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He was hired to retrieve a rare book. What he found could bring down an empire.

Elias Voss, a disgraced investigator turned retrieval specialist, takes on a simple case track down an antique manuscript. But when he opens the first page, a cryptic code sparks a trail of secrets, danger, and betrayal.

As Elias digs deeper, he uncovers a secret society buried in shadows and they’ve been watching him.

The clock is ticking, and every clue leads him closer to a truth someone is willing to kill for.

Decode the cipher. Uncover the truth. Survive the game.

The silent cipher

As Vaelen hovered in the void, slowly piecing his power back together, something… shifted.

"Well… well… well… look who decided to join the game," he muttered.

He stood up fully, cloak rising like smoke behind him. "Atlas," he hissed, almost fondly. "Still breathing, huh?"

"I should've ripped your heart out back then. Should've ended you when I had the chance."

He turned toward the shadow kneeling in the distance—Ouranus's body, still crackling with fading light, twisted by time and death.

Vaelen walked up to it, eyes scanning every broken piece of his former enemy.

"Right," he said with a smirk. "I can't call you Ouranus anymore."

"I give you a new name… Nozarashi."

Dark runes lit the space around the body. Chains melted. Eyes opened—empty, glowing.

"I unshackle you from your past. From who you were. From the weakness that killed you."

He stepped back, voice thunderous.

And from the void, the reply came—low, mechanical, soulless.

The fire cracked lazily, casting soft shadows across their faces. For once, no one was bleeding. No one was yelling. Just tired bones and quiet chewing.

Jonas poked at the flames with a stick. "So let me get this straight—dude wakes up from a stone coffin, glowing like a broken neon sign, talks like a 1,000-year-old philosopher with attitude, and now he's just… chillin'?"

Atlas, lying on a chunk of collapsed pillar, didn't even open his eyes. "I blinked twice. You just missed it."

Krane groaned. "Why are we still entertaining him?"

"Because if I don't laugh," Jonas said, dead serious for a split second, "I'll spiral into an existential crisis and probably cry into the fire."

Lucien raised a hand. "Relatable."

Atlas cracked one eye open. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Loud, sarcastic, allergic to shutting up."

Jonas grinned. "Let me guess—handsome, charming, incredibly misunderstood?"

"No. He looked like a wet ferret."

Jonas clutched his chest. "Wow. I am at least raccoon-level attractive. Minimum."

Even Mira cracked a smile at that one. She didn't say anything, but the way her lips twitched said enough.

Elias walked up, dropping a satchel of food by the fire. "Found some tracks. Barefoot. Heavy. Whoever it was, they weren't wandering."

Lucien sat up straighter. "Human?"

"Hard to say. Deep prints. Ground was cracked in places."

Atlas yawned. "Probably me. I do weird things when I sleep."

"You stomp around barefoot and crush dirt?" Dave asked.

"Only when I dream of punching gods."

Jonas looked around. "He's definitely cracked."

Atlas smirked. "A little broken's good. Keeps the pieces sharp."

Mira finally spoke, voice low but curious. "Why did the book call you?"

Atlas opened his eyes fully this time. Something flickered in his gaze—something old.

"We go way back. It saved me once. Or ruined me. Depends on the day."

"Are you staying?" Lucien asked, blunt.

Atlas rolled his shoulders. "That depends. You got food?"

Dave tossed him a piece of jerky. "We got enough."

And just like that, for the first time in a while… the air wasn't heavy. Nobody was dying. Nobody was saving the world. They were just a weird group of tired people around a fire—sharing snacks, trading sarcasm, pretending like the world wasn't about to end again.