The Arkanum Veritas building stands atop the Thirtos hill, silent from the outside but bustling with the panic concealed within. They sit in a golden circle—seven guardians of dogma, scholars, custodians of texts, and archivists of lies.
However, that night, the massive obsidian door opened without a knock.
The sound of shoes on the marble floor echoed like a shattered hourglass.
And they all knew: she had arrived.
"You deny me the right to speak," hissed one of them, their voice frail like old paper that crumbled when touched.
"You may bury the truth, but you can never escape from it," Rinoa replied, her voice flat yet filled with raging anger, arms crossed over her chest, signaling her indifference to their authority.
She stood in the center of the room, without escorts, without an official insignia.
Yet no one could look into her eyes for more than three seconds.
Wrapped in a dark cloak dyed with the dust of historical ruins, Rinoa unrolled a small scroll made from sacred plant leather—the original document of the First Covenant between Gaia and Earth, which they all thought had been burned a century ago.
"You all know this. You keep a copy of it. Yet when Fitran was branded a traitor, your voices vanished like mist swept away by the wind."
An elder member stood, his body trembling from a mix of age and shame.
"Rinoa... all this is to maintain balance. For the sake of—"
"For the sake of balance? Or for the fear that lurks in the shadows? You choose to ignore the truth that predates the throne you occupy," Rinoa raised an eyebrow, challenging, as a struggle of emotions began to surface in her piercing gaze.
Rinoa's voice was not a shout, but an echo.
Every word echoed in the minds of the members, piercing through layers of protective magic, entering a realm they could not even defend: their conscience.
And then, from beneath her cloak, Rinoa tossed a fragment of crystal light.
Then, from beneath her cloak, Rinoa threw fragments of crystal light into the center of the room—magical recordings from the past, revealing a conversation between Iris and Fitran under the sacred tree before the war broke out.
Their voices were clear. There was no hatred, only a heavy decision and tears.
One by one, the members of the Arkanum Veritas began to stand. No longer in a stance of defiance, but in confusion.
"What do you expect from me?" asked the eldest leader with a curious tone, his eyes sharp and assessing.
"Not from you," Rinoa replied firmly, her eyes blazing with challenge. "But from time. I demand the silence you have maintained… to be brought to an end."
And that night, for the first time, the official voice of the Arkanum Veritas was silent. They were muted. Because the truth was speaking… through someone they had discarded from history.
No one knew how she entered.
There was no magic tracking, no sound of footsteps.
Suddenly, she was in the middle of the room, like a shadow that forgot to vanish with the night.
Surrounding her were the members of the Arkanum Veritas—seven elders who were said to hold the truth.
But the truth they held had already rotted, and Rinoa arrived as the final unraveling force.
She said nothing.
Only a single gesture: raising her left hand.
And the blood seal on her palm ignited in deep red—The Contract of Retribution she had made before her mother's grave, who had been executed for refusing to falsify historical documents.
"You should not be here, Rinoa," one of the elders said with a trembling voice, his eyes filled with concern reflecting the wisdom that remained. "There will be a price to pay for this action."
"You should have understood the consequences of this lie," Rinoa replied in a flat tone, yet her gaze revealed an all-consuming hatred. "I'll pay with blood if necessary."
Then time seemed to stand still.
With a single breath, the neck of the first elder was severed by an invisible thread of light. Rinoa's magic was not an explosion or a grand flash. It was technical, trained, and inevitable. She killed like someone reading—fully concentrated and with respect for the rhythm.
The second attempted to escape, only to find the entire room transformed into a closed illusionary magical field.
The floor, walls, even the ceiling turned into a replica of an ancient library where history was manipulated—and in the midst of it, their bodies were burned one by one by the curse inscribed in the books they once censored.
"You don't understand how deep the chasm you're digging is!" shouted the third elder, his body partly melting from the acid magic of knowledge. "You're like a painter ruining a canvas that should be eternal."
"The canvas that should not be here!" Rinoa exclaimed, her determination igniting the atmosphere. A flicker of doubt crossed her face as she added, "But if this land demands sacrifice, I will be the first to step forward."
As the fourth elder pleaded, he unwittingly granted her the longest reprieve—an exquisite torment under the spell of "Memory Reconstruction."
In the last five minutes of his life, the elder was forced to recall all the lies he had signed, one by one, until his soul melted away before his body was consumed by flames.
And as the room fell silent, only one voice could be heard. Rinoa's voice, soft, almost like a prayer:
"Let the world know… that blood can also be ink. And tonight, I rewrite everything."
She left before the guards arrived. No trace. No witnesses.
Except for one: a student hiding behind the bookshelf. Her eyes were filled with tears… not from fear, but from the realization:
The truth finally moves on its own.
Rinoa made her way to the ancient library, now a secret chamber of Arkanum Veritas—a place where the past goes unrecorded, and the future is compromised. There were no flags, no emblems. Only moss-covered walls and faded incantations that hummed softly like remnants of prayers never delivered.
She stood at the threshold of darkness. Her black cloak did not flutter in the wind, for no breeze dared to touch her. Her steps were light, silent. She was not an intruder; she was the fear that had finally come.
"You walk into a place where even light hesitates to creep," whispered one of the guards within the intricately carved corridor.
She did not respond. With a flick of her finger, she forced the guard's memory to evaporate as if consumed by fire, leaving behind a body that crumpled softly, like an old book covered in dust.
"You walk into a place where even light hesitates to creep," echoed another guard in the carved hallway.
Once again, she remained silent. With a mere movement of her finger—and the guard's eyes melted, not from flame, but from the memory she forcibly extracted. His body fell with a soft sound, like a dusty old book being closed.
Rinoa continued on. She did not sneak in; she demanded answers.
"In this isolated space, you hide from the truth," Rinoa said in a low yet determined voice, her gaze piercing. "You know well that this isn't just about my presence. It's about what you have taken from them."
In the central room, four hooded figures sat around a stone table, their voices muted by protective magic. But there was no safeguard against the voice of long-held resentment. With ancient Atlantis magic, Rinoa shattered the silencing sigil with a single phrase:
"In the name of Marquez of Atlantis and Elbert of the land of memories—I have come to end you."
One of the Arkanum members, an elderly man with eyes layered in time-turning seals, rose and raised his hand with a wise tone. "You come with assumptions. We are not the perpetrators, we—"
"Your words are like a fine net that conceals the truth," Rinoa interrupted, her eyes sweeping the room. "But I am not ensnared by your rhetoric. A blade of truth is sharper than all your false promises." Before the sentence was complete, a transparent dagger embedded itself in his throat. His blood froze before it touched the ground.
Rinoa stepped forward, gazing at what remained, her heart trembling. "Atlantis did not send me to reprimand. I came because you touched what should never be touched—the archives guarded by ancient voices. You killed them for a path you do not even understand. But now, I find myself torn between revenge and saving a soul estranged by selfishness."
One by one, their magic surged. Cracked glyphs, existence-erasing spells, and distortions of time were hurled at her. But Rinoa was not just a student of Atlantis—she was a guardian of the principle that knowledge is an eternal flame that must not be used to scorch the world.
The battle was brief. The headquarters lay in ruins from the silent conflict, and as the night came to an end, it was only Rinoa who emerged from the darkness, her eyes glowing blue and her cloak unstained.
"Arkanum Veritas no longer has a voice in this world," she declared, her tone as firm as the magic intertwined within her soul.
The Arkanum headquarters had fallen silent. Its ruins billowed with the remnants of burnt magic—ashes of spells, fragments of time, and the last breath of secrets left unwritten. In the center of the main chamber, Rinoa stood tall, gazing towards the shadows. The blue light in her eyes gradually dimmed. Her duty—at least the one she claimed as her right—was complete.
Soft footsteps echoed from behind the broken pillar.It was neither the sound of a warrior nor a detection spell. Instead, it was something colder. Something deeper.
Something more... familiar.
"Rinoa of Atlantis. You conclude too quickly who your enemy is," Fitran said, his voice calm like the unending flow of time, his face displaying a wisdom that hinted at extensive experience.
"A chain of lies and betrayal can no longer be tolerated," Rinoa retorted, her heart trembling between hatred and doubt, "I will stop anything in my path." She moved her hand as if calling upon the latent power within her.
The sound came without echo. But the space responded with silence. Rinoa turned slowly, her expression reflecting inner conflict. "Or... have you come to warn me?"
Fitran stood in the shadow of the ruins, his body half-covered by a white cloak stained with the dust of history. His eyes—reflecting far too much of both the past and the future—stared directly at her.
"And you," Rinoa whispered, her voice flat yet biting, "are too late to stop what has already been scheduled."
For a moment, the world held its breath. The aura of both intertwined, neither rejecting nor merging, like two ancient laws of magic that should not coexist in the same space.
"They are to blame," Rinoa continued, her voice low yet sharp. "They altered the course of time, silencing the meaningful voices, and disrupting the trust between nations. And I am merely scraping at a deep wound."
"But you never asked—who created that wound," Fitran said, stepping closer, his wise tone unaffected by the tension between them.
Rinoa remained unmoving. Her hand was poised to unleash a destructive spell, yet she did not. Not yet. Her expression mirrored the wound, but inside, she was seething with rage.
"So, do you wish to obstruct me?" she asked, her voice flat, even though there was a tremor in her fiery gaze.
Fitran tilted his head, as if trying to understand the unspoken turmoil. "No. I merely wish to know... how deeply your heart desires to unearth the truth. For every step you take now will tear the veil that you will never be able to close again."
Silence enveloped them, the world seemingly choking on tension. Then Rinoa spoke, her voice firm, yet laced with an unmistakable hint of doubt:
"If I am forced to uncover that veil and find you standing behind it—I will not hesitate to end your life, Fitran. My vengeance knows no bounds."
Their eyes met, not in hostility, but in acknowledgment. They both realized they were not part of the world they sought to save. They were fragments of a shattered mirror, staring at one another—uncertain of whose shadow had emerged first from behind the cracks.
Rinoa stood firm, magic crackling at her fingertips, while Fitran remained still. With a piercing gaze, he carved out the space between them.
"If you have no intention of stopping me, step aside," Rinoa said, her voice icy, as if freezing the air around them.
Fitran lowered his gaze slightly, then slowly lifted his face. For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked. Behind the calmness of her irises, Rinoa caught a glimpse of a shadow—sorrow?
"You haven't changed," Fitran murmured. "Still igniting fire with fingers born of ashes. But is that fire truly yours, Rinoa, or merely an illusion from a heart full of scars?"
"I belong to no one. Not even you," Rinoa replied, her voice strong and steady, though her lips trembled as if struggling to contain a wave of emotions ready to break free.
Fitran nodded, as if he had anticipated those words—and that he had no right to seek another answer. His hand clenched lightly at his side, while his white robe seemed to absorb all light, rendering him a shadowy figure amid the ruins.
"Those you killed… perhaps they deserved it. However, remember that your path will soon cross with a magic you cannot destroy. And when that moment comes, I want you to stand firm in your days."
"Why?" Rinoa asked, her voice trembling, slightly shaken by the tone that was nearly… pleading.
Fitran did not respond immediately. He gazed at the ceiling of the ruins. Then he whispered, almost inaudibly:
"Because in this dark world, you alone shine like a star, making me hope for a dawn that could save everything."
Rinoa paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing, reflecting the determination that stirred the turmoil within her heart.
And within her, something that had long been frozen began to thaw—yet it was held back, pressed down, and felt foreign. She averted her gaze, a tapestry of emotions unfolding on her face.
"You speak like someone who has already read this script of fate..." Her voice carried a cold tone, yet there was a doubt that caressed her soul.
Fitran smiled wearily, as if carrying a weight of history that had escaped notice.
"Because I have seen it, like an observer on the edge of a cliff, watching the waves of destiny crashing down. Yet still... I rewrite your part among the pages of dark night magic, over and over."
The air became too heavy for the next words, like magic too potent to be tamed.
Then without a word, Fitran stepped back into the shadows, leaving Rinoa standing in the silence, her heart pounding too loud for someone who claimed to only seek revenge.