Anya arrived in style, as usual.

She wasn’t the type to walk in unnoticed. Even in a simple black dress, she moved like someone who owned the air around her—controlled, deliberate, with the easy confidence of a woman who made things happen.

Her eyes flicked to me the moment I stepped outside, scanning me the way she always did—like she was calculating something.

“Good, you’re ready.” She adjusted her dress. “Let’s go.”

I followed her into the carriage without a word.

The ride was quiet at first, the usual hum of the city passing by. Anya didn’t fill silence unnecessarily, which I appreciated. It gave me space to think.

But after a few minutes, she spoke.

“You’re about to meet important people, Akul. Stay focused.”

“You say that like I talk too much.”

“No, you talk just enough. But they?” She smirked slightly. “They will talk very little. You’ll need to listen well.”

I nodded, filing that away. “Who are they?”

“Clients. High-profile clients.” She glanced at me. “Your job is the egg, not their history.”

Fair enough.

She reached into a compartment and pulled out a folded garment. “Put this on.”

I took it, running my fingers over the material. It was smooth, cool to the touch, woven with an almost imperceptible shimmer.

“What is this?”

“Your disguise.” Anya smirked. “A very expensive one.”

“An illusion cloak?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Not just any illusion cloak,” she said, watching as I pulled it over my shoulders. “That one hides everything—appearance, voice, mana signature, even your artifact’s form.”

I turned it over in my hands. Something about it felt… off. Then I realized—there was no mana signature. No presence. It was blank, like an empty void.

“Put it on,” she urged.

I hesitated, but eventually I draped it over my shoulders.

I adjusted the clasp at my throat, feeling the enchantment settle over me. The moment it activated, a subtle shift ran through my entire body. My limbs felt different—longer. Even my own breathing sounded foreign.

I glanced at my hands. They weren’t mine anymore. The illusion had changed everything.

A mirror materialized.

The reflection showed a taller figure, lean but broad-shouldered, with dark hair and an unfamiliar face. Even my eyes were different—dull, unremarkable brown.

Anya looked satisfied. “Good. Your voice, your height, even your artifact—all of it is masked. No one will know who you are.”

I flexed my fingers, feeling a slight resistance—like there was a thin layer of magic between me and reality. “You really went all out for this.”

She chuckled. “Of course I did. I’m investing in you, after all.”

Anya nodded in approval. “Good. Now follow my lead, and say only what you must. It’s for your own good not to draw their attention. We do business, then we go our separate way, okay?”

“Yes, Auntie.”

She smiled.

The Pavilion loomed ahead, its grand structure standing as one of the most well-known summoning establishments in the city. Inside, we moved quickly—past corridors lined with rare summoning relics, past quiet murmurs of other business dealings—until we reached a secluded, high-security chamber.

As I looked around, I only saw an empty room. “So, where are the clients?”

Before she could answer, the other door to the chamber opened.

And they entered.

They didn’t walk.

The woman glided across the floor like gravity was optional, her long robes trailing behind her, embroidered with thin gold threads that shimmered against the pure white fabric. The mother stood tall, poised—a figure of cold perfection. Skin so pale it was almost translucent, veins of gold threading beneath the surface like liquid metal. Her hair was white, not silver, not platinum—just white, untouched by even the softest hue. She wore it sleek and controlled, no strand out of place.

And then there was the girl.

She didn’t walk either. She floated.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Not like she was being lifted by magic. Not like she was flying.

She simply did not touch the ground.

She drifted inches above it, her movements impossibly smooth, as if the concept of walking simply did not apply to her. The long fabric of her robes trailed beneath her, never quite touching the floor, shifting like something slightly out of sync with the rest of the world.

Her face was young, but not childlike. Smooth, carved from the same untouchable elegance as her mother. But her eyes—deep gold, slit-pupiled—held something ancient.

Her hair was whiter than fresh snowfall, a pale so intense it almost looked translucent. The same went for her skin—so white you could almost see the delicate web of veins beneath it. Her lips had a natural pink hue, and gold accents trailed along her temples, framing her golden eyes.

She didn’t look sickly.

She looked… wrong.

Like something beyond human.

Then there was her artifact.

It hovered beside her, pulsing with a soft, eerie light.

A gilded eye. Ornate, intricate, laced with delicate filigree and twisting metalwork, as if it were a piece of history itself. And yet, it was very much alive. The eye in its center—unnervingly human—moved with purpose, tracking the room, its golden iris shifting with quiet sentience.

She didn’t touch it. She didn’t need to.

It followed her like a silent guardian.

Something… watching.

The moment they came into the room, an unnatural stillness took hold. It wasn’t magic or a spell—it was them. Their presence alone was enough to shift the atmosphere.

The instant the girl’s artifact turned its gaze to me, I felt it.

A shift. A weight.

The floating eye, encased in its gilded frame, moved. Not just tracking me—focusing. The way something ancient recognizes something familiar.

It wasn’t alive in the way beasts were. It wasn’t conscious in the way humans were. But it knew.

And my grimoire?

It knew, too.

The air around me grew heavier. My grimoire, which had been hovering calmly at my side, twitched. Its twin-pupiled eye, usually half-lidded in lazy awareness, snapped open.

Gold and crimson met deep, abyssal blue.

A pause.

Then—

The pulse.

Something deeper. A tremor in the fabric of existence itself.

For a split second, the world blurred. My grimoire’s pages fluttered wildly, as if caught in a storm only it could feel. The girl’s eye flickered—its deep blue hues fracturing, splitting, adjusting.

She inhaled softly.

Her head tilted, slow, calculating. “Oh.”

The eye beside her pulsed again, the faintest shimmer rippling through its ornate frame.

My grimoire responded—a slow, steady thrum, as though something long dormant had stirred just for a moment.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers clenched.

I was fighting to keep my innate ability from activating, from reacting.

I could feel it—the overwhelming sense that something had shifted.

The girl studied me for a long moment, then turned—just slightly—toward her mother.

“This one,” she murmured, “is not like the others.”

The mother didn’t react. “That was never in question.”

Anya cleared her throat before greeting them with a respectful bow. “Lady Vaelith. Young Mistress Lys.”

The mother—Lady Vaelith—nodded slightly, her expression unreadable.

The girl, Lys, said nothing.

But she was staring at me.

I held perfectly still. The illusion should have hidden me completely—there was no way she could see through it.

And yet…

Those golden eyes studied me with an unnatural stillness.

Then her lips parted.

“You are the summoner?”

Her voice was smooth, measured—neither warm nor cold, just absolute.

I inclined my head slightly. “I am.”

She tilted her head, studying me the way a scholar might study something curious under a lens.

“You,” she said softly. “You feel…”

A chill ran down my spine.

Lys tilted her head. “I see…”

Her voice was quiet, but it had an eerie weight to it—like I wasn’t just hearing the words, but reading them deep inside my mind.

Anya cleared her throat, stepping in. “The contract is simple. The egg will remain under his care for one week, no more, no less. You will receive reports on its status, and when the hatching begins, you will be informed immediately.”

The mother inclined her head slightly. “We accept these terms.”

A faint shimmer in the air—a subtle pulse of mana. A confirmation.

The mother spoke. “You understand the importance of this task.”

Her voice was like silk over steel—controlled.

Anya inclined her head. “Of course.”

She gestured to me. “The egg.”

The girl lifted a single hand. She did not reach into a bag. She did not summon it with a spell.

She simply willed it into existence.

And the egg—formed.

It materialized in the space between us, as if it had always been there, waiting to be seen.

I inhaled sharply.

It was… beyond rare.

It commanded the space around it.

The shell was an impossible fusion of elements—dark as obsidian, layered with jagged, armor-like ridges that pulsed with energy. Glowing cracks ran through its surface, flickering between molten reds, deep oranges, and streaks of arcane blue-gold, as if something inside were shifting, pressing against the shell.

The longer I stared, the more the surface seemed to move—not physically, but in a way that unsettled the mind. It was never quite the same shape twice, its contours adjusting in ways that defied reason.

Then there were the horns—four curved, jagged protrusions emerging from the shell’s surface like a beast already breaking free. They were not just decoration. They pulsed with life, with raw, unrefined power, as if this egg were already something greater than just an unhatched beast.

The air around it was wrong.

Not suffocating. Not heavy.

Just… aware.

A faint mist, neither smoke nor flame, curled around the shell, vanishing the moment it drifted too far from its source. The egg hummed—not a sound, but a vibration in the bones, a whisper in the back of the mind.

It wasn’t just an egg.

It was a presence. A force, waiting.

And whatever was inside…

It wasn’t asleep.

The egg was placed carefully onto a velvet cushion—a dark, swirling fabric that pulsed with energy. Abyssal energy.

I inhaled sharply.

This thing wasn’t normal.

Lys rested a hand lightly on the egg, her fingers ghosting over the surface. She looked up.

“It must be handled with care.”

Anya smiled. “That’s why you came to me. Don’t worry. We are professionals.”

I reached forward, hands steady. The moment my fingers touched it, a pulse ran through me.

The girl’s eyes sharpened just slightly. “Interesting,” she murmured.

The mother simply nodded. “We will await your report.”

Vaelith regarded me for a long moment. “Do not disappoint us.”

I bowed slightly, keeping my voice neutral. “I won’t.”

Lys blinked at me one last time—then turned, her body effortlessly gliding toward the exit. The mother followed, her presence just as unsettling.

And then they were gone.

In a single, seamless movement, they both vanished.

Not teleported. Not moved.

Just… ceased to be.

As if they had never been there at all.

I exhaled, my shoulders relaxing just a little.

Anya smirked. “Nervous?”

I shot her a look. “Who are they?”

“Old blood,” she said. “One of the ancient lineages. Wealthy beyond reason. Powerful beyond measure.”

I frowned. “What kind of summoner floats naturally?”

Anya just smiled. “The kind that doesn’t need to walk.”

I stared at the door they had left through.

The golden-eyed girl.

The way she felt things instead of just seeing them.

The way she looked at me.

Something told me—

This wasn’t the last time I’d see her.

And for the next week, this egg will be my responsibility.