things are done down here."
"No. I know you," Mary said. "You hide truths when they're inconvenient."
Another clatter from the drunken group. One man started toward them, but the gold-toothed one raised a hand.
"She yours?" he asked Dahlia, eyes flicking toward Mary with a grin. "You two together?"
Mary lifted her chin. "Say that again."
He stepped closer.
But Dahlia moved first—her foot shot out, catching the edge of his chair and toppling him to the floor.
"I don't own anyone," she said, voice like frost.
The tavern went quiet.
In that hush, Mary stood.
"I'm sick," she said quietly. "I don't have much time. I wasted years searching."
"Please sit down Your Grace" Dahlia change the way she call Mary.
"Njord, stop disturbing those women. You aren't worthy," said a smaller, blue-eyed man—clearly Erlost-born. Mary recognized him. They all did.
"We have our women. But wouldn't it be better to have theirs?" Njord sneered. "Underground has no laws."
He reached toward Dahlia's thigh.
Without blinking, she pressed the burning end of her pipe against his face.
He screamed, coughing from the drugged spice. Chaos stirred, but no one interfered. Not here.
Mary was frightened but stayed still. She trusted Dahlia.
"Law or not," said the blue-eyed man, sipping his ale, "that woman could rewrite the law. Or put your head on a spike."
He pointed at Mary. "My lady," he greeted.
Mary tilted her head.
"Njord, she's the princess. Sit, or I'll be the one spiking your head."
Another man dragged Njord back, grunting in defeat.
Mary exhaled. "Why bring me here, Dahlia? This place has no charm. It stinks."
"Because this pit will save you. Not your castle," Dahlia said.
A man entered—tall, cloaked, masked in white with only eye holes. He looked like a merchant, clean but scentless.
"There he is," Dahlia said. "That man is what we came for."
Alias: The Albatross.
His table glowed faintly—a line of vials shimmering under candlelight. In a place that reeked of sweat and drink, those vials looked holy.
"One sip," Dahlia whispered, "even the dead might crawl back."
The garden behind the palace was unnatuDahlia said to Mary, their existence in here no one would know. This is where people would help conceal each other's crimes. It would bring greater joy and luck if people noticed who you are—it will protect you even more, especially when you are alone. Because they came into the place unguarded.
That masked man who came late was wearing a full-faced white mask, with only holes for eyes. His attire seemed decent, like a merchant. He had no scents on him, unlike a wealthy man who often sprayed various perfumes on their body to display their wealth. Or he came from a place just like those barbaric people who smelled like faulty sweat? But he's too decent for it.
"That man is what we came for."
Alias: The Albatross.
"His items are rare. You see those vials he put on the table?"
That place was filled with unpleasant smells and dim light, but those vials were shining bright, shimmering in the dark.
When Mary saw it, her eyes glued to it.
"One sip of those tiny potions—even a dead person would come back to life. Crawl back from the dead."
"How come?"
Mary's breath was unsettled. She touched the fabric covering her skin, her face.
"Will those make me young again?"
Mary recalled and seemed to realize—Dahlia seemed to never age a bit, although it had been nine years since they had last seen each other. No wrinkles. She saw the thin body shape beneath her delicate Raellan attire.
"How could you never tell me? You lied to me again, Dahlia."
"I didn't know your condition… your story. I was too upset when I just heard you turned into such a way—scary to look at, despite the power and money you've got."
Dahlia apologized for her rude words.
"But here, we know—bringing you to this unpleasant place, this dirty pit—is what will save you. Not that heavily guarded castle of yours, My Lady."
"I don't trust you."
Those vials were decreasing each time they talked, and they just sat there, watching the crazy ruckus of people wanting those precious items.
"Their behavior doesn't seem like it," Dahlia said, smoking again.
The ruckus was shouting and screaming, but not a fight. The vials were auctioned—every two bottles were auctioned off until all would be finished.
"Didn't you say Alfred's body was never found?"
"Could that man be him? He might've crawled back to life drinking the potion himself—while making it."
"Get me one of those," Mary said urgently, getting up from the table. Her skin itched, thinking what Dahlia said might be true.
Dahlia giggled.
"He only comes once in a while. Months? Maybe a year? I don't think he would come again after this." Dahlia joked around.
Mary felt angry. She didn't care if it was true or not—joke or not—she wanted those shimmering potions. She needed to grip them in her hand. Even if it might be a fake medicine, that man might be a fake healer. He might be pretending to be Alfred.
All that mattered—she needed to taste it. What it could cost her was only money.
She had plenty of it.
"10k gold coins for all those precious vials you've got on the table, gentleman," Dahlia said, placing a glittering sack on the table she sat at.
The ruckus didn't seem surprised by what she did.
"That's why I told you to bid early! That woman would buy everything at the very last moment, you dimwit!"
"Arrgh! Not again!" they dismissed madly, throwing tantrums.
"Please! Please… My daughter is very sick—she needs this!! My lady, I couldn't offer more other than your kindness," said a young man who didn't bother to wear something covering his face.
A man that couldn't outbid anything in the crowd because he spoke so little and couldn't bid at all—because he didn't have the money.
"That's not my problem. You should've taken the chance when I sat down quietly. I can take all of it."
A masked man—but a different one—came to Dahlia, presenting her the last vial set carefully in a wooden box.
The glass. Shimmering.
Mary touched it.
That man gripped the monkey-masked man, asking for the vial—if it's the last one—but he walked away towards the white-masked man. Sooner, both vanished.
"Come to the estate in Gloria. Find a young man called Addy. You might get one for free," Dahlia whispered to the man plopped on the ground.