Fate and Legacy

The walk back from the market had been quiet, almost peaceful. Elena carried the wrapped clothes while Sean walked beside her, hands in his pockets. Oliver trailed behind for a while before suddenly stepping ahead, his eyes fixed on a small café across the street.

He stopped.

"You two can go ahead," he said, voice low but firm. "I've got somewhere to be."

Elena turned sharply. "Where?"

Oliver didn't answer immediately. His gaze was locked on the café's entrance, the faint sound of soft music drifting out as someone opened the door and stepped inside.

"There's someone I need to catch up to," he finally said. 

Sean narrowed his eyes. "And what? You just expect us to leave you and walk home?"

Oliver shrugged. "I didn't ask you to follow me."

"Well, we are," Elena said, stepping beside him. "You think you're the only one who's curious?"

Oliver glanced at her but said nothing.

Sean scoffed. "You both are unbelievable. I'm not wasting my money on drinks just because someone decided to chase ghosts."

Oliver didn't turn. "It used to be my favorite place. Until I was betrayed."

"Betrayed?" Elena echoed, her voice softening. "By who?"

Oliver's jaw clenched. "She knows who she is."

Sean folded his arms. "I'm still not spending my money."

Elena turned to him with a smirk. "Yes, you are. Come on, Sean. It's not about the drinks."

"It's always about the drinks when you're the one paying," he muttered.

"Then think of it as paying for drama," she teased, grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

Sean groaned but followed.

As they stepped inside, Oliver murmured under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Lily…." 

Without waiting for either of them, he walked straight to the counter with purpose in his stride.

Elena glanced at Sean, uncertain.

"We're really doing this?" Sean muttered, already annoyed.

"We're already here," Elena replied, pulling him toward an empty table near the window. "Let's just sit and see what this is about."

Sean grumbled but followed. They sat down quietly, watching Oliver from a distance.

At the counter, Lily was finishing up with a customer. She smiled faintly, wiped the surface, then turned—only to freeze.

There he was.

Standing right in front of her like a ghost from a past she had tried to bury.

Her heart skipped. Her grip on the cloth tightened.

She forced a small smile, masking the panic rising inside her. "Long time… no see."

Oliver raised an eyebrow, his smirk sharp and cold. "Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked, voice tinged with sarcasm. "Or are you that scared I might kill you?"

Lily's smile faltered. "I already knew about your escape. You can't harm me here, Oliver. Not with people watching."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping low and menacing. "You think so? I could kill you right here if I really wanted to." He paused, letting that sink in. "But no… you don't get to die that easily. Not yet."

Lily's breathing grew shallow, her knuckles white around the cloth.

"I haven't decided on your death," Oliver continued. "Should I bury you in a wall like you deserve? Or maybe I should start with your family. I don't know yet. But what I do know is this: I won't let your death be easy."

He suddenly pulled back, his tone flipping to something almost cheerful.

"But that's not why I'm here today." He tapped the counter once, smiling again. "I came to drink with my friends. So, be a good girl, Lily… and serve us."

From the table, Elena watched Lily's face as she turned, clearly shaken.

"She looks like she's seen a ghost," Elena whispered.

Sean didn't respond. He was watching Oliver closely, lips tight. 

Oliver returned to the table, sliding into the seat opposite Sean and adjacent to Elena without saying a word. He looked calm—but his eyes held something sharper, colder. Elena watched him carefully, noticing how his jaw stayed tense.

"That talk was long" she said casually, trying to keep things light.

Oliver glanced at her. "It's nothing important."

Elena tilted her head. "Is she the reason we came in here?"

He gave a short nod. "Just do me a favor and stay away from her. She's not a good person."

Elena frowned. "She didn't seem—"

"I said what I said," Oliver cut her off, eyes dark. "Don't get fooled by what she looks like. She's dangerous."

Before she could press further, a waitress arrived at their table carrying a small tray with three glasses of golden liquid. She placed one in front of each of them and left without a word.

Elena looked at the drink and tensed. "This is alcohol."

Oliver picked his up and smirked. "Obviously. What else do you think they serve in a place like this?"

"I… I don't drink," Elena said, gently pushing her glass aside. "It will make me feel light and… dizzy. Like I'm floating. I don't like that."

Oliver let out a laugh. "What?" he teased. "How can a man not drink alcohol? It's not like you're a girl or something."

Elena froze.

She didn't know what to say. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Sean, noticing her discomfort, leaned forward with a sharp tone. "Leave him alone, Oliver. If it bothers you that much, drink harder. I'll take his if you're so worried about masculinity."

Oliver raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing more. Instead, he clinked his glass against Sean's.

"To enemies that don't stay buried," he muttered, then downed the drink in one smooth motion.

Sean lifted his own and drank slowly. Elena sat in silence, trying not to draw any more attention to herself.

A few minutes passed. The café's atmosphere remained calm, almost peaceful.

Until the loud crash.

The sound of shattering glass made heads turn. Oliver's tumbler had slipped from his hand and hit the floor, rolling under the table in a wet spiral.

Elena looked over quickly—and froze.

Oliver's head was now resting heavily on her shoulder. His breathing was slow. Too slow.

"Oliver?" she called, gently nudging him. "Hey, are you—?"

No answer.

She turned to Sean—and found his head slumped against the table, his arms limp at his sides.

Elena's stomach dropped.

From across the room, Lily stared for a moment, satisfied.

She slipped a phone from her pocket and pressed a quick-dial button. "They're asleep," she whispered. "Come now."

It didn't take long.

The café's door burst open not ten minutes later. Lucien strode in, flanked by four robed alchemys. The instant their long black coats and golden markings were seen, customers screamed. Dishes clattered. Chairs toppled. Within moments, the café was emptied in a storm of fear and confusion.

But Elena didn't run.

The moment she saw the alchemys, her instincts kicked in. She dove under a table nearby, tucking her knees in tightly, heart pounding in her ears.

Lucien stood still, surveying the empty café before walking slowly to the table where Sean and Oliver sat slumped in unconscious silence. 

 Lily became surprised. "Where's the third one? They're supposed to be three". She now noticed the untouched drink on the table. "The other guy didn't take his drink. He must've slipped away before you got here."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Let's take the two then." He turned to his men. "Get them in the car. Now."

The alchemys obeyed, lifting Oliver and Sean's limp bodies without hesitation and carrying them out the door.

From beneath the table, Elena watched in horror. Her fists clenched tightly. She couldn't believe this was happening—again.

She dared to peek through the legs of the chairs. Outside, more alchemys surrounded the café, forming a barrier. There was no easy way out.

Lily stood beside Lucien with a smug look on her face as the car doors shut behind the two captives.

That look—Elena would never forget it.

She had to move.

Now.

Silently, Elena crept from beneath the table. She stayed low, made it halfway toward the door—then collided with someone.

She gasped.

Lily.

They both froze, staring at each other.

Time stood still.

Lily's smile dropped. Her eyes filled with shock, then immediate rage.

"He's here!" Lily screamed. "That's the third one! HE'S WITH THEM!"

Elena's heart burst into motion.

She ran.

Lucien turned immediately. "Go after him." He roared, "NOW!" 

Three alchemys burst through the door and began chasing after her.

Outside, Lily stood at the edge of the sidewalk, her eyes gleaming with triumph. Lucien shouted more orders behind her, his voice sharp and dangerous.

"He's not going far," he growled. "Find him"

Elena didn't look back.

She had one goal: run like hell and stay free.

Elena tore through the alleyways, heart hammering in her chest, the voices of the alchemys behind her growing louder. Her breath came in sharp, frantic gasps. The streets ahead blurred. She didn't know where she was anymore—only that she had to keep moving.

But her foot caught.

A piece of broken stone jutted from the path, and she stumbled violently, crashing to the ground with a sharp cry. Pain shot through her wrist and side. Dirt and gravel bit into her palms.

She scrambled up, her legs weak—but before she could move, she heard she had no footsteps behind her. 

Then, a sudden crackling surge of energy lit up the narrow path behind her. An alchemy in dark robes raised his hand, golden symbols swirling around his wrist like a living tattoo. The air pulsed around him.

"Stay down," he hissed, thrusting his hand forward.

A violent beam of twisted light burst from his palm—like lightning laced with fire. It struck Elena square in the back. Her body jerked forward, eyes widening in shock as the impact ripped through her nerves, shutting everything down.

She collapsed instantly.

Silent. Unmoving.

The lead alchemy stepped forward, lowering his hand as the glow faded from his fingers.

"He's out," he said flatly. "Pick him up," he ordered. "We take her with the others."

They lifted Elena carefully, almost respectfully, and carried her toward the waiting vehicle parked just outside the edge of town. The alchemists climbed in, closing the doors behind them.

Inside the black carriage-like van, Sean and Oliver still lay unconscious, their wrists bound with silver-threaded bands. Elena was placed beside me them. 

At the Alchemys' Chamber

The great gates creaked open as the vehicle approached. Inside, towering walls of obsidian stone glowed with faint runes, like veins of magic running through the fortress. Lanterns flickered. The scent of ancient dust filled the halls.

The unconscious prisoners were carried inside.

Elena was taken down a quieter corridor and locked in a smaller cell apart from the others. A stone door slammed behind her with a final clang.

Elsewhere in the chamber...

A tall, silver-haired man was escorted into the central chamber. He wore long brown robes, and his pale blue eyes scanned the vast hall as if sensing something no one else could.

"Look who we have here," Luke said, standing at the base of a stone altar. His voice was smooth, mocking. "Martins. After all these years, you return to my walls. Didn't think you'd show your face again after abandoning us."

Martins didn't flinch. "I didn't come for you, Luke."

"Oh?" Luke's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then why are you here, old friend?"

Martins stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Why does it feel like the Veil of Saq'el is here?"

Luke's smile froze. 

He descended the last stone stair, arms folded across his chest, a sardonic smile curling at his lips.

"The Veil of Saq'el?" he repeated with a dry chuckle. "Martins, I expected better stories from a man who once trained half the inner court."

Martins didn't flinch. "You still think it's a myth?"

"Of course it is. No one has ever seen it, touched it, or proven that it even exists."

"I can feel it," Martins said calmly. His eyes scanned the room as if the walls themselves might be hiding something. "It's near. That cloth suppresses magic. I can't feel mine anymore. Not fully. Try using yours."

Luke raised a brow but remained where he stood. "You expect me to believe you're powerless because a piece of old cloth is near?"

"Don't believe me," Martins said softly. "Try it yourself. Just try to summon your power. Even a flicker. You'll see."

Luke hesitated for a moment—then raised a hand, trying to make a flicker. 

Nothing.

No light. No spark. No pull from the ether.

His smile faded.

"…Strange," he muttered, more to himself. 

His expression darkened—just for a moment.

Then he straightened, brushing it off. "So magic flickers. That could be anything. Ambient pressure, inner disruption—"

"Or the presence of something that defies it," Martins cut in. "You've felt it. Now admit it."

Luke stared at him.

Then something flickered in his mind.

That cloth.

The one recovered days ago when Elena had narrowly escaped—torn from the cloak she wore. It had felt strange then, and he had ordered it locked away without thinking twice.

He turned to the nearest alchemy standing by the door. "Fetch that cloth. The one that was brought after the escape."

The alchemy bowed. "Yes, Master. I stored it in the small chest, as instructed."

Moments later, the alchemy returned, holding a black wooden box.

He opened it carefully—and there it was. A ragged, dust-covered piece of dark fabric, plain and tattered… but oddly weightless, like it didn't quite belong to this world.

Luke stared at it.

"This… was with the girl during her escape," he said aloud, his brow furrowing. "hmmm"

He turned to Martins sharply. "This is what you're talking about? This—this cloth?"

Martins reached forward instinctively, eyes widening. "That's it."

Luke scoffed and suddenly hurled the cloth at him. "Then take it. I don't want trash like that in my chambers."

Martins caught the fabric, almost reverently, holding it in his hands like it was gold. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he inhaled sharply. It was cold—but not like ice. Cold like the absence of life. Like void itself.

"This is only a torn piece," he murmured. "Where's the rest of it?"

Luke crossed his arms. "One of the prisoners who escaped was wearing it. That's all we recovered during the incident."

"So this is… just the torn part?" Martins asked, lifting his gaze. "Do you know who the person was?"

"No," Luke replied flatly. "Whoever wore it managed to escape. We have no record of them. All we know is that it was torn from them during a scuffle or something. We assumed it was nothing. Until now."

Martins stared at the cloth in his hand, his expression growing thoughtful. "Then someone wore the full veil... or a large portion of it."

Luke narrowed his eyes. "So?"

Martins spoke mostly to himself now. "If even this fragment can disrupt our magic like this... what would the full garment do to the one wearing it? It must have... affected them. Slowly. Like a process—transforming, maybe even awakening something."

Luke waved a hand, clearly done. "I don't care who wore it or what it does. As far as I'm concerned, it's cursed fabric tied to the past. And I don't want it in my chambers."

He said looking at the cloth in Martins' hand. 

"Take it. I don't keep trash."

Martins folded carefully, still watching the cloth in awe, then looked up slowly.

"Whoever wore this..." he murmured, "they might not even know what's happening to them."

Just then, the chamber door opened again, and the young alchemy named Tim stepped in.

"Master Luke," he said, slightly out of breath, "the prisoners have been captured—Oliver and two others. One of them is already awake."

Luke's head snapped toward him. "Good. I want to see them."

He paused at the doorway and turned back to Martins coldly.

"You can leave now. I have no use for wild stories or ancient fabric myths. You've wasted enough of my time."

"But Luke—"

"I said leave," Luke snapped. "Unless you want to rot in the cell next to Oliver."

Martins said nothing, only clutched the cloth tighter.

Luke turned on his heel and swept out of the chamber, his boots clicking sharply on the stone floor as he followed the alchemist down the corridor.

"Which one is awake?" he asked as they walked.

"The third one. Not Oliver or the one with him. The… other one."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Take me there."