Three days had passed since Yeon cast his final two pawns into the Abyss—Caius and Kael, now under the guidance of Zeith and Siron. The scent of Griteul's dust still clung faintly in his mind, a whisper of betrayal that never faded. But now, Yeon's path led north, toward the heart of rotting splendor: Veridian.
The city towered in suffocating layers of luxury, a pyramid of glass and steel piercing the grey clouds. Crystal and steel spires touched the sky, emitting nauseating artificial light—the false brilliance of a civilization brimming with confidence, as if no shadow could ever taint it. Veridian was the canvas of success, the center of legal trade and the global communication network, binding the world in webs of radiant data. Yet Yeon knew—beneath the glittering lights, like ancient roots stretching into darkness—lay the Underworld of Aethel: a network of tunnels and dim corridors, a labyrinth of whispers and secrets, a nest for every kind of information, both sacred and vile. This was where Yeon would seek the buried truths—and the weapons to enact his vengeance.
He walked the damp alleys of Aethel, where whispers of illicit deals rustled like autumn winds, bearing the scent of fear and ambition. The air reeked of old rusted metal, cold earth dampness, and traces of thousands of unspoken stories—whispers of betrayal, broken pacts, and shattered promises. Yeon's footsteps, quiet and measured, carried him through the crowds of the underground black market, where shadows danced between dim oil lamps and suspicious gazes hid in every crevice. He followed a frequency, a resonance only he could perceive, until he reached an unmarked iron door, weathered by time, as though hiding from the chaos of the world above. The door felt cold beneath his touch—a gateway to bitter truths.
Beyond it was not a bustling headquarters, but a single room that felt like the womb of knowledge. Small, yet filled with towering shelves of ancient archives nearly touching the low ceiling, yellowed and brittle scrolls, and rows of crystal screens emitting alien glyphs dancing in muted light—patterns incomprehensible to ordinary eyes. This was The Whispering Archive. A space where time and information converged, intertwined, and danced in orderly chaos. Amid the hushed cacophony sat a man. His hair was neatly combed, his gestures calm, but his eyes—behind a silver-rimmed monocle perched elegantly on his right eye—radiated undeniable sharp intellect, like a blade hidden beneath silk. He was Tavish, 25, the Nameless Chronicler.
"I've been expecting you, Yeon," Tavish said, his voice hoarse yet clear, like the rustling of old paper unrolled. He didn't turn, his eyes still fixed on the moving glyphs on his screen, as though the entire universe was unraveling before him. "Or should I call you 'The One Who Returned from the Rift'? That information shook my matrix. A significant anomaly."
Yeon, rarely surprised, raised an eyebrow. A rare reaction, nearly imperceptible. He stepped closer, his silhouette stretching across the cold stone floor. "How do you know?" His voice was a sharp whisper, like wind across ruins.
Tavish finally turned, a thin smirk etched on his lips, his monocle catching dim light with a mysterious glint. Intellectual satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. "My ability, Yeon, goes beyond collecting raw data or sensor recordings. I see the existential flow of information itself—a red thread connecting engraved pasts, whispering futures, and woven destinies in between." He pointed at several of his crystal screens, now displaying even more chaotic and bizarre glyphs, pulsing with energy only he could decipher. Abstract images flickered: swirling voids, flashes of light, and the silhouette of a man falling into an abyss.
"I saw you fall into that nothingness, discarded like worthless trash," Tavish continued, his tone emotionless, but his words cut cold. "You were seventeen then, weren't you? A fragile age to face such betrayal. They—Velhart, Serena, Droven, Nielle, Dorios—they threw you into the Abyss. At the time, they were already between Levels 4 and 7, far beyond most Vessels at their age. A calculated move. A deliberate sacrifice. For a rotten purpose." He swiped one screen, revealing a visual of a fractured reality, a gaping wound in the universe—Yeon's point of emergence. "Then came the wave. An anomaly in my informational matrix. A crack. And from it, you emerged. An entity that should be dead, now returned with… foreign power. An unpredictable variable that caught my professional attention."
"I tried to look deeper into you," Tavish added, his tone now laced with frustration, like a librarian finding blank pages in a crucial book. "Your past, your motives, your power… but nothing. A void in the universal data. That intrigued me. And annoyed me. An unforgivable anomaly in the data."
A rare smile touched Yeon's lips—a flicker of emotion quickly gone, an unspoken acknowledgment. "So, you know much."
"More than you imagine," Tavish replied, his expression hardening. A faint shadow of sorrow crossed his eyes—like ripples on calm but deep waters. "I know about Griteul. I know who destroyed it. And who orchestrated it. It was a calculated act, arranged by the leaders of those five families to elevate their status before the Central Elite. A hunger for validation that trampled anything in its path."
He clenched his fists under the table, knuckles whitening. A quiet rage, cold as ice but burning. "My parents were in Griteul. They weren't Vessels. They died by the hands of monsters sent to attack—just to cover up those Vessels' filth. I wasn't there then, couldn't do anything, because my power… is only information. No physical strength. Just eyes that see, and a mind that dissects." His eyes blazed with pure hatred. "I hate them, Yeon. I hate every Vessel who uses power recklessly, indifferent to innocent lives. This world needs a counterbalance. A force to bring them to their knees. I'll help you destroy them."
Yeon nodded slowly, a newfound respect in his eyes. This wasn't just an informant, but an ally with the same scars—a thread of fate entwined. "I want information. Everything about Velhart, Serena, Droven, Nielle, and Dorios. Every detail. Every weakness. Every breath they take. I want to know it all."
Tavish gave a rare smile, softened by satisfaction at the intellectual challenge. "A noble goal. I offer more than just a price or data you can buy. I offer a place where my knowledge will shape the world—not just gather it. A partnership that will shake foundations. We can rewrite history, Yeon. Reshape the tide of information."
"And what will I gain from this 'fate'?" Tavish asked, eyes locked on Yeon, seeking validation—something more than transaction. A longing for purpose flickered in him, greater than analyzing data.
"A home," Yeon replied firmly, a promise etched into the heavy air. "A purpose that aligns with your vengeance. And the freedom to assemble the most complex mosaic of knowledge—one that can change the course of history. I see potential in you, Tavish. You're not just an information gatherer, but an architect of truth. We are destroyers of illusion. You'll dissect the lies, and I'll execute the guilty. Together, we will redefine justice."
Tavish extended his hand—a final, absolute gesture, like an unbreakable vow. "I'm listening."
"Welcome to Specter, Tavish," Yeon said, shaking the hand. The cold of Tavish's monocle and his pure intellect merged. "From now on, you are Virgo—our Chronicler. Our eyes and ears, guardian of the history to come. You will ensure there will never be another Griteul. Never again will innocent blood spill without consequence." The bond forged was stronger than a mere business pact. Tavish knew his life would never be the same again. His long-harbored hatred had found a conduit, a purpose greater than himself—a vengeance that would be etched in blood and legend.
With Tavish at his side, Yeon now had access to unparalleled information—a stream that transcended physical data, piercing into the essence of truth itself through Tavish's "Akashic Sight." Tavish began unveiling the details he had gathered—complete and precise—displaying profiles one by one on his flickering crystal screens. Each fact, a newly sharpened blade.
"These five," Tavish began, sweeping the screens with elegant gestures, pointing to a row of faces that radiated arrogance and power, like petty gods. "They've all surpassed Resonance Level 7—the peak level. A rare feat. They are called the most gifted individuals."
He revealed a new glyph, a diagram of Vessel evolution. "Beyond Level 7, it's no longer 'levels'—but 'existence tiers.' There are nine known tiers, and only those with 100% resonance can reach them. These are Ascendant, Transcendent, Primarch, Dominion, Anathema, Mythborne, Paracausal, Eidolon, and Nullgod."
"And among your enemies," Tavish continued, his eyes scanning Yeon's unreadable face, "the weakest is already Ascendant, and the strongest has reached Primarch. A hierarchy you must topple, one by one, from bottom to summit."
He pointed to the first profile. "Serena. Age 22, same as you, Yeon. Ironic, isn't it? A dark mirror of your potential." An image appeared of a graceful woman with a sharp gaze and an overly perfect smile, like a statue carved from ivory—but with a cunning glint. "She is 'The Elegy Deceiver,' Ascendant-level Vessel. Her ability is 'Illusion Weave'—manipulation of perception and reality, creating illusions so flawless they can kill. She serves as the head of diplomacy in the Northern Alliance, the mastermind behind the fabricated narrative of the 'tragic accident' in Griteul. Her power isn't in direct attacks, but in bending truth, reshaping public perception. She built her kingdom on lies—and its foundations will crumble."
Yeon nodded, eyes fixed on Serena's image, as if piercing through her illusions to see the rot within. "She's the first. That mask must be torn off, and her true face shown to the world."
Tavish swiped the screen. "Nielle. Age 25, 'The Silent Shadow,' Ascendant-level. Her ability is 'Shadow Meld'—manipulating shadows, able to move unseen, create shadow illusions, and attack from the shadow dimension. She leads the underground syndicate's security—The Silent Hand—an expert in stealth assassinations and infiltration. She orchestrated the disguised monster assault on Griteul. She is a silent executor, a ghost who leaves no trace—except death."
The third profile appeared. "Dorios. Age 26. Known as 'The Eternal Shield,' Transcendent-level Vessel—second tier. His ability is 'Aegis Imperion'—generating impenetrable shields that deflect both physical and energy attacks, sometimes reflecting them. A prominent military commander of the Tri-Crown Federation. He ensured no Griteul witness escaped. A boulder blocking justice—but every stone can be shattered into dust."
Next, the fourth profile. "Droven. Age 24. Dubbed 'The Fogmaker,' also Transcendent-level. His ability is 'Miasma Veil'—manipulating existential fog and poison, capable of corroding not only flesh but Fragment essence itself. A mad scientist leading the Vessel research department in the Hidden Order. He designed the destabilizing Fragments that annihilated Griteul. A sadist and artist of slow ruin—he will taste his own toxin."
Finally, the fifth profile emerged. "Velhart. Age 27. Their leader, 'Falling Star,' Primarch-level Vessel—third tier and strongest among them. His ability is 'Starfall Manipulation'—control over gravity and cosmic energy, able to summon meteors or create micro black holes. The true architect behind countless events."
Yeon nodded slowly, absorbing every word. The pressure in the room thickened—as if each name carried the weight of inevitable destruction. A blood oath had been silently sworn, binding them both to a merciless destiny.