The halls of the Assassin Federation were quieter than they had been in decades. But it wasn't the kind of silence that brought peace—it was the silence of panic, of clenched jaws and thoughts louder than speech.
Monitors blinked with no new data. Reports were overdue. Names once spoken with casual confidence were now whispered like prayers.
One name had brought this storm of dread.
Zeph.
He wasn't just a commander. He was a symbol. A warrior built from blood, fire, and resolve. A man whose scars told the story of battles others wouldn't even dare to imagine. Now, he was hanging on by a thread.
Inside the control chamber, tension pulsed like a second heartbeat. The air was thick with fear. Not fear of death, but fear of uncertainty—the kind that made even veterans flinch.
That was when the doors slammed open.
In walked Zixuan, one of the Four Commanders of the Federation. His presence was sharp. Not loud. Not theatrical. Just… certain. The kind of certainty that came when someone had seen too much to flinch anymore.
"Status," he said flatly.
A girl in round glasses—barely twenty, hair tied too tight to her scalp—stood up, swallowed hard, and said, "Still no contact. Zeph's last signal went dark. He triggered an emergency flare through his uniform tech, but we haven't been able to reach him or the team since."
Zixuan's jaw tensed.
"I want an emergency summit," he said. "Now. Not just the Federation. We need the Hunters and the Sorcerers too. This isn't a mission gone wrong—this is war knocking on our doorstep."
The girl nodded quickly. "Y-Yes, Commander. I'll relay the order."
Zixuan's eyes swept across the holo-board. A red zone blinked where Zeph's signal had last pulsed. It looked small, but the weight it carried was enormous.
He turned back to the girl. "Who the hell are we even dealing with?"
The girl hesitated. "The group calls themselves… Aria of Veins."
Zixuan raised a brow. "A cult?"
"We're not sure," she admitted, fingers trembling. "But their members are far beyond normal operatives."
She tapped her screen, and names began to appear in red.
Noct, the Prince of Agony.
Spindle, the Unmoving Blade.
Cadenza, the Broken Child.
Magi, Psychology's Last Hope.
Sairen Ashvolt, the Left Arm of the Symphony.
Muthir Jasha, the Master of Illusions.
Zixuan read them twice. Then his eyes locked on one.
"Ashvolt?" His voice cracked ever so slightly. "Did you say Sairen Ashvolt?"
The girl nodded again. "Yes, sir. He's confirmed to be with them."
Zixuan stepped back like he'd been slapped. "He was one of us. One of the best assassins the Federation ever raised. They called him Deity-class for a reason. How the hell did he end up with them?"
The girl didn't answer. She couldn't.
"And the recruits? How many made it back?"
"Three," she said quietly. "Neo. Shiro. Tian Yu. Hlanya too, but she's unconscious."
He looked at her, his expression darkening. "And Nana?"
Her lips parted. She hesitated.
"She… didn't make it."
For a moment, time slowed. You could hear the hum of the power grid, the distant click of someone's boots down the hallway. Zixuan's breath caught. His eyes lowered—not in defeat, but in grief.
"She was just a kid," he muttered. "But brave."
He didn't allow himself more than a second. "Where are the others?"
"In the clinic, sir."
Zixuan nodded. "Good. I'll speak to them myself before we meet the other Orders. I need to know exactly what we're facing. Because this?"
He looked down at the names again—those red names glowing like curses.
"This isn't just another mission. This is the start of something bigger."
He turned and walked away, cape brushing the ground behind him.
And in the silence that followed, even the walls seemed to shiver.