He received a signal in the Golden City.
At first, the Hawk of the Shadows felt the intrusion as a mental disturbance, assuming that a Faceless Conjurer had attacked him. But soon, he realised that it was one of his own sending him information.
You have been compromised, the message said.
"Yes, I know."
You must now abort the mission.
"I cannot."
You are at risk of compromising all of us and our work. You must abandon the mission now.
If he were to remove all faces, then there would be nothing left. Nothing left to sacrifice, to suffer, or to endure. There was nothing left in his heart except the mission, not even his own name.
And yet, to the Hawk, that was a privilege.
He ignored the message and continued onward.
The investigation into the banquets had now ended, allegedly finding nothing that warranted further use of resources. But this only confirmed what he already suspected: the Lords had ordered its closure.
Even so, the Hawk knew where to continue.
His assessment of the Dark Alchemist's body had confirmed what he needed to know.
In the Second Age, a cult within the Bloodlines Clan had broken away, forming a new order that claimed to possess the secret to surpassing Axios. They were known as the Transcendent Clan. They gathered together and arranged their Axiom abilities into the shape of a hexagram, performing rituals that were said to transcend the limits of existence.
The symbol within the Dark Alchemist's body resembled that very hexagram.
Which led the Hawk to a single question: was this what happened at the banquet?
He carried his suspicions, but he needed confirmation.
He passed through the streets, those same streets he had once walked as a young man, long before any of this had begun.
Back then, he had only felt the weight of solitude, the quiet shame of being unseen. Now, he recognised that time as a gift, those long hours of wandering and reflection, given freely, unnoticed.
How many times had he crossed these Arcs and Cathedrals with blind eyes? Half-lost in memory, reaching toward something he could not name?
He remembered the last conversation he had, with the one who had followed him since the beginning.
"You will lose everything in the end," it had said.
"Very well then," the Hawk had replied. "Take it all now."
Countless years had passed since that moment.
He changed his Self and stepped into a plaza crowded with passersby. From a distance, he spotted a large man who possessed the final remnants of youth, walking with sharp cheekbones and thick brown hair. The man paced back and forth before breaking into a smile upon seeing him.
"Well, look who it is," the man said.
"It has been a long time, Ithren."
"Having fun with work?"
"Yes… I suppose you could say that."
They walked together, speaking of old times. The Hawk had prepared everything, every memory, every shared moment, every careless detail from their youth, the awkward teenage years, the drunken nights, the slow drift apart.
All of it led to one question.
"Did you hear about what happened to Zorathiel"
"Yes," Ithren said. "Truly terrible."
"A tragic time for your Clan, I am sure."
Ithren hesitated, then nodded.
"It's strange," he said. "Someone you see all the time… and then suddenly they're gone. When was the last time you saw him?"
"Soon after the banquet, before we left the Golden City."
"Oh, so you got invited, did you?"
"Yes. I would have invited you, but—"
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
The Hawk already knew: Ithren would not speak openly. But he also knew something else, that Ithren believed him to be his friend, a friend whose memories had already been consumed.
"A tragic thing," the Hawk said softly. "Just think about his family."
"I will be visiting them soon."
"Did they visit him in his final days? Did he see them?"
"I don't think so."
"And was there anyone who did?"
The tone was careful, gentle, as if it came from concern.
"Only his servants," Ithren said. "He always had Soldiers around him, even at the banquets."
Ithren invited him into his home, high atop a tower in the centre of the Golden City. They sat in a quiet, dimly lit room overlooking the vast city below.
"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable with all these questions," the Hawk said, "I'm just curious since we grew up with him. At the banquets… did he only speak to members of your Clan?"
Ithren thought for a moment.
"He spoke to everyone there."
Good.
"I always wondered," the Hawk continued, "if perhaps an outsider could have entered—"
"There were no outsiders," Ithren said firmly. "There never have been."
"Of course not, my friend."
So only the Clans knew.
From everything he had gathered, the Hawk reached his conclusion:
There had been a ritual at the banquet, based on the rituals of the Transcendent Clan. It had been organised through Solomon's Realm, and attended by all major Clans of the Lords.
But why?
"How is your tea?" Ithren asked.
"It is good. Thank you."
The Hawk looked around the room.
No witnesses.
"It is a lonely life," Ithren said. "Only getting worse with time."
"Yes," the Hawk replied. "We spoke like this as young men… and now look at us."
Ithren laughed.
"Have you finally found your other half?" the Hawk asked.
"I suppose I have," Ithren said. "Though I've become far more ordinary than I expected."
"Well… I am glad."
"And what about you?"
The Hawk looked down into his tea and smiled faintly.
"It's not that interesting," he said.
Ithren moved to the window and began to play a guitar. A simple melody drifted through the room, its quiet harmony lingering in the air.
After a moment, he took his cup and walked into the kitchen.
The Hawk followed.
"One day," the Hawk said, "when all of this is over… I will live by the sea. Somewhere empty. Somewhere no one can find me."
"What are you talking about?" Ithren laughed.
"They will think it is a wasteland," the Hawk continued. "But sometimes… a wanderer will say they saw a man there. Silent. Motionless. Out of place."
He paused.
"That will be me."
"Come on," Ithren said, laughing. "That's the strangest thing I've ever—"
The Hawk drove his Axiom blade through the man's back.
It was so fast that Ithren could not react.
"What are you—"
"I am sorry."
In a single motion, the Hawk tore out Ithren's organs and consumed them, activating his ability.
Ithren collapsed to his knees, watching in horror as his friend transformed—into himself.
"But… you're my friend," Ithren whispered. "You're not supposed to…"
The Hawk watched him die without expression. Then he burned the body to ash, as he had done hundreds of times before. When it was over, he sat back in a chair and stared at the ceiling.
The mission was complete.
Now he possessed a Self that allowed him to move as a member of the Transcendent Clan. Now he could find the truth.
He reached into Ithren's memories, moving further back, past recent years, into childhood, into fragments of early life. But something was wrong.
There were gaps. There were missing memories. In the key moments, the memories seemed to blur and fade away entirely.
The Hawk froze.
He fled the tower at once, disappearing into the depths of the city.
If the memories were missing, then they had been removed, which meant—
The Supreme Leader had done this.
The Hawk attempted to contact his superiors once more. He went to their usual place, waiting for a signal. None came, and he understood at once that the Lords who had sponsored him had withdrawn, which meant that he was alone.
And yet, there was no hesitation. What else could he be? He had lived too long to turn back now. Only justice remained within him, a terrible, unyielding justice. He would reach the truth of the Lords, even if he had to do it alone.
Though the memories had been stripped of detail, something remained, something distant, something vast, a presence. It lingered behind every memory, watching. The Hawk had seen it before, and he was certain of it.
It was the face, the same face.
It was the face of Saturn.