[Seraphine]

Her clothes were barely that—more suggestion than fabric, designed not to conceal, but to command attention.

"Welcome to the Veiled Serpent, Kaelion," she purred, voice dipped in honey and shadows.

Kael froze.

His brain… stalled.

Somewhere deep inside, a small, responsible version of him was slapping a red alarm button.

He inhaled slowly, forcing down the sudden rush of heat clawing up behind his ribs.

Calm down, Kael.

You're not a peasant in heat.

Breathe.

He straightened, forcing a casual, vaguely charming smile onto his face—one he'd practiced in front of expensive mirrors.

"Right. So... who exactly are you?"

The woman chuckled, a sound like silk sliding over sharpened steel.

"You're not quite like the rumors, are you?" she said, eyes glittering with amusement.

"I'm the head of the Veiled Serpent.

You may call me... Seraphine."

Kael's smile widened.

Loose.

Relaxed.

Fake.

"Oh ho, nice to meet you," he replied, light as air.

Inside?

He was screaming.

What the hell.

This woman—this goddess draped in temptation—is the one running the most feared black market in the kingdom?

And she's meeting me?

Personally?

His thoughts spiraled behind a carefully calm face, every cell in his body screaming while he kept nodding politely.

Seraphine laughed again—soft, teasing, a sound that danced through the air like perfume and poison.

Kael chuckled along, instinctively.

The tension loosened—just a little.

Then silence.

Heavy.

Intentional.

It sat between them like a drawn blade.

Kael finally spoke, his voice steady but edged with caution.

"So… why do you need me?"

Her smile deepened—slow, deliberate, like a trap gently closing.

"Before anything else," she said,

"You'll need to sign a contract of silence with our organization."

Kael nodded once, not surprised.

"And if I don't?"

That laugh again.

Low.

Velvet-laced with warning.

"You're free to walk away," she said sweetly.

"But your memories of us will be stripped. Every trace. Gone."

Kael's eyes narrowed, interest sparking behind them.

A memory wipe spell…?

That's not just threat.

That's rare, high-grade magic.

Interesting.

He exhaled slowly, then gave a single, firm nod.

"…Alright. I'll sign."

She clapped her hands once—softly.

The sound echoed like a ripple through the velvet hush.

From a shadowed corner, a man stepped forward, silent as thought, carrying a rolled parchment etched with glowing arcane seals.

Kael took a breath, then bit his thumb—just enough to draw blood.

He pressed it to the center of the contract.

The seal flared, brilliant green, then dimmed—its light sinking into the parchment like ink into skin.

A faint serpent mark shimmered across the back of his hand—emerald, coiled, alive for a heartbeat—before vanishing.

Seraphine watched him, expression unreadable.

"That," she said smoothly, "is your identity mark.

Invisible to all but us. You can summon it at will, with a thought."

She leaned forward, voice soft but cold.

"Without it, you're nothing. Just another face."

Kael glanced at his now-blank skin, but the weight of the binding magic had already settled into his bones.

"And now," she went on, "you belong to us. The contract is part of you—like your blood, your shadow. You can't outrun either."

A sound chimed faintly in his head—

[Host has joined: The Veiled Serpent]

[Title Acquired: Veiled Serpent Member]

Kael exhaled through his nose, quiet.

No turning back now.

She laughed softly—the sound smooth as silk sliding over a blade.

"We contacted you because you're the most gifted linguist in ancient dialects and ciphered script across the kingdom," she said, eyes fixed on him with surgical precision.

Kael's posture stiffened, the smile on his lips faltering for just a fraction of a second.

That was Kaelion!!!

Not me!!!

But he caught himself.

Smoothed it over with a calm nod—the kind Kaelion might've given, carefully measured.

"Y-yes," he said, voice just steady enough to pass.

Seraphine's smile deepened—elegant, lethal.

"We recently acquired a map," she said, tone velvet-wrapped and sharp.

"Sourced through… unorthodox channels.

None of our scribes, translators, or arcane readers have been able to decipher it."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on folded hands.

"But if you can decode it, Kaelion…"

Her voice dropped lower—like a spell curling in the air.

"…we'll offer you something just as rare."

She let the words linger a beat.

"An elixir," she continued.

"Refined through forbidden alchemy.

Capable of undoing your magiclessness."

The silence that followed felt almost sacred.

Kael didn't speak.

He simply stepped forward and took the seat across from her—uninvited.

Her brow arched, dark and amused, clearly noting the breach in decorum.

But she said nothing.

The chair was plush, velvet-lined, too soft for how tense he felt.

Kael let the silence breathe between them, his gaze drifting—just briefly—to the green lanterns flickering at the chamber's edge.

Their glow shimmered along the black stone walls like serpent shadows.

But behind his eyes, his thoughts were already spiraling.

I had planned to reveal it gradually... that I can use magic.

A dramatic little 'divine intervention' during a duel or something loud enough to rewrite the narrative.

Something public.

But

I already used magic inside Mount Veilspire.

His fingers curled faintly in his lap.

Elara saw it.

She definitely knows.

And the others…?

Dead.

A chill settled beneath his ribs.

Only Elara remains.

And yet... no whisper of it has spread.

No inquisitors, no agents.

Not even a rumor.

That thought knotted his chest.

So Elara's hiding it.

But why?

Loyalty? Strategy? Or leverage?

He exhaled slowly, controlled.

Mask intact.

But the urgency had begun to burn.

My secret won't stay buried forever.

His fingers tapped the armrest once.

I need to speak with Elara.

Before someone else does.

Kael leaned back with calculated arrogance, one leg resting atop the ornate table between them.

The candlelight kissed the curve of his smirk—casual, confident, and just sharp enough to draw blood.

He watched as Seraphine's amusement flickered—just briefly—as he settled in.

Not as a guest.

As an equal.

Or worse, a player.

"What if," he said smoothly, "I made you a counter-offer?"

Her brow arched, curiosity sparking in her emerald eyes.

"A counter-offer?" she echoed, voice velvet-wrapped steel.

"And what, pray tell, could you possibly possess… that we don't?"

Kael didn't answer.

Not with words.

He reached inside his coat and, with deliberate care, placed a tightly bound bundle onto the table.

Scrolls thudded softly against the wood.

Seraphine's smile faltered—just a hair.

"These," Kael said, voice low and even,

"Were extorted from elite academy students… by the Devil of Veilspire."

Silence.

Thick.

Heavy.

Electric.

The room seemed to draw in its breath.

Seraphine's gaze dropped to the scrolls, then lifted—colder now.

Sharper.

Her expression shifted from curiosity to something far more dangerous.

Everyone wanted Devil intelligence.

And Kael had just put it on the table.

She leaned forward, slowly.

"And how," she murmured, eyes narrowing with interest,

"Do you know him, Kaelion?"