Threads of a Ghost

The scent of copper and ash lingered in the ruined clocktower as the last light of dusk bled through a cracked window. Lily sat on a broken slab of stone, knees drawn to her chest, fingers idly toying with the frayed hem of her cloak.

She'd spent the day combing through city archives and scraping data from the info-slate, careful not to trigger any more alerts. The ghost of Seraphina still lingered on every digital edge of Elaria's systems, from the forgotten census files to the archival music recordings listed under royal patronage.

But tonight, Lily had a different priority.

She needed a plan. A long-term one.

Disguises. Work. Resources. Influence. Revenge didn't happen overnight — it needed scaffolding.

She opened a tattered leather-bound journal she'd found buried beneath debris. Most pages were scorched, but enough were blank to use.

At the top, she wrote:

New Identity.

She chewed her pen, staring at the ink.

The first rule of surviving in hostile systems: mask your IP. In this world, it meant more than just a cloak and a lie.

She thought of the market women selling painted scarves, the street performers who wore glittering masks, the wandering bards with crafted personas. She needed to be someone else — someone who didn't look, talk, or act like the fallen crown princess.

Her fingers moved.

Name: Mira Everen.

Age: 19.

Origin: Traveling seamstress from the borderlands. Half-Elarian, half-Novalic.

Occupation: Apprentice fashion crafter and singer.

Backstory: Orphaned during a border raid. Lived with a traveling troupe. Good with a needle and voice.

She paused.

That would work. Something simple, soft, and mobile. No questions asked.

Next:

Income Sources.

She flipped to the next page and sketched two overlapping circles.

Hacking: Still viable but high-risk. Needs stealth. Use only for information-gathering or sabotage. Never for profit.

Fashion Design: Low suspicion. Marketable. Can blend into tailor guilds.

Music: Emotional, persuasive, and highly portable. Potential for influence.

The more she dug into Seraphina's old musical records, the more she realized: the girl had adored music. Composed her own lullabies. Sponsored young performers. Sang in private gardens beneath glowing lanterns.

Lily felt it — that echo.

Maybe Seraphina wasn't just a tragic royal. Maybe she had something real inside her — something Lily could respect.

She turned the page again and began sketching rough clothing ideas. Elegant but travel-friendly. Cloaks that hid weapons. Gloves with hidden thread needles. Boots reinforced with mana threads.

And for performance? Something eye-catching, but not too noble.

She glanced at the clocktower's shadows.

She needed fabric.

And a way to perform.

Tomorrow, she'd scout the Artisan District. Blend in, observe. Maybe slip into a tailor's guildhall or visit a music venue. Learn who mattered. Who paid well. Who could be manipulated.

But tonight?

She hummed. Just softly.

A half-remembered melody from Seraphina's archive.

Delicate, wistful.

She didn't realize her eyes had closed until the wind rustled the broken shutters and brought her back.

For the first time, Elaria didn't feel so foreign.

It felt like a puzzle.

And Lily was very good at puzzles.

She jotted down her final note before sleep:

Rebuild Seraphina's legacy — but this time, make it unbreakable.