No Path Chosen

Servin and Silas arrived at the orphanage late into the night. From outside, the warm glow of the common room lights spilled through the windows, a stark contrast to the quiet streets behind them. Silas pushed the door open, and the two stepped inside.

The moment they entered, they were met with familiar faces and welcoming smiles. The room was alive with warmth and chatter. Servin hesitated only briefly before stepping forward to join them, the exhaustion of the day easing slightly.

Silas, meanwhile, closed the door behind him and quietly called for Eva. She appeared a moment later, and the two slipped away into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Silas asked if Leon and Lucian had already explained what happened. Eva nodded and asked about his conversation with the Gloamwarden.

Silas didn't answer immediately. He flicked his finger, and a soft gust of wind closed the kitchen door behind them. Eva blinked, a little surprised. They were alone now.

Silas spoke quietly. "They're not exactly police, Eva. The Gloamwardens… they're Mirage's unseen protectors. They don't patrol streets or settle petty crimes. They deal with things most people can't handle—things that slip through cracks, especially at night."

Eva frowned. "Then why not just stop the Silent Chord? They've been—"

"They're not supposed to," Silas interrupted calmly. "The Chord staying in Gloryrail is part of the balance. The moment they step out of line, the Gloamwardens act. But within Gloryrail? They're… tolerated."

"Why?" Her voice was tense.

Silas sighed. "Because without them, Mirage falls apart. We lack basic materials—engine parts, copper, even ingredients for cheap potions. Common stuff in other countries. But no one will trade with us. They want to see Mirage fall."

Eva's eyes widened. "What? Why would they—?"

"Because we're ahead of them," Silas said simply. "We have rare crystals, powerful potion bases, libraries of forgotten knowledge hidden inside Griven Academy... and most of all, we're built right on top of a Remedic Point—a place where the world's spiritual energy gathers. That's why we have so many Ascenders. It boosts us spiritually."

"But...?"

"But because of that spiritual concentration, we lack everything else," he said. "And the Silent Chord fills that gap. They smuggle in what we need. They're the reason people like us can afford anything at all."

Eva stared at him, her expression caught between disbelief and understanding. "So the government pardons them."

"Only within Gloryrail," Silas reminded. "Step outside, and they're fair game."

She was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "How many Gloamwardens are there?"

"Less than forty," Silas replied. "But every one of them is a high-level Ascender. If the Chord ever goes too far, the Gloamwardens will wipe them out."

"Lately, however, there have been sightings of low-level Silent Chord members—underlings—operating beyond Gloryrail, moving deeper into the city. With so few Gloamwardens, they simply can't be everywhere at once."

Eva let out a breath. "So it's all hanging by a thread."

Silas nodded. "Exactly."

Eva leaned against the counter, her arms still folded but her expression a little softer now. "So… are we safe then?" she asked quietly. "Are the kids safe?"

Silas nodded. "The Gloamwarden gave their word. As long as the children stay out of Gloryrail, they won't be touched."

Eva let out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing. "Thank the stars…" she whispered. A weight seemed to lift from her.

But Silas's expression didn't change. If anything, it grew heavier.

"There's one more thing," he said, his voice lower now.

Eva looked up, sensing the shift. "What is it?"

"They invited me to join them," Silas said.

Her eyes widened. "You… what? Did you agree?"

Silas hesitated, then nodded. "I did."

"Silas," she breathed, stunned. "Why would you—?"

"Because I want to protect everyone here," he said firmly. "You. The boys. This place. I can't just stand on the sidelines anymore."

Eva's gaze searched his face, trying to read what wasn't being said. "But… your studies. What about Griven?"

"They'll let me finish," Silas replied. "I'll continue my classes until graduation. But during that time… they'll train me. Prepare me. I'll be walking two paths."

Her voice dropped. "When do you start?"

"Soon," he said. "Very soon."

Silence fell between them, heavy and charged. Then Silas added, more quietly, "I'm only telling you this, Eva. I don't want the boys involved. Not in this."

She nodded slowly, still trying to process it all.

"I'll tell them I'm going back to the academy early," Silas continued. "That I'll be staying in the Griven dorms because I'll be busy. I need you to make sure they don't dig into it. Not now."

Eva stared at him. Her voice was quiet, but full of weight. "You're walking into the shadows alone… and you're asking me to lie to them."

"I'm asking you to protect them," he said.

A long pause.

Finally, Eva looked down and nodded. "…Alright."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her hands clenched slightly. Lying to them would hurt—but losing Silas would hurt more

Silas exhaled. The decision had been made.

In the kitchen, Eva lingered by the counter even after Silas had left. The room felt colder now—quieter—like something heavy had been left behind.

Outside, the low murmur of conversation carried faintly through the walls. She could hear laughter. Leon's voice. Then Lucian's dry retort. It was almost like nothing had changed.

She ran a hand through her hair, then slowly pushed herself away from the counter.

Out in the common room, the warmth hit her instantly—firelight flickering across the walls, soft cushions piled on the floor, and Servin sitting cross-legged in the middle of it all, already surrounded.

Servin sat cross-legged near the fireplace, already surrounded. Laughter and teasing echoed around him—the kind of noise that made a place feel like home.

"Servin!" Leon called out, immediately standing. "You're back already?"

Lucian glanced over from the floor where he was half-asleep with a pillow under his head. "Didn't you leave, like, yesterday?"

Claire looked up from a stack of books, raising an eyebrow. "That was fast. I figured you'd be gone a week at least."

Servin gave a small, amused smile as he stepped fully into the room. "I said I wouldn't be gone long."

Leon walked over, giving him a light jab on the arm. "Still, it's weird seeing you walk back in so soon. Thought you'd vanish into noble business or something."

"I'll be coming back often," Servin said, "but I'll only ever stay for a day at most. I have to return before dusk tomorrow."

Claire's expression flattened. "So you came back just for one night?"

Servin nodded. "It's the best I can do right now. But I'll keep coming."

Lucian shrugged. "Better than disappearing for months."

Leon grinned. "Honestly? I'll take it."

Servin stepped further in and added casually, "Also… I got a cat."

That made them pause.

Leon blinked. "You what?"

Claire straightened up. "Wait, seriously?"

Lucian frowned. "You were gone for one day and you already bought a cat?"

Servin smirked. "His name's Silva. All black, blue eyes. Picked him up on the way back."

"Not just for company," Servin added. "I'm teaching him to sneak through vents and unlock things. Like a little escape tool."

Claire lit up. "Aww—bring him next time! I want to help train him."

Leon's eyes widened. "That's… actually kind of awesome."

Lucian gave Claire a side glance. "You just want to play with it."

Claire didn't deny it. "Obviously. But I can still teach him stuff."

Lucian rolled his eyes. "You'll spoil him."

Servin chuckled as the banter picked up around him. He'd only been gone a day—but somehow, it already felt like he'd been gone longer. And just being here, even for one night, was enough to remind him what mattered.

Elsewhere, deep within the shadows of Gloryrail, a single building stood tall, quiet, and cold. The night cloaked its windows in darkness, and the city's distant hum barely reached its walls.

Inside one of the upper floors, a dimly lit office simmered in silence. The only light came from the orange glow of a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across the room.

A man stood behind the desk, half-lit by the flickering bulb. His jacket hung open—no shirt beneath it—exposing a scar that ran jaggedly from his right eye down across his torso to his abdomen. Muscles tense, eyes sharp.

He was reading a report.

His jaw tightened as his gaze moved across the page. His grip on the paper creaked.

"Pathetic…" he muttered.

The report detailed the failed ambush. His underlings—trained members of the Silent Chord—had been bested by orphans. Orphans. A complete embarrassment.

He couldn't let the higher-ups hear about this. Not now. Not with his position already under scrutiny.

His voice dropped into a growl. "This needs to be handled… quietly."

He leaned back, mind already spinning with possibilities. Plotting something. But whatever it was—he didn't say.

A knock came at the door.

"Enter," he said without turning.

A large figure stepped inside, his presence filling the doorway. He wore a sleek, dark coat, and over his face—a snarling wolf mask, its carved fangs gleaming faintly in the lamplight. His steps were deliberate, each one echoing softly across the floor with the poise of a soldier. He stopped just before the desk.

The man behind it didn't look up.

"Ah. Octave," he said calmly. "Come in."

Octave shut the door behind him and stepped forward without a word.

"What happened with the boy your squad brought in?" the man asked, still mostly cloaked in shadow. Only the lamp on the desk gave shape to his scarred chest, exposed beneath the open jacket—its jagged line running from his right eye all the way down to his abdomen.

Octave straightened. "Vice Stringer handled the questioning herself. She tried being polite at first… but the kid wasn't talking."

"What did he say?"

"Just his name. Harry. Nothing else."

The man raised an eyebrow, but Octave continued. "She pressed harder. Beat him until he passed out."

Still, the figure at the desk didn't move. His voice was quieter now.

"He didn't say anything? Not a single name, hint, or tie?"

Octave shook his head. "Nothing. He kept his mouth shut the whole time. Took every blow without a word. The kid's loyal, I'll give him that."

Silence followed. The only sound was the low hum of the lamp buzzing.

Then the man slowly rose to his feet. The scar across his body caught the light—sharp, cruel, old.

"That woman is hopeless…" he muttered. "Beating a child until he blacks out—what kind of person does that? Does she have no sense of restraint? No morality?"

His tone was calm, but something dangerous curled beneath it.

He turned his back on Octave, staring out the dark window. "This is getting messy."

Then, with a sigh, he waved a hand.

"That'll be all. You can go."

Octave turned toward the door, but paused just before stepping out. He glanced back at the shadowed figure.

"…Longtiger."

The name rang sharp in the quiet room—like a blade unsheathed.

Then Octave left, the door clicking shut behind him.

And Longtiger was alone again—left with silence, shame… and a situation that needed fixing.