Ziraya’s footsteps echoed sharply through the interior, swallowed immediately by an unnatural stillness. The air hummed with tension, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Her eyes flitted from surface to surface, each curve of metal and glowing glyph screaming quiet impossibility. It was the kind of place that shouldn’t exist, and yet here she stood.

  She paused, her gaze catching on a nearby workbench. Her breath hitched.

  “Is that… Velazurite?” she whispered, awestruck, momentarily forgetting the creeping dread that had haunted her since the doors closed behind them.

  “It is.” John replied casually, his voice echoing oddly in the enclosed space. He scratched his jaw, lips quirking into a wry smile. “Got it off the Redcap Merchant.”

  “The—” Ziraya exhaled hard, her composure cracking. “The Redcap Merchant?” she hissed, as if saying it aloud might summon it. “You say that like it's normal!”

  “It was a good deal,” John offered, shrugging.

  Her gaze snapped away from him, roaming over the next impossible thing. And then she saw it—leaning near the entrance like a bored guard.

  A motorcycle.

  Her mind stalled.

  “A human vehicle?” she murmured, stepping toward it like it might vanish if she blinked. “Why?” She reached into her coat, fingers brushing the familiar shape of the Catapults she always carried—efficient, silent, reliable. Nothing like this crude, fire-belching beast.

  Why was it here?

  Why was he here?

  The nagging doubts she’d buried came flooding back. The timelines didn’t add up. Chase shouldn’t have known John. The records—her family’s flawless intel—had no mention of him. Her gut twisted. Rules of the Masquerade, drilled into her since childhood, rose like a wave of static. Something wasn’t right. Nothing was.

  And yet…

  She remembered the fire curling around his hands. The way he’d stood by her after her escape. The way her tail had coiled around him without her consent, like her body had chosen before she had.

  Her face flushed, the heat of memory clashing against the chill of dread. “Still…” she whispered, voice trembling as her Authority flared like a nervous heartbeat. A shared secret, humming between their souls. “At this point,” she said, forcing a smile as she walked to his side, “it can’t get worse.”

  John grinned. “Sorry about the lack of chairs. There’s one by the—”

  Ziraya didn’t wait. She braced herself and dropped into his lap, her heart leaping into her throat. John let out a stunned grunt, going rigid beneath her.

  “That works too, I guess,” he stammered, ears burning as he desperately tried to focus on the controls.

  She followed his gaze—and stopped breathing. The console was a monstrosity. Buttons, levers, and glowing dials covered its surface like some alien organ. Nothing was labeled. Everything pulsed with a low thrum, like a beast twitching in its sleep.

  The presence from earlier—that presence—still lingered. She could feel it, coiled in the machinery, watching. Daring her to touch.

  “So,” she said, swallowing thickly, “this thing… it’s way smaller on the outside, isn’t it?”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” John replied.

  “This… this is supposed to get us to Faerie?” Her voice cracked. “How is that even possible?”

  John’s face darkened slightly. “It’s complicated.”

  “I bet it is.” She huffed. “You could make a fortune letting people study this—”

  Her words died.

  The presence surged.

  Ice gripped her chest like a noose of frostbitten fingers, squeezing. Her lungs refused to inflate. Her limbs flailed involuntarily, nearly cracking John’s jaw as she lurched in panic.

  “Don’t talk about it!” John shouted, grabbing her shoulders. His eyes were wild with fear. “Don’t mention it, don’t even think about sharing it! It doesn’t like that!”

  Ziraya crumpled forward, breath shuddering in ragged gasps as sweat poured down her brow. The invisible grip slowly loosened, like a claw retreating.

  Her Authority thrashed inside her chest, unable to find equilibrium. “What are you?” she whispered—not to John, but to the Ship.

  The thing, of course, remained silent. Watching. Waiting.

  “This isn’t right,” she said hoarsely, turning to John. In desperation, her hand found his and squeezed. “This thing—John, this is wrong. This shouldn’t exist.”

  “I know.” His smile was soft. And heavy. Weighted with something ancient and cracked beneath the surface.

  Through their Bond, she felt it.

  Agony.

  Not just pain—enduring pain. The kind that left scars on the soul. A flood of sorrow so profound that her vision blurred with tears not entirely her own.

  “W–What is this thing?” she asked again, voice shaking. “This infernal abomination—”

  “A necessary evil,” John cut in gently. “Believe me.”

  “You live with this?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You feel how wrong it is—how twisted—and you just go about your day?”

  John’s expression didn’t change. “You get used to it.”

  “Used to it?!” She stood, fists clenched. “It almost killed me just now! How can you act like this is normal?”

  “It’s not normal,” he said simply. “But it’s what I’ve got.”

  “And what if it changes its mind? What if you step out of line?” she snapped.

  “Then I’ll deal with it.” His tone sharpened. “It only has one rule: secrecy. Break that, and… well, you saw.”

  Ziraya stared at him, searching for cracks. Instead, she saw fire.

  Not madness. Not recklessness.

  Conviction.

  John glared at the console like it was a beast he’d tamed with bare hands and sheer will. “I’ve got this,” he said. “You don’t have to trust it. Just trust me.”

  Ziraya’s heart pounded as silence stretched. Her tail twitched.

  She didn’t trust the Ship.

  She didn’t think she could.

  But John…

  “I—” She sighed, tension draining from her shoulders. “Fine. I’m willing to give this… thing a chance.”

  John nodded, his eyes flicking to the controls. The Ship’s screen shimmered to life, revealing a top-down view of the city—no, the dream—suspended between land and sky.

  “They weren’t kidding when they said half-floating,” John muttered, awe softening the usual edge of his voice. The city unfolded like living sculpture. Buildings of deep green metal twisted like the roots of ancient trees, their shapes neither straight nor stable, as if designed by whimsy instead of physics. Glass panels bloomed from their frames in translucent blues and violets, catching the Faerie sun and refracting it like the facets of a jewel. No two buildings were alike, and none of them obeyed architectural logic. Slanted towers leaned into nothing. Staircases curled into open air. The entire city looked like it had been grown instead of built.

  But it was the floating islands that stole the breath from her lungs. Massive stone platforms drifted above the skyline, moored by thick black chains and impossibly long rope bridges. Each island bore a palace more extravagant than the last—gold-veined domes, spires of colored ice, courtyards that shimmered with clouds instead of water. They hovered like silent titans, impossibly serene.

  Ziraya’s mouth opened slightly. Her fear of the Ship—ever-lurking like a shadow at the back of her thoughts—sputtered and stilled beneath the weight of what she saw. She chuckled under his breath. “Told you. Faerie’s weird.”

  “Weird’ isn’t the word,” John murmured. “It’s…” He couldn’t finish. his throat felt tight, like he’d swallowed something glowing. He then pointed at a large orange-tiled square nestled in the city’s center. “How about here? Looks like a plaza or market hub. We’d have quick access to all the major districts.”

  Ziraya nodded, still dazed. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.” “So,” she asked, finally tearing her eyes from the screen, “how does this insane thing work, exactly?”

  John cracked his knuckles, half grinning. “I just type a few things here…” His fingers danced across the console’s keys, the strange runes briefly flickering under his touch. “Then—” He grabbed a lever and yanked it.

  The entire Ship groaned like a sleeping god stirring in its slumber. For a breath, the walls shimmered, and a deep chime resonated through the floor like a heartbeat.

  Ding.

  “And we’re done,” John said, glancing at the ever-present blue window in the corner of his eyes.

  “That’s it?” Ziraya frowned. “No flash, no nausea, no side effects?”

  “Go ahead. Check.”

  She stood, flicking her tail in faint skepticism—only to stumble as she forgot her hand was still locked tightly in his. She pitched forward.

  John instinctively pulled her toward him. Their foreheads collided with a muted thud.

  “Ow—!”

  “You did that on purpose!” Ziraya hissed, cheeks blazing red as she clutched her brow. Her tail twitched in a flustered spiral.

  “It’s not my fault you—” John pointed down at their joined hands.

  They were still holding each other. Not a casual grasp. Not an accident. Firm. Unwilling to let go.

  John blinked. “You know.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Ziraya glared, then looked away, her breath uneven.

  “My shield should’ve triggered,” John muttered under his breath.

  “Should we…?” Her voice trailed off. She was staring at the Bond again. The bright tether that shimmered between them, pulsing gently—like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers. Sarah’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp and strange: “Authority begets Authority.” Her gaze dropped to their hands, still entwined. “Is it… me?” she whispered to herself. “Actually me that wants this?” Her mind swirled in circles—instincts, training, fear, longing—and through it all, a truth she couldn’t bury any longer. “Or is it… Bonding?”

  John’s heart was pounding. He didn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed his feelings growing stronger. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to believe it. “Two, three days. That’s all it’s been.” He whispered. But every moment with her stretched longer. Denser. More real. She wasn’t just someone he trusted. She wasn’t just someone he saved. She’d cracked him open. His eyes flicked to their hands again. “When did this…?” His stomach twisted. Every past relationship he’d ever had—if they could even be called that—had been brief, clumsy, forgettable. A few weeks here, a couple months there. Nothing anchored. Nothing like this. “So…” He cleared his throat, not looking at her. “Maybe we should… go?”

  Ziraya blinked fast, like she was shaking off a spell. “I—Right. Yes.”

  She pulled her hand away, but not fast. Not like she wanted to. “Let’s see if you were lying.”

  He stepped to the door.

  They slid open.

  And then everything changed.

  Ziraya’s breath caught. A wave of heat rolled in, humid and thick, wrapping around her like silk soaked in honey. The air tingled on her skin, alive with magic. The scent of cherries—ripe and sweet—hovered in the breeze, undercut by something floral and faintly electric. Beyond the doorway, the city of Nytheris waited.

  Alive. Dazzling. Impossible.

  “This is Faerie.” Ziraya’s voice was hushed as she stepped across the Ship’s threshold, like someone crossing into sacred ground. The moment she passed through, her body uncoiled with a sharp, audible exhale—as though something suffocating had finally loosened its grip on her chest.

  The pressure in her mind, that ever-present weight, vanished. Always watching. Always waiting. And now—gone.

  Then John canceled the tether. Ziraya staggered as if punched, her breath catching in her throat. She reached out reflexively, hand twitching before curling into a fist. The severed connection left a raw ache in her chest, like a phantom limb still reaching for something no longer there. Everything felt quieter. Smaller. She glared sideways at John, feigning annoyance to mask the sense of loss. “You could’ve warned me,” she muttered, flexing her fingers as if testing for numbness. The tether had done more than she’d expected. His Authority had woven itself into her so deeply that her senses still throbbed with its echo. The world had become brighter, richer, terrifyingly clear. Her mana—usually calm and coiled—now raged beneath her skin like a dragon roused from slumber.

  And already, the surplus was slipping away. Draining. Fading. “Use it or lose it, I guess,” she murmured, rubbing her temple. Then, noticing John’s slack-jawed wonder at their surroundings, she giggled despite herself.

  He turned sharply. “Don’t make fun of me!” he said, scowling, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s my first time in Faerie.”

  “Be careful where you step,” she teased, resting her hands on her hips as her cloak shimmered faintly with Glamour. “Not everything here likes to stay stepped on.”

  He looked down at the cobbled path and took a cautious step. “Charming.”

  Behind them, the elevator cabin of the Ship became invisible to her. Ziraya sighed with relief.

  John fished out a cigarette.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  He raised an eyebrow, silently challenging her as he flicked the lighter.

  Her Authority stirred. One thought, and the cigarette would disintegrate mid-air. But she just exhaled sharply through her nose and looked away as he lit it.

  The streets of Nytheris pulsed with life—chaotic, garish, surreal. The locals wore clothes that shimmered and slithered, some seemingly alive. A fae with a long, flowing coat made entirely of metallic fur passed by, each strand reflecting sunlight like liquid knives. Ziraya winced and looked away, blinking spots from her vision. “What do you know about the fae?” she asked abruptly, needing something to anchor her attention—and John always worked for that.

  He grinned, smoke curling from his lips. “Absolutely nothing. Please enlighten me, Miss Azeyra.”

  The name, her alias, made her stiffen. She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she crossed her arms and turned toward the nearest spire, eyes narrowing at the impossible curves of its architecture. “This is a city,” she said finally, voice tighter now. “Which means it belongs to one of the Courts. Fae don’t have very centralized governments. They have monarchs. Courts. Each city swears loyalty to one.”

  John followed her gaze. “So no Enforcers here?”

  “Oh, they exist here,” Ziraya replied. “But… let’s say the Enforcer System is more of a polite suggestion than a rule.”

  He frowned. “You’re gonna have to back up a little. How does the Enforcer System actually work?”

  Ziraya tilted her head, considering him. “Alright. Short version: Before the Bubble opened up and all the Five Worlds connected, every place had its own way of running things. But over time, some structure emerged—a way to enforce interdimensional law. That’s the Enforcer System. Each family has jurisdiction over zones—territories, cities, regions. Enforcer families are responsible for upholding law, order, tax collection, trade agreements, things like that. Each region has a council—multiple families from the same area to keep each other in check.”

  “That sounds... fragile,” John said.

  She laughed dryly. “It is. Each Council meets once a year and most of the time they’re either arguing or threatening to burn each other’s estates down. Power struggles are common. Expected, even. But there are rules. As long as we fulfill our duties—keep the peace, handle our duties, protect trade neutrality—no one steps in.”

  “And if someone goes rogue?”

  “Then the other families smell blood. If it’s a minor offense, they’ll pressure the rogue into concessions, both political and territorial. But if it’s major?” Ziraya’s eyes sharpened. “If a family openly breaks the code—hides fugitives, misuses their power too much—then the gloves come off.” She gestured with two fingers slicing through the air. “The council votes. If the majority agrees, they launch a sanctioned purge. And if that doesn’t work—if the rogue has too much power—other councils are allowed to step in. At that point, it becomes a free-for-all. Territory gets wiped clean. Sometimes entire sections of continents change hands.”

  “So it’s a crab bucket,” John said.

  Ziraya blinked. “A what?”

  “Everyone dragging each other down to keep balance. Self-regulating.”

  She gave a low chuckle. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”

  “So what’s stopping any one family from taking over everything?”

  “Because ambition has a price,” she said. “Real, massive inter-Enforcer wars usually end with massive casualties and century long blood feuds. You can technically wipe out another family, but if you do, the others will dogpile you next.”

  John tilted his head. “Let me guess—you’ve seen it firsthand?”

  Ziraya’s gaze dropped for a moment. “I’ve lived it.”

  The silence lingered between them like smoke.

  “And the fae?” he asked gently.

  “They don’t follow most of the Enforcer System’s laws. Too proud. Too old. But Faerie’s too valuable to lose— their materials are always in high demand, and their odd magic is sought after by enchanters. So they’re allowed... exceptions. Special derogations. They enforce their own twisted laws, based on whatever Court is in charge.”

  “That sounds... terrifying.”

  “It is.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  John took a long drag, then glanced sideways. “So... if someone broke a fae law—what happens?”

  “You don’t want to find out.” She didn’t say it as a threat. More like a grim promise.

  They walked in silence for a few more steps, the surreal beauty of Faerie humming around them. Ziraya moved closer without thinking, letting their arms brush again. It felt... steadier that way. Grounded.

  “I have a thousand more questions,” John said, grinning again.

  Ziraya rolled her eyes and bumped his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s find what we came for.”

  But she didn’t walk ahead. Not this time. The doubts were still there, whispering in the back of her mind — but something shifted, something quiet and warm that curled around her chest and refused to let go. She licked her lips, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners — not sharp, not cold, but quietly sure. Maybe even a little hopeful. She let him stay beside her. Close enough to brush shoulders.

  Exactly where she wanted him.

  “But back to this place,” John muttered, voice low, wary. “What should we do?”

  Ziraya didn’t answer right away. Her eyes had narrowed, scanning the curving skyline, her pupils reflecting the light dancing on the nearby buildings. Finally, she exhaled through her nose. “First, we figure out who rules this city,” she said. “Which Court has its claws in it. And more importantly—who the Ash Vigil answers to.”

  Her cloak shimmered as it caught the wind, flickering like the edge of a dream.

  “You think they work with the local Enforcers?” John asked.

  “More than that.” Her voice was tight, focused. “A group like the Ash Vigil doesn't survive by hiding. Their power has to rival the Enforcers—probably even exceed them. You don’t carve out a piece of Faerie unless someone important wants you there.”

  John sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Great. I was hoping for a nice, easy mystery cult.”

  Ziraya stopped and turned slightly, her eyes half-lidded with something close to nostalgia—or perhaps scorn. “We have stories about them,” she said softly. “The Ash Vigil. When I was still Scalebound, we were taught to remember their names. They weren’t just rebels—they were legends. The best blades, the sharpest minds. Centuries ago, they were the ones our family polished until they gleamed.”

  “Let me guess,” John said, “they didn’t stay polished.”

  Her gaze slid away. “They left. Took half of our family’s legacy with them. Not stolen—claimed. As if they were the rightful heirs and the rest of the Scalebound were just… carrying the wrong name.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Religious differences,” she said simply. “Back then, they saw something in the old ways that the patriarch didn’t. Some vision. Some calling. The schism got worse, year by year, until it snapped clean. And when they left... they didn’t just walk away.”

  “They made a statement,” John guessed.

  Ziraya nodded once.

  They walked for a moment in silence, the crowd shifting around them — fae of all sizes, some armored in translucent crystal, others draped in living cloth that whispered secrets as they passed.

  “So,” John said after a beat, “what’s the plan?”

  “We walk. Listen. Let the city breathe on us. There’s always someone willing to sell secrets if you know where to look.” Her eyes glittered, and her mouth curled in a half-smile that didn’t reach the edges. “As for you,” she added. “Check the HiddenNet. See if anyone’s leaking things they shouldn’t be.”

  John pulled out his Terminal, fingers already moving. “You’ve done this before.”

  She tilted her head. “What gave it away?”

  “Everything.”

  For a moment, her expression cracked. Not enough to fall apart, but enough to show the fracture lines underneath. “My father groomed me for this,” she said. “The politics, the power plays, the interrogations. I was a perfect little project. Polished, loyal, useful.” Her voice dipped, barely audible. “I never understood why… if his goal was to trade me away like a pawn.”

  John looked up from his Terminal. She was walking again, her back straight but her shoulders too tight. There was something brittle in her silhouette, like glass that hadn’t shattered—yet. He remembered the message she’d sent after her escape. Her voice breaking, the desperation in her eyes. He swallowed and let out a quiet breath. “You deserved better,” he said, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

  Alice Wolfheart stood at the edge of her desk, hands pressed into the carved obsidian surface so hard her knuckles turned white. The overhead orbs flickered with her rising temper, casting sharp shadows across her angular face. “What do you mean,” she said through clenched teeth, each syllable a dagger, “you don’t know where they are?”

  The werewolf across from her — stocky, and with thick brown fur — dropped his eyes to the floor. His ears flattened against his skull, tail curling around one boot like a nervous child clinging to a parent’s leg. “We tracked Chase into the Bazaar,” he said carefully, voice gravel-thick. “He used the portal beneath the Hot Spot. We think they’re somewhere nearby—”

  “But you think,” Alice snapped, her voice rising like a blade drawn too fast. “Not know.”

  The werewolf flinched. “We’ve got sweepers combing the district, Ma’am,” he offered. “It’s just... the Bazaar’s chaos incarnate.”

  “A needle in a haystack,” Alice spat, turning away in disgust. Her heels clicked sharply as she stalked to the window, then back again. “Did you at least station men near the damn portal?”

  “We did,” he nodded, as if it might shield him from her wrath. “We saw the mercenary go through. Alone.”

  Alice froze, her hands twitching. She turned slowly, eyes narrowing to slits.

  “Alone?” she repeated, voice low and dangerous. “You think he just waltzed in solo, no tricks, no baggage? Fool. That lizard is probably draped in high-end Glamour—he wanted you to see him. He knew we were watching.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly, fighting to keep her fury from boiling over. Her entire frame trembled from the effort. “I saw them together in my office,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Close. Closer than they should’ve been. You don’t look at someone like that unless you’d bleed for them.” She turned, eyes flaring. “So where did they go after that? How the hell did you lose them?”

  “We were expecting a Catapult jump, but—” The werewolf shrugged helplessly, tugging at his armor’s stiff collar. “You’ve read the reports.”

  Alice snatched the crumpled paper off her desk and scanned it again, lips curling in disbelief. “‘Vanished without a trace,’” she read aloud, each word laced with venom. “No scent. No mana. No residual ripple in the air.”

  She let the page fall.

  “Even the best Glamour doesn’t scrub everything.” She turned sharply. “What does that suggest to you?”

  The werewolf hesitated. “That we’re dealing with someone powerful. Maybe beyond us.”

  Alice’s laugh was hollow and humorless.

  “Orders, Ma’am?” he asked cautiously.

  Alice stalked behind her desk and dropped into her chair, the leather creaking beneath her as she folded her arms and steepled her fingers. The anger in her eyes was no longer fire — it was frost. Cold. Precise. “We don’t have jurisdiction near the Nytheris portals,” she said. “They’re across the damn continent, and we’ve got no leverage there. If we act, it’ll spark questions we’re not ready to answer.” She tapped one manicured nail against her armrest. “Instead, assign a team of mercs. Quiet ones. Have them lock down the region near the Ash Vigil’s fortress. Full surveillance. I want to know the moment a shadow passes too quickly.”

  The werewolf blinked. “Ma’am, with all due respect—mercs willing to take long-term recon assignments in Faerie are few and expensive.”

  Alice didn’t even look at him. “Then pay them. Double if you have to.”

  The werewolf hesitated a second too long.

  Her eyes snapped to him like twin blades drawn across glass.

  His posture stiffened like a statue hit by lightning. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll have them deployed immediately. And if they spot the targets?”

  “Observe. Report.” Her voice dropped to a cool whisper. “No engagement. If they’re together, I want confirmation. If he’s alone, we gauge his real strength. If—if—they show signs of betrayal…” She let the implication hang in the air like a sword suspended by a single thread.

  The werewolf swallowed hard. “Crystal clear, Ma’am.”

  She waved him off. He practically bolted, his armor rattling as he fled the room like prey outrunning a predator.

  Silence fell.

  Alice leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling as if watching the pieces of her game move unseen. “They think they’ve slipped the noose.” She allowed herself a small, cruel smile. “Let them run. Let them feel free.” Her voice was a whisper of silk and steel. “Time will tell if I played my hand right… or if it’s time to redraw the board entirely.”