Her hand slowed. For a moment she almost felt guilty. Pity, even. But she had seen — heard — enough of him to know exactly what kind of person he was. Pity would be wasted.
"I can…" She steadied herself. "But does it justify it? The things you did?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "It doesn't."
Her hand shifted again. "Then why?" Her voice was low. "Why did you…?"
His head tilted fully toward her. "Self-preservation. Just as you once said."
Her brow twitched. Memories of the Blood Corpse Valley — of the Chambers — her hand stopped. "What sort of self-preservation involves making an enemy of everyone around you? People who'd slaughter you for less." She resumed, slower. "How can you even make that make sense?"
Silence followed. She had said too much.
"Sense?" His gaze shifted slightly away. "I can't make you see the sense in it. Even I don't."
Silence settled between them.
"But that's just it." His voice remained calm. "Why bother trying to apply sense, when it clearly impedes the production of outcome."
Her breath stalled for half a heartbeat. She had been right. "You are insane."
Her hands were already moving toward the sixth braid. He simply nodded in acknowledgment.
"You're going to die for it." No response. "How sure are you this escape scheme of yours will work?" Her hands tightened. "How can you be sure they won't counter you first? Set up measures you didn't foresee? Buffers we can't simply hurdle through with quick thinking? Or are you that sure of yourself?"
The contempt in her voice was unmistakable.
He gave a faint, distant smile. "The Elders are not as creative as you give them credit for. Powerful, yes — but not creative." His gaze remained forward. "Even if I may be slightly mistaken in that assumption, I'm confident we've laid enough stones to hurdle the mud. Or is that only my assumption?"
The distrust was plain.
"It's not." She muttered.
He gave a faint smile.
"But what about Viren?" Her voice returned, quieter now. "How do you plan to survive him?" Not a twitch from him. Not even the slightest rise in pulse. "Do you even know what kind of monster he is? Do you even —"
His smile deepened slightly. She truly did not know how to be subtle. Or perhaps only where he was concerned.
"I don't," he said. "But it seems you do. Would you be willing to share, Violet?"
Her hands stilled. She had been read. Again. Her expression hardened.
"I'll compensate you accordingly."
"Compensate me?" The irony of it.
"With my life," he replied. "Or is that no longer useful to you?"
She went still.
His hand extended back over his shoulder. "If you would — kindly."
She stared at the gesture with quiet contempt, already calculating the cost of yielding. She couldn't. Not now. She had already benefited him too much — any further, and she would be nothing more than a dog. He could solve his own problems. He certainly would have, even if she had never appeared in the first place.
"No."
"What if I ordered you —" her eyes narrowed to slits — "under the terms of our agreement?"
Her hand released the braid she had been forming so perfectly. She said nothing. But the answer was obvious. She would obey. And resent him for it.
How honourable, he thought.
"I won't." Her face twisted with silent contempt. Whatever words lingered within her, she buried them. Strategy before pride. Her hand slipped beneath her cloak. She withdrew a sealed bundle. "Here."
Chion glanced at it once — and the satisfaction that might have formed from another easy victory dissolved instantly.
A black-box file.
Impossible. How? How did she continually manage stunts like this? She should have been dead for possessing it. Or worse. His eyes swept over her with quiet disbelief.
"I was curious to know what you were up against — what my investment was up against." Her voice carried faint hesitation. "I didn't do it for you. Nor am I giving it in goodwill."
His smile returned. "Of course."
His fingers opened the first page.
***************************
BLACK ARCHIVES: SUBJECT A0773
Second Cycle of the 38th
Entry: 1600 — Third Cycle of the I.C.
NAME: Viren Nyxvalis
MANTLE STATUS: Mantled
LIFE STATUS: Living
BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood (79.76%)
Dominant Hand: Left
Constitute Ratio: 52% / 48%
Dominant: Harbinger Moon Current
MANTLE TITLE: The Titan of Valor
BACKLOG
HOUSE: Artyr
SUBSIDIARY: House Andrea (current House Iron Veil)
PARENTS/GUARDIANS: Calistir Nyxvalis / Andrea Noctis — Deceased
SECONDARY GUARDIAN: Elder Riven Nyxvalis (House Artyr)
PRIMARY PROFILE
Birth: 1581, September 25
Appearance: Silver Hair, Silver Eyes (Standard)
Height: 6'9" / Weight: 153 kg (Standard)
Final Assessment: Standard
ACADEMIC PROFILE
Major: Blade / Submajor: Moon
Final Assessment: Distinction
OPERATIONAL PROFILE
Mission Total: 93 / Success Rate: 71.89%
Campaign Total: 9 / Success Rate: 100%
Difficulty: BLACK ×6 / RED ×2 / BLUE ×1
Spiral Run Total: 32 / Success Rate: 100%
Highblood Kill Count: 124
Standard Kill Count: 5,000 (Estimated)
Final Assessment: HIGH
CHARACTER ASSESSMENT
Psychological: 10 / 10
Discipline: 10 / 10
Doctrine: 10 / 10
FLAG HONOURS
Blade — 20 / Moon — 6 / Wing — 0
FINAL STATUS
Discharged: Honoured Bearer of the Thirty-Eighth
First Rank: 93rd / Final Rank: 18th
TITLES
The Titan of Valor
The Iron Veil
The Great Northern Gates
***********************
His posture shifted — slightly.
Violet hovered over his shoulder, her presence pressing close with quiet, expectant curiosity — as though she hadn't already spent hours dissecting the same file.
He absorbed what he needed from the first page, then turned to the next. His eyes moved through each section with precision: detailed historical records spanning three generations, tracing through Viren's ancestry before narrowing upon the man himself.
Birth. Early childhood.
Then the fracture. Orphaned at eight. Both parents dead in a single night, rendered neatly in the elegant language of bureaucracy.
Oh well.
Tragic.
He moved on. Academics. Reports. Assessments. Essays. Hobbies. Unstated observations buried between official lines — soft praise, minor concerns, suggested corrections, reprimands.
He slowed.
These people are always watching. A bit too closely.
He pressed on before it could become sentiment.
His mission logs were quite the tactical sight. Clean strategy, sound decision-making. Only circumstances had failed his runs.
He would have gone deeper, but the file thinned. Thirty-seven logs out of ninety-three.
His gaze tilted slightly — just enough to ask the question without speaking it.
Violet's lip curled. "I couldn't exactly steal the entire archive and leave blank forgeries behind. Not without raising every possible flag."
He said nothing. But the thought lingered anyway — or you were digging for something else. He wisely chose not to say it aloud. Any more prophetic observations, and he was fairly certain she would stab him.
So he moved on.
To the campaigns.