The Hidden Monster of House Vale

It was late into the night. Every shop in the city had long since closed their shutters, and not a single sliver of light escaped from any home—save for one. The office of the Alchemist Guild's master still burned bright, its warm glow spilling through the windows into the empty streets.

Mirette sat hunched over her desk, exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. Her quill scratched across parchment as she tallied the day's orders, the numbers blurring before her tired eyes. She had received troubling news that morning: a wave of poisonings had struck the city, and a newly discovered hidden dungeon—a higher-tier one, no less—contained a poisonous swamp that had already claimed several unprepared adventurers. The demand for antidotes had skyrocketed overnight.

Well, it seems like Lucien's plan is going well, she thought, pausing her work. I just hope he doesn't break the promise he made.

She set down her quill and stretched her aching fingers. "That should be enough for tonight. I'll continue tomorrow."

Just as she began gathering her belongings, the door creaked open. A young woman with spectacles perched on her nose stepped inside—Darya Flint, Mirette's assistant. She was a quiet sort, but her admiration for the guild master burned bright. No matter how much hatred the world threw at alchemists, Mirette never wavered. She simply kept moving forward. That alone made her worthy of respect in Darya's eyes.

"Miss Mirette, are you finished with your work?" Darya asked softly.

"Yes, I've just completed it. Let me close the windows. Wait outside for me, please."

Darya nodded and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her. She leaned against the wall in the dim corridor, adjusting her glasses as the minutes ticked by.

Inside the office, Mirette moved toward the window to secure the latch. She was reaching for the lock when a shadow flickered in the glass—a figure standing directly behind her.

She spun around, heart lurching, and found herself face to face with Lucien Vale. He stood in the center of the room as if he had materialized from the darkness itself, his sharp features illuminated by the dying candlelight.

"Seems like I'm not late," he said, a faint smile playing at his lips. "How are you doing, Miss Guild Master?"

Mirette exhaled, forcing her pulse to steady. "I'm well. I thought you wouldn't come—that you'd break your promise, like every noble I've ever known."

Lucien's smile didn't falter. "You kept your word. Why wouldn't I keep mine?"

"Then I assume you failed to convince Lady Delian to admit me to the Astral Academy?" She crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "I heard you lost the Trial of Imperial Succession."

"Ah, about that—"

Mirette cut him off, her voice sharp with resignation. "It's fine. I knew it was a long shot. I only thought it might be a good opportunity to fulfill my father's last wish. Don't blame yourself—just go."

She turned away, facing the open window. The cool night breeze brushed against her face, and for a moment, she felt the weight of every disappointment she had ever endured. She had seen too much, experienced too much. From a young age, she had learned that hope was a luxury she couldn't afford. No matter how many people she saved, nothing ever changed. The hatred for alchemists ran too deep, and her efforts were like water against stone.

Lucien sighed softly and stepped closer. "Someone has a very negative view of this world," he murmured, his tone almost teasing.

He produced a scroll from within his coat and held it out to her. "Here. Your official invitation to join the Astral Academy, signed by Lady Delian herself. As for your sponsorship, House Vale has taken that responsibility."

Mirette froze. Her hand trembled as she reached out, snatching the scroll from his grasp. She unrolled it with frantic fingers, scanning the elegant calligraphy, the official seal of the academy, the signature that confirmed its authenticity.

"Wh-what...?" she breathed, her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry," she said, turning back to face him, her eyes wide with regret. "I thought you failed because you lost the succession trial."

"The Trial of Imperial Succession has nothing to do with the Astral Academy." Lucien's gaze was steady, unyielding. "Remember this, Mirette: if Lucien Vale promises something, it is bound to happen. I never make false promises."

A sly grin crossed his face. "But... if you don't want the invitation, I suppose I could always—"

"No! No, I accept!" she blurted out, clutching the scroll to her chest as if it might vanish.

Tears welled in her eyes—hot, unbidden, and utterly overwhelming. She sank to the floor, her legs giving out beneath her. The scroll remained pressed against her heart, the weight of her father's dream finally resting in her hands. After all these years, she could finally fulfill his last wish.

"How did you convince her?" she asked, looking up at him through blurred vision. "Lady Delian is famous for being cold and unapproachable. How did you manage this?"

Lucien shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "It was easy. I simply showed her a few of your special potions. She took an interest." He met her gaze, his golden eyes glinting. "From now on, the rest is up to you. Work hard."

"I will," she vowed, her voice fierce with resolve.

She rose to her feet, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. A thought struck her, and she straightened. "Lord Lucien, there's going to be an auction soon. Many rare cultivation resources will be available. I believe you should attend—you might find something worthwhile. As guild master, I also received an invitation."

She kept her expression calm, but inwardly her mind raced. If Lord Lucien is as wealthy as they say, he could acquire something valuable there. It would help me prove my usefulness to him.

"I'll consider it," Lucien replied, his tone dismissive. "For now, focus on the academy."

Without another word, he stepped backward into the shadows, and the darkness swallowed him whole. He simply... vanished, as if he had never been there at all.

Mirette stood still for a long moment, composing herself. She tucked the scroll carefully into her robes, straightened her collar, and wiped the last traces of tears from her face.

From beyond the door, Darya's voice drifted in. "Miss Mirette, are you all right?"

Mirette opened the door with a radiant smile that took Darya by surprise.

"What happened, Miss Mirette?" Darya asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

"I have something to tell you." Mirette reached out and took Darya's hands in hers, her eyes shining.

Lucien lay sprawled across his bed, the silence of his chambers wrapping around him like a shroud. The events of the past few days churned in his mind—the trial, Queen Cynthia's cryptic words.

What secrets does she know about me? he mused, staring at the ceiling. If it's something dangerous, I need to be prepared.

His thoughts shifted to the auction. It was worth keeping an eye on. There was something about it that tugged at his instincts—a feeling he had learned not to ignore.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his musings. He rose and opened it to find Rena Vale standing in the hallway, her silhouette framed by the dim torchlight.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked, his voice flat.

"Won't you invite me in?" she replied, her tone sweet but insistent.

Rena entered without waiting for permission, seating herself on the edge of his bed. Lucien standing by the window, a cup of wine in his hand, watching her with guarded eyes.

"It's been a while since we last spoke," she began, smoothing the fabric of her dress.

"We met two days ago, if I'm not mistaken."

"True, but that was a formal meeting. You didn't come to me afterward—to speak with me, to learn about me." She tilted her head, her lips curving into a soft pout.

"Why would I?"

"Fair point." She let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. "But it seems I've lost the patience to wait for you to make the first move. So here I am. Now can we talk like we used to, in the old days?"

Lucien took a slow sip of wine, studying her over the rim of his cup. "What old days? What are you talking about?"

"You used to share everything with me," Rena pressed, leaning forward. "We would talk all night, go everywhere together. I enjoyed your company, Lucien. I know you enjoyed having me by your side."

"Ah." His voice was ice. "The only thing I remember is you mocking me for being powerless. Running after my eldest brother, Riven, for his attention. And then you accused me of forcing myself on you. Have you forgotten all of that, Rena?"

There was no anger in his words. No sadness. Just cold indifference—a flatness that was somehow more cutting than any shout. He stepped closer, his golden eyes beginning to glow.

"And now you come here, saying you want me. Why would I want you by my side?" He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do not be mistaken. I don't need anyone on my side."

Rena's jaw tightened, but she forced herself to stay calm. She had known this wouldn't be easy. "Lucien, we were young back then. And it's not like you were punished for it—just because I made that accusation. It's been years. Can't we forget the past and start anew? Maybe even... together?"

Lucien's expression flickered, a sly smile curling his lips. "Wait a moment. Why are you so insistent on being together? If I'm not mistaken, something is happening in the branch family that I'm unaware of. Isn't that right?"

Rena's composure cracked, just slightly. "N-No, everything is fine. I'm saying this because I genuinely care for you, that's all."

"Rena... Rena... Rena..." He shook his head slowly, almost pityingly. "Lady Rena, we are not children anymore. I can detect lies easily. But whatever—I don't give a damn about what's happening in the branch family."

He gestured toward the door. "If you're done, you should return to your room. Please don't come unannounced again. I'd hate to be accused of something I didn't do. Again."

"Lucien, please listen—"

He grabbed her arm, not roughly but firmly, and guided her toward the door. "I'm very tired. Perhaps some other time."

The door clicked shut behind her, and Rena stood in the hallway, trembling with frustration.

Somewhere in a dark chamber, hidden from the light of the moon, a gathering took place. Hooded figures clustered around a stone table, their faces obscured by shadows. The air was thick with tension.

"So what's the task this time?" a gruff voice asked. "Why have so many of us been called together?"

"Yeah," another voice chimed in. "Who are we killing?"

The figure at the head of the table reached into his robes and withdrew a folded parchment. He placed it flat on the stone surface, then slid a single coin across the table.

"The target," he said, his voice low and raspy, "is Lucien Vale."

Author Note:

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