At each transition, the Fourth, the Fifth, the Sixth, the routine remained the same. I would step into the shadow of the gatehouse, present my S-rank status card with a steady hand, and drop a silver coin into the collector's tray. The guards would see the rank on the card, look at my modest dress and hooded face, and let out a hushed breath of confusion before waving me through. They didn't care who I was, only that the card was genuine and the silver was bright.
By the time I crossed the threshold into the Seventh District, the air had grown thinner and more formal. The Seventh was the entertainment district, the streets were lined with manicured hedges and statues of past heroes. I felt like a stain on a white silk sheet, a hooded phantom moving through a world of luxury. I kept my left eye shut tight, the lack of an eyepatch making me feel exposed despite the deep hood.
The gate to the 7th District stood like a grand, colorful archway, glowing with enchanted neon lights even in the daylight. Standing before it was a figure that felt entirely out of place in a city of knights and monsters.
The gatekeeper was dressed in a classic black-and-white striped mime outfit, with a face painted stark white. Across his forehead, in bold, calligraphic ink, was the word "Paper." A goofy ass name that was placed through his forehead.
Unlike the sneering guards of the 5th District, Paper didn't care about my dusty cloak or commoner's dress. Instead, he tilted his head, locked his eyes onto mine, and immediately squeezed one eye shut, perfectly mimicking my closed-eye look since I'd lost my eyepatch. He stumbled around in a silent, exaggerated blind walk, bumping into invisible walls and poking the air.
I couldn't help it. My glasgow smile twitched upward, not in a threatening way, but in genuine amusement.
I reached out and handed him my status card and a silver coin. The moment Paper touched the S-rank card, his eyes went wide. He did a silent double-take, dropping the coin, then catching it mid-air with a flourish. His painted face broke into a massive, joyful grin. He tapped the card against the verification stone, and instead of just handing it back, he began a frantic, silent celebration.
He pulled a small red ball out of my ear, a classic trick, but executed with such fluid grace I didn't even feel his hand move. Then, he blew a puff of air into his palm, and a flurry of actual paper butterflies erupted from his hands, fluttering around my head before dissolving into shimmering dust.
He finished with a deep, theatrical bow, offering my card back between two fingers like a rose.
I let out a soft, huffed sound, a tiny, breathless laugh that I hadn't heard from myself in years. The cold bounty hunter in my chest felt a little less cold. For a moment, I wasn't the Crimson Phantom or the shadow walker's sister. I was just a girl entering the Entertainment District.
Paper gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up and pointed toward the main thoroughfare. The 7th District was a riot of color, filled with theaters, casinos, and high-end lounges. If I was going to find ten gold pieces quickly, this was the place to do it. High-stakes games, elite body-guarding gigs, or perhaps a bounty hidden in the shadows of the neon lights.
I gave Paper a small, respectful nod, my way of saying thank you and stepped into the district. The smell of popcorn and expensive perfume filled the air. I needed to turn that laugh into gold.
The neon glow of the 7th District's casinos pulsed like a heartbeat, and for a moment, the clink of coins from the open doorways was a tempting siren song. Ten gold was a steep price, and a lucky streak at the tables could solve my problems in an hour.
But I forced my gaze away. The blood in my chest didn't run on luck; it ran on purpose. Nautilus Cotton was the only person who had mentioned my brother's name in years, and every minute I spent at a roulette wheel was a minute the Katt siblings moved closer to Cameron Gal. The gold could wait; the truth could not.
I adjusted my hood, keeping my head down as I navigated the 7th District's colorful streets, and made my way to the final gate.
The transition from the colorful, laughing chaos of the 7th District to the 8th was like walking from a festival into a funeral. The vibrant neon faded, replaced by cold, towering white marble and banners that snapped sharply in the wind. The 8th District didn't smell like popcorn; it smelled of oiled steel, ozone, and discipline.
Finally, I reached the grand archway of the Eighth District. This was the peak of Caria's hierarchy. The gatekeepers here weren't just common guards; they were armored knights with perceptive gazes that seemed to peel back layers of clothing. I handed over my final silver coin and my card. The knight looked at the S-rank designation, his eyes lingering on the scarred skin of my hand. He didn't speak, but his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword until the verification stone chimed its approval.
The gatekeeper here was a Luminous Knight, a living statue of polished silver plate that seemed to radiate a faint, holy light. His visor was a narrow slit of darkness, and he stood perfectly still, his hand resting on the pommel of a massive claymore. This was the heart of the military, the home of the elite and the place where my brother once walked as a legend.
I suppressed the urge to hide. I took a breath, adjusted my hood, and offered a polite, strained smile as I handed over my silver and status card.
The knight took the card, the metal of his gauntlet clinking against the enchanted plastic. I saw the slight tilt of his helmet as he processed the S-Rank designation. But then, he leaned in, the light of his armor reflecting in my single green eye.
"Eirene… You look just like him. The eyes, the hair... and your surname, Rynd. You're the Shadow Walker's sister."
I was shocked and felt like it was being squeezed. To be recognized not as the Crimson Phantom, but as the sister of the man who was supposed to be dead or lost, sent a shiver through me. My brother's shadow was long in this district, even in his absence, his name carried a weight that could stop a Luminous Knight in his tracks.
"He was a titan among us, if he could see you now... carrying his rank, walking these streets..."
He handed the card back with a slow, solemn bow, a gesture reserved for high-ranking officers or the kin of heroes. He didn't ask about my scars. He didn't ask why I was dressed like a commoner. In his eyes, a Rynd was a Rynd, no matter how broken the exterior.
"Eirene, try no to blow your cover. The more popularity you have, the more risk your wings will be exposed to the public." Plasma warns me.
The Luminous Knight's visor hummed with a soft, rhythmic light as he processed my name. He didn't move for a long moment, the silence between us heavy enough to crack the cobblestones. Then, he let out a jagged, shaky breath that echoed inside his helm.
He reached up, the interlocking plates of his gauntlet clacking as he retracted his visor. The man underneath was younger than his armor suggested, with sharp, weary eyes and a jagged scar running across his brow.
"My name is Damien Morkov, I was in the same Academy class as Elias. We grew up hearing about the little flower of the Rynd household in Town Allure. Eirene... we held a vigil for you. We were told that Town Allure didn't leave anything behind but ash."
He stepped closer, his armored form towering over me, but his gaze wasn't one of authority, it was pure, unadulterated worry. His eyes darted across my form, taking in the details I tried so hard to hide: the way I kept my right eye tightly shut, the faint tremor in my mutilated arm, and the jagged line of the glasgow smile peeking out from beneath my hood.
His face paled, his expression turning to one of horror as he realized the extent of the recovery I had endured. Damien breathed, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out but feared I might shatter.
"Look at you, the injuries... the scars... what did they do to you?"
He looked around frantically, checking to see if any other knights were eavesdropping. Then, he leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.
"Eirene, listen to me. If Elias sees you like this, one-eyed, scarred, and carrying whatever darkness is hiding under that cloak, I swear on the gods, he will put every head in this city into his revolver. He's already unstable. If he finds out the sister he grieved for has been living as a ghost and suffering while he wore this uniform... there won't be enough graves in Caria for the people he'll blame."
He shoved the status card back into my hand, his fingers trembling.
"Get to Nautilus. Quickly. And keep that hood down. If the High Command realizes you're an S-rank phantom of a dead noble house, they'll lock you in a spire for protection before you can even say hello to your brother."
I took the card, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Damien's fear wasn't for me, it was for the city. He knew Elias better than I did now. He knew that the Shadow Walker wasn't just a title, it was a warning of what happens when a Rynd loses everything.
I gave Damien a single, sharp nod and hurried past the checkpoint. The 8th District loomed ahead, a forest of white marble and steel. Somewhere in that Central Spire, Nautilus was waiting with the truth, and somewhere else, my brother was walking the halls, a loaded gun and a broken heart waiting for a spark.