Ghost in the Code
The soft hum of Lily's modified data-slate echoed in the dead air of the abandoned tower. She knelt beneath the stone arch, fingers dancing across the cracked screen like a pianist. Her disguise was not yet complete, but she needed one thing before anything else: money.
In her world, cash flowed through lines of code. And even here in Elaria — a land of carriages, crystal lamps, and enchanted beasts — wealth still moved digitally beneath the polished marble floors of the royal court.
Her first target wasn't some poor merchant or desperate healer. No, she chose a noble — a minor viscount whose mansion lights blazed each night with imported glowglass and whose name appeared in the corruption logs of Seraphina's old files.
Viscount Darel of House Trenlow. A pompous tax leech who ran "donation drives" to fix city roads but spent half the funds on his personal endeavors.
Lily's lip curled as she accessed the old records. The security was laughable — basic rune encryptions overlaid on outdated gridlocks. Clearly, the court's cybersecurity hadn't evolved in years.
"Let's see what you're hiding, Darel," she whispered.
She wasn't in this for greed. She didn't need a fortune. Just enough to rent a roof and build Mira Everen from the ashes.
Lines of Elarian script flickered as she sliced through his mansion's ledger. Gold transfers. Property leases. Smuggled tech.
Perfect.
She rerouted a small percentage of his latest land sale into an anonymous artisan support fund — one she created moments ago using Seraphina's forgotten royal seal codes as a foundation.
A few hundred gold credits. Clean. Untraceable. If anyone found out, they'd think it was just another noble giving to a random guild. Nothing new.
When the last script vanished, Lily exhaled.
"Thanks, Darel," she muttered, shutting the slate down and burying it beneath her cloak.
The Artisan District smelled like linen, hot metal, and honeyed tea. Dozens of stalls shimmered with dyed fabrics and crystal-thread garments. It buzzed with artists shouting prices, laughter from musicians warming up for their evening sets, and the soft melodies of wind chimes tied to enchanted archways.
Dressed in her scavenged cloak and soot-stained boots, Lily slipped through the crowd, eyes lowered, posture meek — just another drifter.
She found a modest tailor's shop tucked between a ceramic vendor and a bathhouse. Its name, Thread & Timber, was etched in old wood above the door. The woman inside, grey-haired and sharp-eyed, looked up as Lily entered.
"We don't take commissions on market day," the tailor said flatly.
Lily nodded. "I'm not here for that. Just looking to buy off-the-rack pieces. Nothing fancy. I have coin."
The tailor raised a brow but waved her over. "Show me your hands."
Lily hesitated, then held them out—calloused fingers, faint scars — signs of a life neither soft nor noble.
"Seamstress?" the woman asked.
"Apprentice. From the borderlands."
It was a lie, but a believable one.
The woman grunted. "You'll need to change that cloak if you want to blend in. Looks like something the rats spat out."
Lily left twenty gold credits on the counter and left the shop an hour later wearing a plain brown dress with embroidery at the hem, soft boots, and a woven shawl. It wasn't royal, but it suited her new identity.
She didn't look like a princess anymore. She looked like Mira Everen.
By nightfall, she stood in front of a crooked boarding house tucked at the edge of the district. The Ember House, it was called — three stories tall, warm candlelight flickering behind its windows.
The owner was a man named Tobias. Burly. Quiet. The kind who didn't ask questions if you paid up front.
"One room, third floor. Comes with a key, wash basin, and meals on even days," he said. "Eight gold a week."
She handed him twenty-four gold coins. "Three weeks. I'll pay more if you forget my face."
He smirked. "Wouldn't be the strangest request I've had."
Her room was tiny but clean. A small window overlooked the rooftops, and a cracked mirror sat above a writing desk. Lily closed the door, locked it twice, and leaned against it.
She had a name. A room. Clothes. A cover story.
Now, she needed work.
She sat at the desk and reopened her journal.
To Do:
Scout singing venues or taverns with performances
Visit a music shop — instruments, vocal circles.
Begin designing small fashion items (gloves, pins, travel cloaks) to sell or barter
Watch for city rumors — who misses Seraphina, who believes the fake princess, who's vulnerable.
She tapped her pen thoughtfully. A slow burn of purpose kindled in her chest. She wouldn't just be a ghost hiding from the world. She would infiltrate it.
One stitch, one note, one shadow at a time.
The stars blinked above Elaria, and down in the market, a minstrel began to sing. Lily listened, the melody rising on the breeze.
Soon, they would hear her voice too.
And when they did —
They would remember.
They would feel the truth in every note she sang.
And that would be the beginning of her revenge.