The massive obsidian doors closed with a whisper behind Iresom, leaving Aron and Lasandra alone in the grand chamber. The soft glow of runes carved along the walls cast wavering light across the polished marble floor. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the high pillars, giving the hall a living, breathing quality. The air was cool, heavy, and intoxicating, carrying the faint scent of incense and polished stone.
Lasandra's silver hair shimmered like liquid moonlight, tumbling down her back in a cascade of silver threads. Her crimson dress clung to her form, delicate and almost translucent, revealing curves that could ensnare the minds of any who dared stare too long. Yet there was a danger in her gaze, a warning that she was no ordinary woman, no mere beauty to admire—she was a predator in her own right.
She regarded Aron from across the long dining table, her eyes glinting with curiosity and calculation. "So," she began, her voice smooth as silk, tinged with something sharper underneath, "what is your name, Mr. Chaos-Stirrer?"
Aron's gaze met hers evenly. His expression was blank, calm, yet each flicker of his eyes spoke of quiet intelligence, measured observation, and unspoken danger. He let the silence stretch, weighing her reaction, before finally answering, "Aron… my name is Aron."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a faint flicker of suspicion crossing her delicate features. "Your surname?"
A shadow of a smirk brushed his lips as he shook his head. "I don't have one." A simple lie, but truthful in a sense—his real surname was a mystery even to himself.
Lasandra's gaze lingered, sharp and searching, yet she did not press. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, the subtle sway of her form mesmerizing, her voice low and smooth. "Mr. Aron, I want to know why you breached the Treskson Wall, and how. If you refuse, I will have to use force."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Aron's lips. "Queen Lasandra," he said, deliberately emphasizing her title, "everything has a price, yes? I am well aware of your strength—far beyond mine, for now. But surely… in business, you wouldn't resort to force first?"
Her eyes widened at the use of her title, surprise mirrored even in the stiff posture of Iresom. But she quickly regained composure, narrowing her gaze into a dagger-like focus. "How do you know me? Are you from the upper floors? Or are you working for 'them'?"
The moment she mentioned 'them,' Iresom blurred in place, moving with precision, drawing a slender blade that hovered inches from Aron's eyes. The tension in the room became palpable, the air thick with unspoken threat.
But Aron did not flinch. His violet eyes remained steady, unshaken, calculating. "I cannot kill you two now," he said evenly, his voice low but sharp. "But remember—both of you are still limited on this floor. Escaping for me… is not impossible."
Lasandra studied him, a complex mix of irritation and fascination stirring behind her eyes. A soft exhale escaped her lips, acknowledgment of his truth. "Iresom… retract your blade. Leave us alone."
The butler bowed, sliding the weapon back into its sheath without a word. The room fell into an oppressive silence.
Lasandra's silver hair gleamed under the pale rune-light, and her eyes, once commanding, softened ever so slightly. Suspicion lingered, but curiosity—sharp, dangerous, and personal—sparkled behind her gaze.
"Are you really working for 'them'?" she asked, voice low, dangerous, yet almost seductive. "Then know this—I will not let you leave alive."
Aron tilted his head slightly, a cold smirk forming at the corner of his lips. "I don't know who 'they' are. But know this—I answer to no one, nor would I. And threats… those who threaten me are long gone."
Lasandra's frown deepened, irritation and unease intertwining in her piercing gaze. Who was this man? Calm, measured, completely unreadable… yet undeniably dangerous. Her mind raced, weighing, calculating.
"Then… are you from the upper floors? How else would you know me?" she pressed.
Aron's smile widened, sharp and knowing. "No, you misunderstand. I am not from the upper floors. As for how I know of you… that is a secret."
Her patience, one of her greatest strengths, began to fray. Narrowing her eyes, she activated her Appraisal ability, seeking to peer into the man before her, to discern his strength, his nature. But as her power swept toward him, her system faltered.
[ ERROR! ]
[ ENTITY CANNOT BE APPRAISED! ]
[ ERROR! ]
Lasandra blinked, disbelief flashing across her features. She had appraised beings stronger than herself countless times—this had never happened. Panic and frustration surged as she tried again, her voice tightening with effort.
But the system, visible only to Aron, flared to life.
[ Detected: Someone is trying to Appraise the Host ]
[ Protocol "EMROSSION" Activated ]
[ Protocol "Counter" Activated ]
A sudden, unbearable pain exploded through Lasandra's vision. Her eyes widened in horror, and she rose unsteadily to her feet, her silver hair flowing wildly around her shoulders. Screaming erupted from her throat, raw and guttural:
"Uggghh… AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Blood poured from her eyes as she collapsed to her knees, the rune-light dancing across her crimson dress now tainted with the deep red of her agony. Her screams were swallowed by the soundproof hall, leaving the room in a haunting, eerie silence for all but Aron.
Finally, the screaming ceased, leaving her trembling, seated on the floor, cheeks streaked with blood. She looked at Aron, wide-eyed, fragile, and terrified. "Wha-what are you?! Why isn't my Appraisal ability working… and this… this pain… why… why is it so much?"
Aron rose slowly from his chair, the violet of his eyes cold, measured, almost predatory. He crouched before her, voice a soft whisper brushing her ear. "Queen Lasandra… you know that you shouldn't Appraise just anyone you see. As for the pain…" he leaned back, letting the words linger like smoke. "It's a passive action… not my doing. Haha."
Lasandra's eyes, now wide with disbelief, focused on him with a mixture of fear and fascination. Her mind raced, struggling to reconcile the impossible with what lay before her.
Aron straightened, his gaze sharp, cutting through the haze of the room. His voice dropped, colder than ice. "Well… forget about that. I know of your… 'Problem.' But what I don't understand is… why you are on the 2nd floor?"
At the word Problem, Lasandra's entire body froze. Her cheeks, already pale from the blood and pain, drained even further, leaving her skin nearly translucent. Her pupils dilated in pure horror, her mind grasping at fragments of suppressed memories, secrets, and warnings buried deep within her.
Aron's cold gaze met hers, calculating, patient. The room seemed to contract around them, the silence stretching taut as a drawn bowstring. Lasandra, once the queen of composure, the predator in her own right, now trembled, her mind racing in terror at what he knew… at what she had failed to hide.
The candle-like runes flickered as if trembling alongside her. Aron's voice, calm and deliberate, sliced through the silence. "So… tell me, Queen Lasandra. Why hide from the world what even you fear to reveal?"
Her wide eyes stared into his, horror and curiosity warring within her, and for the first time, she felt… powerless.