CHAPTER 4: Only Half the Truth

The Satellite Cities of Aurelion (II) — Excerpt

To the east, Elystria opens like a vast maritime gate, where luminous sea currents thread through deep harbors and salt-scented shipyards, carrying with them the breath of trade fleets from across the world.

To the south, Morlind stretches along endless brackish marshes, where saltwater and freshwater merge into a mystic mirror that nourishes ancient water-spirits.

The two cities stand as opposing poles of the world's great circulation: One radiant with commerce and ocean-borne resources, the other hushed and solemn with aquatic rites and brackish-water sigils.

From the eastern solstice seas to the southern tidal marshes, every journey, every cargo, and every story seeks a way to follow the current—to flow back and merge with the body of the world itself.

꧁꧂

Under the thin veil of moonlight

A thin veil of moonlight spread across the room, pale, cold, and fragile. The green stone on the floor pulsed with a dull emerald glow, like a heartbeat gone astray, trembling softly and sending out faint vibrations—as if veins of stone were struggling to move. Sinhara realized this was no ordinary seal; whatever was trapped inside was not silent, but resisting.

"A sealing art... sealed within a mineral?"

Sinhara frowned, then asked quietly, "Was that you, Ardyn?"

"Of course it was. What in all hells is going on, kid?"

The green glow inside the stone pulsed, faint and uneven, like a heartbeat.

A subtle vibration followed—like the tendons of rock struggling... to move.

He overturned his leather satchel, letting shards of Glacial Sage-Crystal scatter across the floor. He chose the brightest piece, placed the green stone at the center, and hurled the crystal down. A streak of blue light flared—then died out. Nothing happened. He tried again, harder.

Nothing happened.

"What...?" Sinhara blinked.

"That's not how you use it, you idiot!" the stone yelled.

"Do it again! Harder!"

Sinhara clenched his teeth.

He grabbed another shard and hurled it with more force.

Crack.

Still nothing.

"That's impossible..." he gasped.

"If this is a mineral seal, Glacial Sage-Crystal should shatter it easily!"

The green stone shuddered violently, almost in pain.

"WHAT AM I TRAPPED IN—"

"RIIIIIIT—!"

Celles' scream tore through the room.

The cat lunged from nowhere, fur bristling like flame, claws scraping the floor and sending splinters flying. It stared straight at the stone, growling as if facing an enemy.

"Celles, calm down—!"

Too late.

Click.

A sound—strange and wrong—not from the stone, but from the door.

The handle turned, painfully slowly.

So slow that every notch felt like fingers brushing the nerves along Sinhara's skin.

A gust of alley wind burst in—cold, damp, carrying the scent of torn mist.

All the candles went out at once.

Light was strangled in an instant.

The door opened.

A man stepped inside.

Ardyn.

For the second time.

But this time—he was calm. His breathing steady. Dust still clung to his coat. His eyes were sharp as ever, untouched by pain, distortion, or violent displacement.

"Hello, Sinhara," he said, as if returning from a nearby shop.

"Sorry for the delay. The Silver H... such a nuisance."

On the floor, two pairs of eyes stared in shock.

Sinhara—frozen in place.

Celles—hissing, retreating half a step but still standing protectively before him.

The second Ardyn looked down at the green stone.

A faint smile crossed his face—gentle, and yet deeply unsettling.

He bent down and picked it up as one might lift a nut from the ground.

"This," Ardyn said evenly,

"and I—along with the Morphic Spirit Stone, Mirrakin—will be your customers today."

Sinhara could not speak.

His mouth was too dry for sound.

One Ardyn stood right here.

Another Ardyn... was trapped inside the stone.

And both were real.

Both were true.

Ardyn held Mirrakin up to the dying lamplight.

"This stone was mined in the Western Half roughly a millennium ago. Its form is unstable. It thinks. It absorbs memories, abilities, even the shape of those who hold it for too long."

His eyes flicked briefly to the stone, a crooked smile forming.

"A dangerous relic. And a valuable one."

The air grew heavy, like leaden mist.

Sinhara stood up abruptly, brushing stone dust from his clothes. He looked from Ardyn to the stone—and suddenly remembered.

"What about the letter?" he asked.

Ardyn shrugged, entirely unconcerned.

"Oh. He's a perfect copy of me, after all."

He tapped Mirrakin lightly with a finger. Ting.

"My talents as a master thief—

or rather, mine from a few seasons ago—were copied completely.

So him slipping the letter out of my pocket without my noticing... is hardly surprising."

Sinhara opened his mouth, but no words came.

Mirrakin trembled slightly in Ardyn's hand, as if protesting. As if offended.

Ardyn paused, nostrils flaring. He inhaled deeply.

"Oh..."

His eyes widened, childlike with delight.

"The scent of dream-lust fish.

How thoughtful of you."

Both Sinhara and Celles froze, sharing the same baffled expression.

Ardyn did not wait to be invited.

He walked straight to the table, his heavy coat brushing the rug, and sat down with the ease of someone entirely at home.

"Oh, my manners."

He gestured politely. "Please, sit."

Sinhara pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, clutching the satchel of Glacial Sage-Crystal against his lap like a survival instinct.

The question burst out of him at once.

"That stone... what exactly is it?"

Ardyn scooped a spoonful of stew, blew on it, then smiled—

far too calmly for the situation.

"Mirrakin," he said.

"Its ancient name is Morphic Spirit.

A living memory. A fragment of mimicking consciousness."

Sinhara swallowed.

Ardyn set the green stone gently on the table, as if laying down a sleeping creature.

"They are not minerals.

They are fossilized memories—

fragments of will from ancient beings, trapped beneath the Western Half for thousands of years."

He tapped the table once. Tap.

"Those fragments, after enduring so long in darkness, grow hungry.

Hungry... for form."

He lifted Mirrakin between two fingers.

"When they stay close to a human long enough, they borrow everything. A face. A voice. Memories. Even the smallest habits..."

An eyebrow arched.

"Like... the habit of recognizing the scent of fish stew."

Sinhara went rigid.

Celles, curled in the corner, pricked up its ears.

"What you see before you," Ardyn continued,

"is me—from a few months ago. A full imprint. Complete intellect. Sometimes... independently acting."

The young shopkeeper frowned, his thoughts tangled like burnt copper wires in the corner of the shop.

Ardyn finished his spoonful, then placed the stone back on the table.

"Two lumen," he said flatly.

"...What?" Sinhara blinked.

"I said I'll pawn this shop for two lumen," Ardyn repeated, stressing every word.

"On one condition—no, scratch that. No conditions at all.

You pack up the entire shop and come with me."

Sinhara nearly leapt to his feet again.

"Ardyn, that's absurd! I can't—"

"No, no, no." Ardyn raised a hand, cutting him off.

"You don't understand, kid."

His voice dropped—sharp and cold.

A seriousness that was... dangerous.

"From this point on, Rivain is heading toward war.

Do you really think a shop full of artifacts like this will be left in peace?"

He slammed the table once. The spoon rattled, stew rippling.

"To the Kingdom, this place is an armory.

Do you know what that means?"

Sinhara opened his mouth—nothing came out.

Ardyn tilted his head, his tone stretching with dry mockery.

"It means the only legacy you'll leave behind

is that broken toilet I've been hearing gurgle this whole time."

"That's a clock, you idiot," Mirrakin snapped, glowing brighter.

"Shut up," Ardyn barked back—short, cold, and painfully familiar.

Sinhara took a deep breath, forcing his heartbeat to slow.

"You said... war. What do you mean?"

Ardyn looked at him for a long moment. His eyes suddenly tired, pulled back into a memory thick with fire.

"That's all for today." He stood, brushing off his coat.

"I'm exhausted."

Sinhara sprang up.

"Wait! What war? With whom? You can't just say that and leave—"

Ardyn raised a hand, stopping him.

"Sil is nearby," he said softly, for the first and only time.

"Save some of the stew for her. Don't let her get angry."

Then—

as if drawn into the mist itself—Ardyn vanished again, without a sound.

Left behind on the table were the softly glowing Mirrakin,

two lumen shining like arterial lights,

and Sinhara and Celles standing frozen amid the wreckage of the room.

꧁꧂

Reunion

This morning, Rivain felt different.

The heavy mist was gone. The shrill glow of industrial lights no longer pierced through the gaps in the rooftops. Instead, a pale, gentle gold filtered in through Antonia's broken window—soft and kind.

Wood dust and fragments from the chaos of the previous night lay scattered across the floor.

Celles held a broom—one taller than it by half a head—and swept slowly, gathering debris into small piles. Each time it pulled the broom back, the cat's tail, still present even in human form, swayed along with the motion, lightly striking a nearby crate.

On the loft steps, Sinhara stretched up toward a high shelf and brushed his fingers against an old glass vial coated in a thin film of dust.

"There it is..." he murmured.

He brought the vial down into the light and turned it once. It was no wider than a manacle and clouded as if perpetually misted. Inside, a hair-thin sigil was etched along the glass, trembling faintly when touched by sunlight.

"Celles," Sinhara called down.

"This is a Sigillum Vial. One of Grandmother's old customers left it here years ago.

They never came back to reclaim it, so I thought... we could use it."

Celles tilted its head, answering with a doubtful mrrt.

Sinhara didn't notice.

He gently placed the green Mirrakin—now quiet as an ordinary pebble—into the center of the vial.

At once, the stone quivered. Ardyn's distorted voice seeped out from within.

"Sealing a sealed vessel with a mundane container?

You really think this will work?

Ha... ha—"

Sinhara frowned.

"Sorry. I have to try.

I don't want an embarrassing version of you wandering the streets."

"How dare—"

Click.

Sinhara shut the lid before the threat could finish.

He held his breath.

Celles froze mid-sweep.

Three seconds.

Five.

Ten.

The vial emitted only a thin strand of white light, delicate as steam—then went still.

"No reaction," Sinhara whispered.

"So... it worked."

Knock. Knock—

Someone was at the door.

"Welcome to Anto—" Sinhara turned, sentence unfinished.

CRASH.

The door—the poor thing patched together just that morning—collapsed completely after the third knock.

"—good heavens..."

Before he could process it, a swarm of children tumbled inside, crashing onto the fallen door.

"Brother Sin! Brother Sin! There's a helicopter! A helicopter!"

Sinhara's eyes lit up like ignition lamps.

"O—okay! I'm coming!"

He lunged for his satchel, grabbed his scarf, and nearly tripped over Celles's broom.

"Celles!

Watch the shop!"

The cat, still in human form, continued sweeping. It merely tilted its head after him, wearing an expression that looked suspiciously like a sigh, before calmly gathering the debris into neat piles like a practiced worker.

Sinhara was already outside, his footsteps fading toward the sound of rotors. He ran through the alley toward the square, followed by a pack of school-skipping children who hadn't even taken their backpacks off. The two smallest puffed as they ran, zippers slapping against their backs with each step.

"That's far enough," Sin said, glancing back as he ran.

"Go back to school now."

"But we want to see too!" shouted the frizzy-haired boy.

"Yeah! You don't see helicopters every day!" added a little girl.

Sin laughed—then the smile faded almost immediately.

For a heartbeat, Ardyn's words from the night before flashed through his mind.

His steps faltered. His chest tightened, instinctively.

Before he could speak again, a woman's voice thundered behind them.

"Stop right there! Skip school again and you'll be in serious trouble!"

The children jerked to a halt all at once; the frizzy-haired boy nearly pitched face-first into the ground.

"Don't worry," Sin said quickly, gentle but firm.

"They'll study hard—and they'll have a brighter future than ever."

The children stared at him, baffled in a way that was almost funny. Their mother let out a relieved breath, her face breaking into a smile full of trust. Not everyone in Rivain received that kind of faith. Sin knew that better than anyone.

He resumed running, each step swallowed by the distant roar of engines descending.

The open field ahead—normally nothing more than winter-dried grass—was being torn apart by the spiraling wind of a state-of-the-art mechanical helicopter.

The aircraft landed with the authority of heavy metal. Its ivory hull was trimmed in royal gold, armor plates etched with Aurelion's sigil. Twin engines at its rear spun into luminous rings, exhaling heat into the freezing air.

The rotors slowed. Wind swept through the dry grass, lifting clouds of dust as soft as smoke.

Sin stood a few steps away, his heart pounding like a war drum.

The helicopter door opened.

A woman descended the metal steps.

She was a little past sixty, standing straight without need of support—though she carried a staff tipped with a small red stone. Each step rang out with a clear chime, like glass singing.

She wore a modest white robe embroidered with golden Scholar's Bloom—flowers of knowledge, of light, of those who guarded the old wisdom.

Her gaze swept over the field, the rooftops of Rivain, and finally settled on Sin.

"Sin, is that you?"

Her voice was low and warm—like a lullaby long remembered.

"Is there any fish left for me?"

Sinhara couldn't hold back any longer.

"Grandmother...!"

The word barely left his lips, yet his smile spread all the way to his eyes—a smile he hadn't realized how long he'd been missing since Sil left Rivain.

Sil had come home.

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