– The council.

Izuma's hand rose before he even realized it.

And the moment it did—he regretted everything.

What the hell am I doing? He thought, panic crawling under his skin. Why did I do that? Why did I raise my hand?

The people hadn't even confirmed he was there. Their expressions, moments ago, were uncertain—as if they were still debating whether he was just some random nobody in a mask, a bystander.

But now, with that one subtle motion, their eyes locked on him like wolves scenting blood. The doubt was gone.

It was him.

Their glares shifted—first suspicion, then realization. Then something worse.

Recognition.

A tall, armored guard stepped forward from the back of the crowd, his golden sash shining under the midday sun. A symbol—an upside-down triangle encasing a single eye—rested over his left pauldron.

The man's voice was loud and unwavering.

"You. The council has summoned you."

Everything froze.

Gasps rippled like a wave across the onlookers. Some stared with open mouths. Others averted their eyes immediately, as if making contact with him might be a crime. One woman covered her child's face. A hooded man stepped backward into the alley's shadow.

Izuma's throat went dry.

"The Council...?"

He tried to speak. His voice croaked out like broken glass.

"Why? Bu—"

The guard didn't even flinch. He cut through the unfinished question like a blade.

"Questions will be answered later. Do not resist."

Izuma hesitated, then gave the tiniest of nods, more instinct than agreement. His legs moved before his brain caught up, stepping forward slowly, hesitantly, with the weight of everyone's stares crushing down on him.

Two guards took position in front.

Two behind.

The formation was precise. Military. And terrifying.

He looked like a prisoner… but the formation felt like a royal escort. That confusion scared him most.

As they began walking, the alleyway seemed longer than before. Narrow, claustrophobic, with every uneven cobblestone suddenly loud beneath his boots. Trash bins and broken crates lined the sides like silent witnesses. The farther they moved, the more the people behind faded—replaced by the tense silence of the city.

He looked to the left for just a second, his eyes scanning through a small alley way and onto the main street—just a glance.

And there they were.

Rinji.

Adia.

Lira.

They were walking casually, a few blocks over. They hadn't noticed him. But he saw them. That one moment—it felt like the last.

"Will I ever see them again...?"

The guards didn't notice him falter. Or if they did, they didn't care.

Minutes passed. Or maybe an hour. Time felt bloated, strange. The alley twisted into a main road, the stone giving way to polished black marble beneath his feet. The crowd returned—but this time from the front.

Dozens of people. Then hundreds.

They weren't staring at him now, not directly. But they were gathering. Moving.

Not toward him.

Towards it.

He hadn't realized where they were headed until he looked up.

A palace.

No, that wasn't the word.

"Temple? Fortress? Throne?"

It towered at the center of the entire city—far larger than anything he'd seen before. Giant spires twisted upward like spears into the clouds.

A ring of floating platforms orbited the uppermost point. Giant banners hung from the top floors, each depicting different crests—none of which he recognized.

The building was shaped like a stepped ziggurat, wide and massive at the base but narrowing with each level.

Dark blue crystal veins ran through its structure, pulsing faintly. At the front: a colossal staircase, flanked by silent stone guardians in the shape of beasts—hybrid things that looked like lions with wings, or serpents with limbs.

He couldn't even begin to describe what the outer material was made of. It looked like glass, but not. Like obsidian, but it shimmered. He couldn't tell if it was metal or stone or something completely alien. It simply looked expensive.

And otherworldly.

The crowd naturally parted for the guards. People whispered. Pointed. But no one stepped forward.

The giant doors—two monolithic slabs covered in runic markings—groaned open with a seismic rumble.

Inside…

It was quiet.

But not empty.

The hall was vast. Everything echoed. The walls were lined with angular columns, and strange floating candles gave off a warm, bluish glow.

The air smelled sterile, but oddly floral—like roses and ash. Massive portraits stretched up into the shadows above, depictions of robed figures, wars, kings, beasts, and… a few humans.

Izuma flinched. One painting showed a human being burned alive while dozens of people watched. Another showed a beastman kneeling while masked figures stared down.

He swallowed hard.

The floor changed as they walked—marble to velvet, velvet to obsidian, obsidian to etched crystal. The design wasn't for comfort. It was psychological warfare. Each step reminded him how small he was. How out of place.

Finally, the last hallway opened.

And the throne room revealed itself.

It was circular—like a coliseum without the crowd.

The floor dipped in the center, forming a small lowered platform with a single gold-inlaid disc, like a spotlight without a source.

Above and around it: seven massive chairs. Thrones.

Each one unique.

Each raised dozens of feet above the ground on pedestals, arranged in a perfect arc.

But only five were occupied.

Five figures sat in silence, draped in ceremonial robes of different colors.

They didn't speak.

They just watched.

And Izuma was guided down.

Onto the platform.

It was cold. uncomfortably cold.

Each footstep vibrated, The sound echoing multiple times over.

The guards stopped. Turned. Left him alone.

And the silence weighed on his shoulders like a mountain.

He didn't know where to look. So he looked down. His breath was sharp and fast.

Then one of them finally spoke.

A woman. Monotonic. Cold.

"State your name."

Izuma looked up, heart in his throat.

"I... Izuma...just izuma."

Another voice, male. Raspy.

"Origin?"

"Kiyosuna..."

The five didn't react.

The third voice. Elderly. Echoing.

"Ability."

His lungs stopped working.

He didn't answer.

A moment passed.

Then two.

The word "Perception" echoed in his mouth.

But in the back of his vision—just for a split second—he swore he saw it again. That flicker. That HUD

"R–Perception."

A slip up.

The first speaker returned.

"Describe it."

He fumbled.

"I—it lets me read energy levels. Like, I can sort of tell what someone's… strength is. Maybe. And, like… danger levels too. It's vague. It doesn't show stats or numbers. Just… intuition."

He mentally kicked himself. It sounded rehearsed. Made up.

Because it was.

Another pause.

One of the council members leaned forward slightly, Their voice was young. Too young. Almost playful—like they didn't grasp the weight of their own words.

"No bioform signature appeared on your Veilforge terminal?."

He stiffened,

"They know I got it from the vielforge..."

Just 4 –5 hours earlier, Rinji had told him that they're other means to read your ability, It just so happens the veilforge is both the least known about and premium version, it goes into a detailed explanation about your ability, sadly for izuma, his stats of panic caused the opportunity to go to waste.

"I… I thought maybe it glitched."

No response.

"Do you possess any combat experience?"

He hesitated again.

"Not really. A couple small things. Nothing major."

"Do you possess any memory gaps between yesterday and today?"

That question froze him solid.

"N-No," he lied.

He remembered everything.

The pain. The spear. His brain boiling.

The HUD.

Respawn.

The cold woman again.

"Is that the truth?"

He looked up. Her eyes bored into his soul.

He didn't blink.

"Yes."

No one believed him.

But no one called him out.

Silence reigned again.

Finally, the central throne figure—shrouded in golden robes—spoke for the first time.

"We have no record of your arrival. No registration. No documentation. No faction ties. And yet… you were escorted by a bearer of the Gold Crest."

Izuma's stomach sank.

Rinji.

"By all measures," the figure continued,

"you are an anomaly."

Then he leaned forward.

"An anomaly… with eyes that lie."

Izuma's legs trembled.

He felt like vomiting.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Then the golden-robed figure lifted a hand—and the guards stepped forward again.

He spoke one final time.

"You will be observed. Closely. Everything you do. Every word. Every step."

Then, colder than the Void:

"If your eyes lie again... they'll be closed forever."

The guards grabbed his arms. He didn't fight.

As they led him away, his legs nearly buckled.

And as the throne room doors slammed shut behind him, Izuma realized something terrifying.

He was no longer a guest in this world.

He was a pawn.

And every move he made now...

Would be watched.