Arthur blinked, confused. "What?"

"I thought," Gerald's voice dropped into a dangerous calm, "that you'd at least have the courage to tell me the truth. But no, you insist on lying. Don't fool yourself, Arthur. You're not safe from my eyes. I'll find out what you're hiding, and when I do, I won't just be coming here to ask questions."

With that, Gerald turned and walked out of the office, his expression impassive.

Left alone in the quiet room, Arthur sat frozen for a moment, his mind racing. His father's final words echoed in his ears, the weight of them sinking in. In a swift motion, Arthur pulled out his CipherSync and sent a message to someone. "My father is on to you. Be careful."

Meanwhile, Gerald walked down the corridor, his face grim and unreadable. He kept his eyes closed, as though processing the encounter. Unbeknownst to Arthur, a pair of ghostly eyes lingered in the shadows, watching Gerald from the corner of his office. Gerald had gotten the confirmation he needed. Now, he would take his time to gather more information before acting. But one thing was certain: he would make sure Arthur paid the price for whatever secrets he was keeping.

Vas had left the Hek Mansion, his footsteps echoing lightly in the still morning air as he made his way to The Highest College of Nexus. The College had provided him with a special uniform for the occasion, designed for both utility and subtle attention. His outfit consisted of knee-length shorts crafted from a durable fabric, outfitted with a network of hidden pockets. Beneath them, a sleek, black, skin-tight layer regulated his body temperature, and a pair of snickers completed the ensemble. The shoes, as always, had a thin sole, but their material was sophisticated—engineered for thermal regulation.

The tank top he wore clung to his form, stretching just enough for comfort, while his hands were encased in tight black gloves. Over it all, the jacket was the most striking feature—white, flowing, and long enough to reach just above his knees. Hidden inside, secret pockets were tucked away, their purpose known only to those who had the privilege of wearing it. The jacket's hood, easily pulled up, added an extra layer of anonymity, and the fabric of the tank top could stretch over his face if necessary. Though the outfit was designed to stand out, Vas had no intention of drawing attention.

That was why he had left the mansion earlier than required, enjoying the peace of walking through the city.

As he walked, lost in the rhythm of his steps, something unusual caught his eye—a figure, hunched and shuffling in the distance. It was a woman, her clothes ragged, the fabric threadbare, stained, and torn. It wasn't her appearance that unsettled him—it was her presence, here, of all places. She shouldn't have been here. This part of the city was far too clean, far too structured for someone like her.

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He stepped closer, curiosity gnawing at him. "Excuse me, miss. Do you need help?" he called out.

The woman turned slowly, her eyes blank, distant. Her gaze was unsettling in its neutrality, and she didn't answer immediately. Instead, she simply stared at him for a moment, as if considering whether to speak at all.

"No, young man," she replied at last, her voice strangely flat. "But there is someone who will need your help."

Vas frowned. He didn't understand what she meant. He stepped forward, intent on offering assistance. "What do you mean? Who needs help?"

The woman's expression didn't change. Her voice, still neutral, continued, "I wonder if I can make an accord with someone to find shelter?"

Vas blinked, more confused now than before. "What... miss? What are you talking about?"

She didn't seem to hear him, or perhaps didn't care. "Oh, don't mind me," she murmured softly, as if to herself. "I have the habit of speaking with myself."

He hesitated, then asked again, "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

The woman's lips parted slightly, her eyes unfocused as she began to speak in a low, melodic tone. At first, Vas thought it might be a lullaby, but the words felt strange, as if they carried a weight far beyond mere song.

"Hush now, my dear, close your eyes,

Under the veil of the moonlit skies,

Nekyroth watches, so still and so near,

Guarding your dreams, there's nothing to fear."

Her voice was smooth and hypnotic, yet the words felt wrong somehow, like they were woven with hidden meaning. Vas stopped mid-step, unable to tear himself away from the strange rhythm of her chant.

"Shadows may dance on the edge of your sight,

Whispers may call in the still of the night,

But Nekyroth holds the key to the door,

Keeping you safe from the dark evermore."

The words twisted in the air, and despite himself, Vas felt a chill run up his spine. Nekyroth. He had never heard the name before, but something about it felt ancient, ominous.

"Morrigan," Vas asked, his mind reaching out, "Have you ever heard of the word Nekyroth?"

Morrigan's voice responded in his mind, sharp and cautious, "No. But it doesn't sound... good."

Vas felt the weight of her words settle in his gut. He looked back at the woman, who was still lost in her chant, her expression vacant, as though she were no longer aware of him. Her presence now felt more than just odd; it felt like a warning.

"Sleep, little one, in his gentle embrace,

Feel the soft touch of his ancient grace,

Nekyroth's light will guide your way,

Banishing nightmares till the break of day."

The words continued to spill from her lips, wrapping around him like an invisible thread. The sense of wrongness was growing, suffocating. The woman's song had no place here, no place in this city of order. The name Nekyroth echoed in his mind like a faint drumbeat, growing louder with each passing second.

"Rest now, my love, in the cradle of stars,

Safe from the world and its wearying scars,

Nekyroth's watchful eye never strays,

Until the dawn brings the morning rays."

The last note lingered in the air long after she finished singing. Vas stood frozen, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.

"Morrigan," he whispered, his voice low with unease, "I think we need to leave. Now."

Without another word, he turned sharply, his footsteps quickening as he walked away from the woman. His heart was pounding in his chest, and yet, as he glanced over his shoulder, the woman remained, her figure barely a shadow in the dim light.

The eerie melody she had sung still reverberated in his mind, and the word Nekyroth haunted him like a forgotten memory—something dark, something ancient, and something far too dangerous to ignore.