The transition from the VEIL to the physical world was a violent decompression.
Ryo Kanzaki gasped as his lungs suddenly remembered the weight of real atmosphere. He was slumped in his chair, his head lolling against the obsidian headrest. A thin trail of blood leaked from his left nostril, staining the collar of his charcoal suit.
[WARNING: NEURAL SYNCHRONIZATION EXCEEDED SAFE PARAMETERS. CAUSAL RESIDUE DETECTED.]
The red text flickered in his vision before fading. Ryo ignored it. He was staring at his hands. They were trembling, not from fear, but from the lingering vibration of Shinketsu no Kiba. For a few seconds in that simulation, he hadn't just seen the sword; he had felt its hunger. It was an ancient, predatory intent that made his own desire to kill seem like a child's tantrum.
"Raigen Kurosawa," Ryo whispered, the name tasting like iron and ash.
He reached for his notebook. His fingers were stiff, but the urge to write was a physical ache. He didn't write about the sword. He wrote about the silence that follows a great storm. He wrote about how a memory can become a ghost that haunts the living until they become ghosts themselves.
A chime echoed through the apartment. It wasn't the rhythmic pulse of Mika or the sharp ping of a delivery. It was a heavy, persistent thud.
Manual knocking. A rarity in the Astra Dominion.
Ryo wiped the blood from his face with a silk handkerchief and stood up. He smoothed his suit, checked his reflection—the mask was back in place—and walked to the door.
Detective Daniel Hartmann stood in the hallway.
He looked even more out of place in the sterile, high-tech corridor of the 'Aspirant Heights' than he did in the Undercity. He was soaking wet, his trench coat dripping onto the polished white floor. He was holding a soggy paper bag and a digital badge.
"Mr. Kanzaki," Hartmann said, his voice a gravelly baritone. "Sorry to drop in unannounced. My name is Daniel Hartmann. Nexa Homicide."
Ryo leaned against the doorframe, the picture of elegant curiosity. "A detective? To what do I owe the honor? Has there been a disturbance in the building?"
Hartmann's eyes, sharp and cynical, scanned Ryo's face, then drifted briefly to the interior of the apartment. Ryo could feel the man's intent—it was a heavy, blunt pressure, like a mallet hitting a bell. There was no finesse in Hartmann's mind, only a stubborn, relentless pursuit of a single thread.
"No disturbance," Hartmann replied. "Just following a lead. I'm a fan of your work, actually. Read 'The Anatomy of a Shadow' twice. Dark stuff. Very… insightful."
"I'm flattered, Detective. But I doubt you came here to discuss literary themes in the rain."
"You're right," Hartmann said, pulling a small evidence bag from his pocket. Inside was a high-resolution photo of the ink residue found in Hideo Vance's throat. "I came because I found a very specific kind of ink at a crime scene last night. 'Obsidian Crow' brand. Rare. Expensive. Only three shops in Astra stock it. One of them mentioned that you're their most loyal customer."
Ryo didn't blink. He allowed a small, thoughtful smile to play on his lips. "It's a superior ink. It flows well. It has a weight that digital text lacks. Are you suggesting that buying ink is now a suspicious activity?"
"In this city? Everything is suspicious," Hartmann grunted. "Can I come in? It's a bit damp out here."
Ryo hesitated for a fraction of a second. He could hear the 'Surface Echo' of Hartmann's thoughts: *The kid is too calm. He's either innocent or he's a professional.*
"Of course," Ryo said, stepping aside. "But I'm afraid I'm in the middle of a chapter. I can only spare a few minutes."
Hartmann walked into the living room, his wet boots leaving dark prints on the white rug. He walked straight to the window, looking out at the VEIL anniversary displays flickering in the distance.
"Vance was a piece of work," Hartmann said, his back to Ryo. "I spent three years trying to put him behind bars. Every time I got close, the 'Causal Integrity' board shut me down. They said his contribution to the Neuroshard economy was too great to disrupt."
"A common story in the Dominion," Ryo remarked, sitting on the edge of his obsidian desk. "The system values the outcome more than the process."
"Maybe," Hartmann turned around. "But someone changed the process last night. Someone used a very sharp, very precise instrument to edit Vance out of the picture. And they left a message. At least, that's how I read it."
"A message?"
"The ink," Hartmann said, stepping closer. "It wasn't just a residue. My forensics guy found that the ink was used to write a single word on the inside of Vance's esophagus. We had to use a causal scanner to see it."
Ryo felt a thrill of cold delight run down his spine. He hadn't realized he had done that. It was as if his subconscious had taken the pen while his mind was focused on the kill.
"And what was the word, Detective?"
Hartmann stared at him, his gaze unyielding. " *Prologue.* "
The silence in the room became a physical presence. Ryo could hear the hum of the air purifier, the distant drone of the city, and the slow, heavy thrum of Hartmann's heart.
"An interesting choice," Ryo said quietly. "It suggests that the real story is just beginning."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Hartmann replied. He reached into his soggy paper bag and pulled out a book. It was Ryo's latest release. "Would you mind signing this for me? My partner, Kenji, thinks I'm wasting my time here. I'd like to prove to him that I at least got an autograph."
Ryo took the book and the pen Hartmann offered—a cheap, plastic thing. He signed his name with a fluid, practiced grace.
As he handed the book back, their fingers brushed.
Ryo's Cognitive Hearing exploded.
He didn't just hear Hartmann's thoughts; he saw a flash of a memory. A dark room. A younger Hartmann standing over the body of a woman. A shattered Neuroshard on the floor. A voice whispering: *It wasn't an accident. It was a choice.*
Ryo pulled his hand away, his eyes widening for a heartbeat before he suppressed the reaction.
Hartmann didn't notice the flicker. He tucked the book under his arm and headed for the door. "Thanks for the time, Mr. Kanzaki. I'll let you get back to your writing. I'm looking forward to seeing where the story goes next."
"Detective," Ryo called out as Hartmann reached the door.
Hartmann stopped. "Yeah?"
"Be careful," Ryo said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Sometimes, the protagonist doesn't survive the first act."
Hartmann gave a grim nod. "In my line of work, the protagonist usually dies before the book even starts. See you around, Kanzaki."
The door slid shut.
Ryo stood in the center of the room, the silence pressing in on him. He felt a strange mixture of admiration and irritation. Hartmann was a relic—a man who still believed in truth in a world governed by cause and effect. He was a dangerous variable.
Ryo walked back to his desk and opened his notebook to a new page. He didn't write about Hartmann.
He began to outline the second murder.
But as his pen touched the paper, the ink began to swirl, forming a shape he hadn't intended. It was the silhouette of a mountain. A mountain in Valgarde.
His Echo Hearing picked up a distant, discordant note.
In a refugee camp on the border of Astra, Rai was sitting in the mud, staring at a Neuroshard he had stolen from a dead soldier. The shard was pulsing with a faint, blue light, reacting to the *Tamashii no Kagi* in his pocket.
And on the mountain pass of Karushi, Raigen was looking at a severed mercenary head, trying to remember if he had ever liked the taste of tea.
The threads were tangling. The weight of the silence was growing.
Ryo Kanzaki realized that he was no longer just the author. He was being written.
He picked up his 'Obsidian Crow' ink and began to refill his pen.
"Let the second act begin," he whispered to the empty room.
From the shadows, Nox Lucis laughed, a sound like glass breaking in a vacuum.
The weight of silence was about to be broken by a scream.