woke to a touch that was soft—
and cold as ice.
It wasn’t the rough stone floor of the prison.
The surface beneath him was smooth,
and the sensation brushing his skin was strangely delicate.
Fabric? High-grade leather?
Hard to tell at a glance.
Cold, but not suffocating.
A refined chill.
A space someone had controlled down to the last detail.
That impression hit first.
When he drew a breath,
a faint fragrance grazed his nose.
Not candle wax.
Smoke of foreign herbs,
a subtle scorch like singed leather.
Even the darkness felt measured—
disciplined authority, pressed into the air.
In the center of his vision,
the hem of a black cloak swept past.
A pattern stitched in red thread
glimmered faintly in the dark.
It looked almost alive,
strangely in sync with the tension hanging in the room.
Then a low, resonant voice
fell slowly from above.
“Now you’re awake?”
Rynel lifted his head on instinct.
As his vision sharpened,
the room revealed itself.
A vast chamber.
Dark drapes hung in orderly lines along the walls,
and at fixed intervals, lamps burned.
The light didn’t brighten the whole room.
Half of it sank into a muted gold.
The other half drowned in shadow.
At the center stood a single chair
with a high back.
And there,
a man sat.
A black cloak. Metal ornaments.
The craftsmanship over his chest and shoulders was precise—and heavy.
With long fingers interlaced,
he rested his chin on his hand and looked down at Rynel.
Jet-black hair slicked neatly back.
And a scar cutting across his face.
From the right eyebrow down past the cheek.
A straight, deep wound that split the eye line.
His gaze was clear and cold.
Not a single fragment of warmth lived in it.
He was Regid Harvan.
The true power at the core of the shadow organization.
A coordinator who controlled underworld information
and brokered the trade of darkness.
And when needed,
a man who hunted with his own hands.
Rynel took the stare full on—
and only then realized he was bound.
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Thick cords wrapped his wrists and ankles.
His body was fixed to the cold floor.
- ··There’s no running.
Regid said nothing.
He only watched.
A quiet, composed gaze—
but never dull.
The pressure of someone who’d already decided
what to kill, and what to keep.
Rynel swallowed silently.
A chill slid down his spine.
This wasn’t a place meant to confine.
It was a place where selection—and sentencing—happened.
“Boss~ We got some decent kids again~”
A playful, buoyant voice rang out.
From beyond the room’s darkness,
a man stepped into view, leaning against a black pillar.
A shabby cloak. Hair hanging loose.
A dangling metal earring.
On the back of his hand,
Rynel’s blood still hadn’t dried.
He was Shertan Volfest.
An officer who’d faced Rynel and Aira directly.
Notorious for fast hands and cruel work.
“One of them killed a guard,” Shertan said with a grin.
“In an instant.”
He laughed lightly.
“He was a pretty sturdy guy.
But with one little ‘tap’—his neck just snapped~”
The laughter was careless.
Inside it clung a bright poison,
a hound’s instinct for the hunt.
Regid didn’t answer.
He only narrowed his eyes slightly,
still looking at Rynel.
“Aira, was it? That girl’s interesting too.
Her spellwork has a very··· sharp grain.”
Shertan adjusted his cloak as if boasting.
“Give her a bit more power and she’d peel a whole room apart, easy.
We’re not going to waste them, right? Hah.”
At that moment,
Regid turned his head—very slowly.
The instant Shertan met his gaze,
the grin vanished.
He stepped back in silence.
A command stronger than words.
Pressure colder than movement.
This was a room where even jokes
weren’t permitted.
“At that age··· killing a guard, and even resisting one of my officers.”
Regid’s voice held no admiration, no surprise.
Only evaluation.
Like appraising merchandise.
Like weighing a price.
His eyes slid to Aira.
She still hadn’t come to—only breathing.
A faint rise and fall of her shoulders.
Trapped in an unfamiliar place, on the edge of waking.
“Aira.”
Regid spoke again, slowly.
“You two carry very interesting abilities.”
His gaze returned to Rynel.
“And you, Rynel.”
The child with blue eyes.
“I hear you have something··· unusual.”
Regid’s eyes traced Rynel, unhurried.
“Your power isn’t like what we use.”
“No magical linkage. No incantation.
It’s like··· a primitive reaction that erupts on its own.”
He folded his fingers one by one, murmuring.
Then, slowly,
Regid smiled.
“Undefined power is always the most dangerous.
And that makes it··· the most useful.”
Rynel lowered his head without a word.
Those words dug in—
as if Regid already knew something about him.
The man rose quietly.
His black cloak brushed the floor with a soft drag,
a small rasp of cloth against stone.
“I didn’t bring you here just to kill you.”
Low, but heavy.
“I brought you here to make you an offer.”
Regid walked at an unhurried pace.
Candle shadows trembled along his cloak.
His face stayed half hidden,
caught between darkness and light.
“It’s simple.”
He stopped.
Facing the two children head-on.
“Die here,
or gain a new life under our shadow.
- ··Choose.”
Rynel’s heart dropped with a small, dull thud.
This wasn’t a threat.
There was certainty in the voice.
A tone that implied
countless children had heard the same words,
been forced into the same choice.
“If you keep surviving,
maybe you’ll earn freedom someday.”
As Regid’s toe touched candlelight,
his shadow spilled over the children’s faces.
Rynel swallowed.
His hand clenched into a fist on its own.
This wasn’t a prison—
he knew it for sure now.
Regid’s lips curled upward.
But the smile never reached his eyes.
“So choose.”
His voice was low—final.
“Death··· or rebirth.”
He snapped two fingers.
A moment later,
a steel door opened and two masked men entered.
They stared at the children without speaking.
Blank faces. Silent motion.
The cruelty of this place
proved itself without a single word.
Regid tilted his head.
“Take them. Put each in a solitary cell.”
Then—
Rynel spoke.
“···Wait.”
Regid’s brow twitched, barely.
“···You have something to say?”
“···I want to be an adventurer.”
Regid’s mouth curved slowly.
“Hah··· Adventurer?”
He chuckled under his breath, then asked back—
“You think the way out of here is···
running petty errands out in the open?”
Cold mockery threaded his tone.
Rynel nodded without a word.
A brief silence.
Regid watched him.
Eyes narrowed.
His hand—once propping his chin—tightened slightly.
As if weighing something,
he fell into thought for a short moment.
“···Fine. But there’s a condition.”
He flicked a finger.
A different man appeared from the side room,
carrying a black box.
When the lid opened, two things lay inside.
* Two contract documents stamped with a red seal
* A “mana restraint”—a binding device that could suppress mana and even lock down the nervous system
Regid added, evenly,
“From this moment on, you’ll be ‘disguised adventurers.’”
“Outside, you can move as you please.
I’ll give you freedom—on the surface.”
He tapped the documents with his fingertips.
“But in return··· you’ll gather ‘our information’ on a schedule and deliver it.
That’s the condition.”
A pause. Silence.
Then the last line.
“If you play the role as well as we want,
I’ll consider real freedom.”
“···But remember one thing.”
Regid’s voice dropped.
He lifted the mana restraint from the box.
“If you think about running···”
He rolled the ring between his fingers.
“From that moment, your mana will rot while it sleeps.”
Rynel’s breathing trembled, just slightly.
“This isn’t a simple seal.
It ‘fixes’ the flow of mana—
until even you can’t feel your own power.”
Regid’s eyes were flat, merciless.
“And then you’ll be removed. Quietly. By our organization.”
No emotion.
Which made it worse.
“From now on, you three are a ‘team.’”
Regid closed the lid and added,
“···Three?”
The moment Rynel echoed it,
footsteps sounded from the shadows.
Click. Click.
Heels tapping the floor—
approaching without hurry.
From the darkness,
a woman stepped out.
Deep navy hair tied high in a ponytail.
A red cloak, hair spilling beneath it.
A black jacket rising to the neck.
Tactical gloves.
A short sword at her waist.
No presence in her steps.
Her movement was smooth, practiced.
She looked not even twenty.
A youthful face—still with traces of immaturity.
But her eyes were different.
Wariness that didn’t fit her age.
A trained coldness.
Like a hunting dog—
sharp, steady.
Regid indicated her.
“This is Ivela.
Your support··· and your watcher.”
Rynel took a step back on instinct.
A cold current seemed to brush his skin.
Aira had opened her eyes at some point,
but she sat in silence.
Her gaze stayed locked on Ivela—
as if trying to see through her.
Ivela looked them over, scanning.
Her pupils barely moved.
Her stare was cold, calculated.
In that instant, Rynel knew.
These weren’t like anyone he’d met before.
No posturing. No ornament.
People whose bodies remembered fighting and survival.
Action before speech.
Even their breathing felt sharp.
Humans built for combat.
Then Regid spoke quietly.
“This world··· is a place that bites and is bitten.”
He swept his eyes around the room.
The drooping dark drapes,
the flickering candlelight,
the silent stage.
It all looked like a theater—
a set designed down to the last detail.
“Kids who learn that early are different.
How to fight,
how to survive—
their bodies remember first.”
Regid’s gaze returned to Rynel and Aira.
No curiosity. No pity.
Only one question in his eyes:
Are you useful?
“Those kids···”
His lips lifted. A smile without feeling.
“···become weapons.”
At that,
Rynel clenched his teeth.
Something cold rose from deep in his chest.
Where he stood now.
What he could be used as.
He felt it clearly—
for the first time.
A small, certain anxiety
stirred beneath his heart.
Then Ivela turned away.
“Move.”
Her voice wasn’t sharp or soft.
Only precise. Brief.
Rynel looked at Regid one last time.
The man said nothing—
only lifted a hand and gave a small wave.
As if
sending off a new toy.