Preparing for the trip, Lily packed lightly—but not without hesitation.
Her fingers hovered over the small collection of items laid neatly across her bed: her staff, the black cloak, a few basic spell scrolls, and a pouch of emergency herbs. She stood there longer than necessary, weighing each item not by usefulness alone, but by what it might cost her to carry.
Too much meant slower reactions.
Too little meant risk.
In the end, she pushed the scrolls and herbs aside.
Her hand settled on two things.
Her staff.
And the cloak.
She lifted the dark fabric, letting it spill over her fingers. It felt cool—unnaturally so. Not the chill of cloth left in shade, but something deeper. Subtler.
Like the absence of warmth rather than the presence of cold.
Lily narrowed her eyes slightly.
Even now, she couldn't tell what it did.
There were no visible enchantments. No runes stitched into the lining. No detectable mana pattern she could identify. And yet, whenever she held it, there was a faint sensation—
As if something was observing from just beyond perception.
Or perhaps…
Concealing her from something else.
"…You're troublesome," she murmured under her breath.
The cloak gave no answer.
With a quiet exhale, she fastened it around her shoulders and turned.
Across the room, Kane was already prepared.
Which, to Lily's mild disbelief, meant he had almost nothing.
A wand.
And a plain white mask.
"That's all?" she asked.
Kane glanced at his hands, then back at her. "…Yes."
"You're aware this is a mission, not a casual walk."
"I perform better without unnecessary weight."
"You also get injured more easily without preparation."
Kane opened his mouth, paused, then sighed. "…That's fair."
Lily shook her head. "Stay behind me if something goes wrong."
"I'm not that useless."
"I didn't say you were."
"You implied it."
"I implied survival."
"…That sounds worse."
Despite the exchange, a quiet tension lingered between them.
This wasn't an exam.
There would be no instructors watching.
No intervention.
Only them.
At the academy gates, the Master was already waiting.
He didn't greet them.
He simply looked.
A long, measuring look that seemed to strip away any illusions of readiness.
"For your first official mission," he said, "remember one thing."
Kane straightened. "Complete the mission?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
"Your objective is secondary."
Kane froze.
"Your lives are not," the Master continued.
The air felt heavier.
"If something feels wrong, it is. If something seems easy, it isn't. And if you encounter something you do not understand—"
He paused.
"You leave."
No hesitation.
No pride.
No curiosity.
"Understood?"
"Understood," Lily replied.
"…Understood," Kane echoed.
The Master studied them one last time before turning away.
"Go."
The carriage ride was quiet.
The interior was cramped, the worn leather seats creaking with every movement. Outside, the steady rhythm of wheels against stone filled the silence.
Lily sat near the window, reading the mission notice again.
"Yoke Street, Thirty-Second Avenue," she said. "Driver, take us there."
A grunt of acknowledgment followed.
Across from her, Kane sat stiffly.
Too stiffly.
His wand spun between his fingers again and again.
A tell.
"You're nervous," Lily said.
"I'm cautious."
"You're fidgeting."
"…Fine. I'm nervous."
Lily didn't comment further.
Instead, she looked out the window.
The capital stretched around them—busy, structured, controlled.
And everywhere—
The Church.
Symbols carved into buildings.
Banners hanging from stone walls.
Priests walking calmly through the streets.
The deeper they went, the more dominant it became.
"They're everywhere," Lily murmured.
"…Yeah," Kane replied.
Neither liked that.
When the carriage stopped, the orphanage stood quietly at the end of the street.
At first glance—
Perfect.
Clean walls. Blooming flowers. Soft laughter drifting through open windows.
A sign read:
Saint Aurelia Orphanage.
"It looks normal," Kane said.
"Too normal," Lily replied.
They watched.
Staff moved in and out.
Children passed by windows.
Everything was orderly.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
"We need a way inside," Kane muttered.
"Without drawing attention."
"Window?"
"No."
"Roof?"
"No."
"Back—"
A couple walked past them.
"Well, I hope we find someone today," the woman said brightly.
"I'm sure we will," her partner replied.
They entered the orphanage hand in hand.
Silence.
Lily and Kane looked at each other.
No.
Absolutely not.
A pause.
"…Fine," Lily said.
She lifted her hand.
"Don't move."
"That's never reassuring."
A faint glow gathered at her fingertips—but it didn't shine steadily.
It wavered.
Like light refracted through water.
Thin strands of brightness stretched outward, bending unnaturally as if the air itself had softened. Threads of darkness wove between them—not to hide, but to stabilize.
Lily wasn't changing their faces.
She was changing how light revealed them.
The distortion settled over her first.
At a glance, nothing happened.
But the air around her face shifted—subtly, almost imperceptibly. Light no longer reflected naturally. It bent.
Redirected.
Shadows deepened where none existed.
Highlights softened or vanished entirely.
Her jaw appeared sharper.
Her cheeks slightly hollowed.
Not because they changed—
But because the light refused to show them as they were.
Her eyes dimmed—not in color, but in reflection. The brightness within them dulled, replaced by something calmer, heavier.
More experienced.
Kane stared.
"…You didn't actually change."
"I know."
"That's worse."
Lily stepped closer.
"Your turn."
Before he could react, the same distortion wrapped around him.
He flinched slightly.
"…That feels strange."
It didn't touch his skin.
But it was there.
Just above it.
A thin layer where light no longer behaved correctly.
His features shifted—not physically, but visually.
His jawline sharpened.
His nose straightened.
His eyes appeared deeper, more focused.
Even his posture seemed different—not because it changed, but because the way light fell on him suggested authority.
Kane raised a hand.
"…I still feel the same."
"You are the same," Lily said. "Only the light is different."
From a distance—
They looked like a wealthy couple.
Kane awkwardly extended his arm.
Lily stared.
"…Really?"
"We need to look convincing."
After a brief pause, she slipped her arm through his.
They stepped inside.
The interior was pristine.
Warm lighting. Polished floors. expensive decor.
Too perfect.
A clerk approached immediately.
"Good afternoon. How may I assist you?"
"We're here to adopt," Kane said.
Her smile sharpened slightly.
"Of course. We have a wide selection of products."
Products.
The word lingered.
"Follow me."
They walked past rooms filled with children.
Playing.
Studying.
Working.
"All trained for specific roles," the clerk explained.
"Domestic duties."
"Accounting."
"Labor."
Not children.
Assets.
Lily's expression remained calm.
But her eyes had gone cold.
At the end—
An iron door.
Heavy.
Out of place.
"That concludes our selection."
Kane nodded. "We'll consider."
The clerk left.
The moment she was gone, Lily exhaled.
"…I'm dropping mine."
The illusion didn't vanish instantly.
It slipped.
The distorted light lost its hold.
Shadows realigned.
Her features returned—not changing, but revealed again as they truly were.
For a brief second—
Two images overlapped.
Then—
Only Lily remained.
She pressed her temple.
"…That's exhausting."
Kane still looked like someone else.
"…It feels wrong," he said quietly.
"It is," Lily replied.
Kane unlocked the iron door silently.
They stepped inside.
Darkness.
A staircase leading down.
Cold air rose.
Carrying a metallic scent.
"…That's blood," Kane whispered.
Lily didn't answer.
They descended.
Step by step.
Light faded.
Air thickened.
The smell grew stronger.
At the bottom—
A corridor.
Dim.
Silent.
And then—
A faint sound.
Weak.
Not laughter.
Not voices.
Something else.
Kane's illusion flickered.
Just for a split second.
The distorted light around his face wavered—his real features nearly breaking through.
Lily's eyes snapped toward him.
She steadied it instantly.
"…Careful," she whispered.
Kane swallowed.
"…Sorry."
His grip tightened on his wand.
"…We're too late," he said.
Lily stepped forward.
Her eyes hardened.
"…No."
Her voice was quiet.
But firm.
"Not yet."
And together—
They walked deeper into the darkness.