The silence after the snick was absolute.
It was the sound of the world's rules breaking.
Prince Caelan's mouth was still open in a snarl. It hung there, useless.
His knight stared at the two pieces of his sword on the flagstones. The cut was smoother than any smith could make.
It looked like it had always been two pieces.
Noella's mind, for the first time in her life, experienced a system error.
Input: A whisper. A thumb pushing a hilt. A clean severance of tempered steel.
Output: ????
Her eyes locked with the young man's—Volsei. His light brown eyes held no triumph. No anger.
Just a mild, detached interest. As if he'd just swatted a fly and was watching to see if it would move again.
The spell broke.
Caelan sucked in a sharp, ragged breath. He took a step back. His boot scuffed on the stone.
"What… what are you?"
His voice was a harsh scrape. The arrogance was gone. Replaced by primal fear.
He'd seen the Prayer used in drills. It made demons flinch and smoke.
This was different. This was a violation of physics.
Volsei ignored him.
He looked at the knights still holding Noella's arms.
"Let her go."
It wasn't a command. It was a simple observation of what should happen next.
The knights looked to Caelan. Their faces were pale under their helms.
Caelan's jaw worked. Rage and terror warred in his flinty eyes.
He was a prince of Tombsrose. He was not used to being told.
But the pieces of the sword gleamed in the candlelight. A silent, impossible testimony.
"Release her," Caelan gritted out.
The iron grip on Noella's arms vanished. She took a steadying breath. The feeling rushed back into her limbs.
She didn't rub the spots. She stood straight. Her eyes never left Volsei.
Assessment.
Variable: Male, approximately eighteen. Physicality: optimal lean muscle, balanced stance. Equipment: worn practical clothes, a sheathed long knife. Ability: Matter disruption at a distance via vocalization and blade focus. Possible Ether contamination or unknown physics.
Threat level: Incalculable.
Alliance potential: Incalculable.
"You have committed an act of war," Caelan said, rallying. He pointed a trembling finger at Volsei. "Assault on a royal envoy! This will bring the full wrath of Tombsrose down on this… this hovel!"
Volsei finally turned his head toward the prince.
He looked him up and down. The way a butcher looks at a side of meat.
"You're still talking."
Caelan flinched.
"Leave," Volsei said. His voice was still that flat, bored tone. "Take your sour wine and your tin soldiers. Go back to your stone coffin. Tell them Eden is under new management."
A gasp rippled through the Eden court.
King Alistair looked like he might faint.
Noella's heart hammered against her ribs. Not in fear. In a fierce, sudden exhilaration.
New management.
The words hung in the air. A challenge. A declaration.
Caelan's face purpled. For a second, Noella thought he might order a charge.
But his eyes darted to his disarmed knight. To the other guards, who looked uncertain.
To Volsei, who just waited.
The calculation was visible on Caelan's face. The odds had shifted. Brutally.
"This is not over," he hissed. The words were meant to sound threatening. They came out petulant.
He turned on his heel. "We depart. Now."
The Tombsrose contingent moved like sleepwalkers. They collected the pieces of the sword. They avoided looking at Volsei.
They filed out of the great hall. Their polished armor seemed ridiculous now. Theatrical.
The heavy doors thudded shut behind them.
The silence returned. Thicker now. Filled with the stunned breathing of the court.
All eyes were on the stranger in the shadows.
King Alistair found his voice. It was thin. "Who… who are you, sir? What is your purpose here?"
Volsei didn't answer. He looked at Noella.
"We need to talk. Somewhere quiet."
Noella nodded. Her mind was already racing ahead. "The west tower. My laboratory."
She turned to her father. "Father, please ensure the castle is secure. And that no one follows us."
Alistair looked at her. He saw the cold fire in her mismatched eyes. The set of her shoulders.
He nodded slowly. He was a good man. But he knew when the world had changed.
"Go," he said softly.
Noella led the way. Volsei fell into step beside her. He moved silently. Like a shadow given form.
The court parted before them. Whispering.
\-\--
The laboratory was cold. The single window showed a sliver of grey sky.
Bottles and jars lined rough shelves. A scarred table held beakers, a small burner, and pages of notes covered in precise diagrams and equations.
Noella closed the door. She turned to face him.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
Up close, he was unremarkable. Except for the eyes. They held a depth of stillness that was unnerving.
"You're a realm-walker," Noella stated. It wasn't a question.
Volsei's eyebrow lifted a fraction. A flicker of genuine surprise.
"You know the term."
"I read. I theorize. The Ether is a logical necessity given the documented properties of demons. A parallel dimension with different physical laws. Crossing requires a genetic or metaphysical anomaly."
She spoke as if discussing a chemical reaction.
Volsei leaned against the table. He didn't smile. But something in his posture relaxed. A fraction.
"You're not screaming. Or praying."
"Prayer is an inefficient means of problem-solving," Noella said. "What you did. The cutting. Was it a localized dimensional shear? A focused sonic harmonic? Or something soul-based?"
He stared at her. Then he let out a short, quiet sound. Almost a laugh, but devoid of humor.
"You're even more interesting up close."
"Answer the question."
"It's a cut," he said simply. "I think of cutting. The blade helps focus. It happens."
"Kinetic energy projection via conscious intent. Modulated by your hybrid soul-frequency." She nodded, filing the data away. "And you intervened. Why?"
Volsei looked out the window. His face was blank.
"I was bored. They were noise. You were… a complex signal."
He looked back at her. "You were going to let them take you. To be a prisoner. A broodmare."
"I miscalculated the escalation velocity of the confrontation. My model of Caelan's pride had a 12% error margin."
"You have models."
"Of course. He is a variable. Now, you are a variable."
Volsei pushed off the table. He took a step closer. She didn't retreat.
"I've been watching. From the shadows. For a long time. Humans. Demons. They're all the same. Greedy. Stupid. Predictable."
His eyes bored into hers.
"You're not."
Noella felt a strange thrill. It wasn't affection. It was recognition.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Something to do. A purpose. This world is paper. I can tear it. But tearing paper is boring."
He gestured vaguely at her notes. At the kingdom beyond the walls.
"You want to build something. Or burn something. I can't tell yet. But you have a direction. You have a mind that doesn't follow the script."
He was right. She did want to build. Or burn. Perhaps both.
"Tombsrose will return," she said. "With an army. With Prayer-chanters. They will crush Eden to erase the insult."
"Yes."
"You could stop them."
"Probably."
"But you'd get bored again. After."
"Yes."
Noella's mind whirred. The equation was forming.
Variable A: Her strategic intellect, knowledge of politics, chemistry, tactics.
Variable B: His absolute, unconventional power.
Operator: A shared goal.
"I propose a pact," she said, her voice cool and clear. "My mind. Your blade. We use both to climb. To secure Eden. To dismantle the powers that see us as things to be used or discarded."
She met his gaze. "You want something interesting? I will give you a world to cut apart and put back together. A game worth playing."
Volsei was silent for a long moment. The only sound was the distant drip of rain from the gutter.
He looked at her. At the blue and gold eyes, blazing with cold ambition.
He saw his own endless boredom reflected. And a path out of it.
"Alright," he said.
No single word had ever held so much weight.
"Conditions," Noella said. "I lead the strategy. You are the instrument. But the instrument may advise. We share information fully. No secrets that affect the mission."
"Agreed."
"Our goal is mutual power. Survival is the baseline. Dominance is the target."
"Agreed."
She extended her hand. Not for a romantic gesture. For a contract.
Volsei looked at her slender, ink-stained fingers. He took her hand.
His grip was firm. Warm. She felt the calluses on his palm.
A deal with a shadow.
"We start now," Noella said, withdrawing her hand. "Caelan will send a rider ahead. We have perhaps three days before a formal response. We must secure the castle, identify internal threats, and prepare our first move."
Volsei nodded. The boredom in his eyes was gone. Replaced by a faint, focused light.
"Who dies first?"