Late afternoon. The sky was dyed orange, stretching low across the western horizon. The weakening sunlight draped buildings and streets in a warm glow, as if scorching the edges of elongated shadows. Thin clouds drifted slowly, reflecting hues of orange and pale red, marking the transition from day to night.
The air felt calmer, yet carried a somber undertone—a brief pause before darkness truly descended. At 5:30 p.m., Zavi had already returned home and was now inside his room, sitting at his desk while writing something.
This Saturday was no different from the previous one. No one was around. His younger sister often spent weekends at her friend's house, the same place Zavi had visited before. His older brother, Ren, was nowhere to be found, and his mother was taking a break from selling goods, still unaware that her son had regained consciousness, intending to search for a specialist who could awaken him.
The tapping sound between pen and desk broke the afternoon silence inside the room. His thoughts lingered on the earlier incident—an unknown individual who had suddenly attacked him.
What did I do wrong? That was the only question in Zavi's mind right now. He had yet to realize that four people from one of the most infamous hunter groups in the Kingdom of Norn were currently after him, acting under orders from a high-ranking member of the sect, Conwuqoam.
There was not just one heretical sect within the Kingdom of Norn. There were three, and each was hostile toward the others: Finiscya, Aperomodia, and Jitzurzaku, the last of which openly despised the other two.
If those three sects were to wage war, each possessed dozens of members, not ordinary individuals, but powerful and cunning Receivers and Hollows among them.
A single heretical sect alone was enough to threaten the existence of the Kingdom of Norn.
Let alone if all three clashed directly. Such a scenario was possible, yet the sect leaders were not foolish enough to allow it. Still, individual Receivers and Hollows would exploit the chaos, throwing the entire kingdom into disorder.
Naturally, King Maeress De Norn would not remain idle upon his throne. He deployed guards and soldiers across seven cities, including the capital, and occasionally ordered the mercenary group Devouring Dark, under the leadership of the Morotuane Church, to exterminate all sects operating within his territory.
After all, they were not only dealing with heretical organizations. Devouring Dark often hunted terrorists—Hollows and Receivers alike—each bearing their own codenames. This made information gathering extremely difficult for Devouring members.
...
In the capital city of Sarvena, the heart of the Kingdom of Norn, a magnificent building stood with gleaming marble and gold-plated walls—a symbol of prosperity the kingdom was determined to preserve.
The meeting room inside was lit only by three candles and the dim glow of a hanging lamp above. The king sat at the end of a long table, fingers interlocked. On his right sat two dukes, calm and composed. On his left, a count stood with his back straight, his face nearly expressionless.
Five guards lined the walls beside the entrance, overseeing the crucial discussion taking place within.
"The destruction of Castle Eaurealis and the cathedral's two bell towers cannot be ignored," the king said. "The people are beginning to question whether this kingdom is still safe."
"That is precisely why firmness is required, Your Majesty," one of the dukes replied. "Doubt is an invitation. Other nations are always waiting for an opening."
The king fell silent—not out of fear, but because of a thought that never stopped haunting him: the safety of his people. Or perhaps, his own safety.
The count stepped half a pace forward. "We have prepared follow-up measures. Increased surveillance in major markets, distribution restrictions, and screening based on specific eye traits."
"That…" The king hesitated, inhaled, then continued. "Is there a complete report?" he asked, crossing his arms before resting them beneath his chin.
A faint smile appeared on the duke's face. "Peace always demands sacrifice, Your Majesty."
The king nodded slowly. At that moment, the decision had already been made, not by him, but in his name.
The tension eased, until the meeting room doors were thrown open.
A soldier wearing a military cap rushed in with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He knelt, one hand pressed to his chest.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. Honorable Dukes."
The king and both dukes rose at once.
"What is it?" one of the dukes asked.
The soldier raised his head. His expression was rigid, almost cold. "That group… has begun distributing threat letters. Addressed to high-ranking nobles and regional rulers."
The two dukes exchanged glances. A brief whisper followed. The count showed no reaction, as if he had anticipated this turn of events and was already considering what would come next.
The king exhaled. His voice was restrained, yet firm. "Mobilize the forces. Secure the capital. And ensure those letters do not reach the public."
"Yes, sir."
The soldier saluted, then stepped back slowly before turning and disappearing into the palace's long corridor.
...
Still on the same day. Inside the residence of Duke Hamrautav Avvalen, who was currently in a meeting with the king discussing important matters.
However, without his knowledge, his wife and two children had already been murdered by two mysterious individuals. A beautiful young maid reported the incident, informing that their mistress and the two young masters had been killed. She did not know the perpetrators' motive, yet her demeanor suggested something unsettling, as if she wanted to imply her own involvement.
Around ten servants, two male cooks, and five male guards witnessed the horrifying sight inside the lavish bedroom—a room now steeped in terror.
The three bodies were pinned side by side against the wall, their hands and feet pierced by iron spikes roughly twenty centimeters long. Fresh blood still seeped from their palms, slowly flowing toward their necks, soaking their elegant gowns and fine clothing. What silenced everyone, however, was the fact that all three were still faintly conscious. It was clear the killers had chosen a method that was cruel, slow, and agonizing.
Another oddity soon became apparent. No one had heard any screams or sounds minutes before the maid reported the incident.
Strange. Yet undeniable.
Panic, confusion, and revulsion filled the room. One of the male guards finally decided to leave the residence, rushing toward the palace to inform Duke Hamrautav Avvalen of what had occurred.
...
The following day. Sunday. When Duke Hamrautav saw his wife and both his son and daughter killed in such a manner, he could not accept it.
News of their deaths spread rapidly across Sarvena, MonittyCity, Blacan, and even reached Moran in the far east. Yet some individuals in Moran felt a twisted sense of satisfaction upon hearing the news.
The problem was not the dukes themselves. The problem was who held power at that time. Duke Hamrautav Avvalen, for example, held strict political views, controlled Pavkiche City, and governed half of the Blacan region.
Another duke as renowned as Hamrautav, MilleonardAhiston, was close to the king and ruled GreyHeaven—the hub of steam trade and the primary source of the kingdom's essential supplies.
As for the other dukes, they governed Monitty City, known for its deep-rooted culture; Creanvell, the industrial city; Minehold, the city of gas and underground night markets; and Greysia, a city famed for its herbal drinks believed to strengthen the body and cure minor illnesses.
Some citizens even expressed gratitude toward the killer responsible for the act. However, such thoughts only lingered among those who still harbored resentment; others paid it no mind at all.
For them, living peacefully and being able to work as usual was more than enough. They did not care about political turmoil in distant cities, including the capital. Their attention was focused on far more immediate threats: supernatural phenomena, hidden evil sects, terrorists, lurking monsters, and dangerous spirits, anything that could claim their lives and the lives of their families at any moment.
One of those people was Zavi Actitus.
At midday, just after stepping out onto the street in front of his house following a long sleep plagued once again by nightmares, someone handed him a black-and-white newspaper.
On the front page was a clear illustration of the three victims' faces, accompanied by news of the duke's wife and children being murdered by someone presumed to harbor deep resentment toward them.
"Isn't this news terrible?" Zavi muttered, frowning. "If this leads to war or some senseless unrest, this city will definitely be affected."
He glanced back, staring at the street where his house stood at the far end.
"Damn it," he muttered irritably.
Zavi tossed the newspaper into a trash bin and continued on his way.
Five minutes later, he arrived at a café owned by an elderly man he considered meticulous in business matters.
Inside the café, he sat calmly beside a window adorned with long pots of ornamental plants, waiting for his order to arrive.
Across from him sat a man who had read the instructions carefully: Moreira Lounge, come alone as requested, sit and wait for the order, and discuss the proposed cooperation.
In their minds, both had been anticipating this conversation, believing it to be the only way for their long-held goals to be achieved more quickly.
Moreira wanted to rid himself of the strange nightly sensation that robbed him of sleep, while Zavi sought to eliminate the influence of his nightmares—along with uncovering the composition of the herbal potion so he could fully control the Prisoner ability.