The moon’s silver light cut through the clouds in beams to paint cross the streets of Aqua Terra. It washed over the crowds in portions of the city that never slept and slithered into the alleyways that hadn’t been seen a living occupant in months.

  Moonlight graced every part of the city. But it did not grace them equally. The light shone brightest at the great peaks of the city that cut through the thick clouds hanging in the night sky, and darkest in the shadowed alleys that needed it the most.

  The moon had never been fair.

  And of all the places in the Aqua Terra, it had always been brightest in the starburst window of a mansion near the highest of the great city’s layers. Great fences rose up around the enormous, 4 story white-bricked building like a birdcage to wall it off from the rest of the city.

  Layers of dust coated the outside of the mansion, and the dirt of untilled soil still sported the withered husks of what had once been flowers in its gardens. There wasn’t a single man present anywhere outside the building to keep watch. No candles nor lanterns had been lit behind the grime-covered windows.

  Cobwebs filled the corners and cracks of the house and the thick lock hanging from the chained gate at the front of the mansion had long since rusted shut.

  The only piece of the mansion that had could even be considered clean was the window at its highest floor.

  It was a thing of great beauty. Frosted glass woven like silk by what must have been a spider in human form, formed into the shape of a glimmering sun that shone at all hours of the day.

  There had never been a speck of dust on that glass. Anyone who had lived within the upper reaches of Aqua Terra would have been more than willing to attest to that. The ancient mansion had been there for as long as anyone could remember — and for all that time, the window had never been dirty.

  Nobody was sure who owned the mansion.

  There were a great many rumors. Some thought it was owned by the prophet herself. Others were convinced it was a place for foreign Hands to stay in secret while they treated with the Prophet. A few thought that it didn’t exist at all, and simply existed to hide the presence of something far more sinister.

  But the vast majority of people didn’t care.

  It was just a mansion. A mansion with a very pretty window, yes, but still just a mansion.

  Most people couldn’t do anything about it in the first place. That would have required speaking to the Prophet herself. That was not a common grace.

  Of few who did have the ability to consult the Prophet or one close to her, few were of the mind to risk their position asking into matters that likely didn’t concern them.

  And when all that narrowing down was said and done, there was only a single group left. The very small group of people who had lived in Aqua Terra for long enough to build up enough strength to discover some of the truths buried under the city.

  It was a group that didn’t have to ask the Prophet why she left such an oddity of a house sitting around on the beautiful streets of the highest reaches of Aqua Terra like a rancid boil on the face of an award-winning livestock. A group that knew the reason why the house had been permitted to exist wasn’t because the Prophet was using it as some tourist attraction or a secret hidden in plain sight.

  They knew that the truth was far simpler.

  The reason the house remained was because the Prophet was not nearly so strong as she wanted the people of the Coral Empire believe.

  She was great, yes, but there were always concessions when it came to power. Even a Rank 8 had their limits. The world was a large place, and there were always other threats to deal with. Keeping a finger on the pulse of the Coral Empire at every moment of the day while dealing with all the other Faction Heads and the ancient beings that roamed the world — it simply wasn’t possible.

  And when there were things that had to be done, there would always be someone sufficiently powerful willing to do them for the appropriate price.

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  There would be people who were dangerous enough to command even the Prophet’s respect. Arrogant enough to plaster the proof of their marring existence in broad daylight — and powerful enough that not a single person had managed to challenge the existence of their house in all the time since their arrival in Aqua Terra.

  The old relic that lived within the dust-covered house smiled. She looked up through the glistening moonlit window. It split the surrounding street apart into dozens of different images as if it were seen through the eye of a fly.

  Silver rays fell all around her, but they didn’t quite manage to land on the thick shroud of shadows enveloping her large form. It was heavily misshapen, so bottom-heavy that it never could have been quite considered human, but she still bore the upper body of something that might have been vaguely recognizable as human had the darkness not had her in such a tight grip.

  “The moon is brighter today than it has been in a long time,” the relic said, her whispery words trailing through the dusty room like the fingers of a passing specter. “Do you see it?”

  “It would be hard not to, Mistress.” A man knelt in the shadows before the ancient being, lingering at the very edge of the light shining into the room. Dark clothes covered his form and a hood pulled over his head obscured any features beyond his mouth.

  The ancient relic’s raspy laugh filled the room.

  “No. You don’t see it at all. What you see is only the light. You haven’t yet even noticed the moon behind it. But I suppose it would be remiss for me to expect you to see anything more.”

  “I am sorry, Mistress.”

  “Apologies for things you have no control over do little. Save them for when they matter,” the old woman said. A series of chitinous clicks echoed through the darkness as she shifted. “What manner of happenings occurred in my sleep? Has something shifted?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” the man replied. “Several of the heads have been cut off. But that is nothing entirely unexpected. It is only natural. We already planned for this.”

  “How many?” the woman asked.

  “Six,” the man replied.

  “An… average amount,” the relic admitted. A note of confusion entered her voice. She craned her neck back to look up at the glistening mirror. It was several long seconds before she spoke again. “But the moon is too bright tonight for that to be possible. The boat is rarely unaffected by the changing tides. You’re certain nothing else is remiss?”

  It was the man’s turn to hesitate.

  “I’m… not sure,” he admitted reluctantly. Unease crept into his voice as he shifted from foot to foot. “Do you believe something may be happening tonight? There have been no reports of anything. All of our movement continues as normal. None of our core—”

  “Calm yourself,” the old woman snapped. Something sharp pushed free in her voice, bearing itself like the fangs of a viper. “And control your fear. Please. You are making me hungry.”

  The man’s back stiffened. He swallowed, then set his jaw. “My apologies, Mistress.”

  “Accepted,” the old relic said. “When was the last time you checked on our progress?”

  “In the evening, Mistress. Several hours ago.”

  “Check again,” she said. Her gaze lifted back to the beautiful plane of glass suspended in the ceiling. “I suspect you will find your assessment to no longer be accurate.”

  The man pressed a hand to his forehead. He was silent for nearly a minute. In that time, neither he nor the old woman made so much as a noise. Then his brows furrowed. He let his hand drop, then swallowed.

  “Mistress. You were—”

  “How many?” the old woman asked.

  “Twelve,” he said. “Twelve are dead. And four of them are recent. Within the hour.”

  “And their fruit?”

  “Unpicked. All of their badges remain.”

  “A sport hunter,” the woman mused. “One that likely already got what they wanted with the first harvest. But twelve is not an entirely unreasonable number. It is enough to get my attention… but not enough to warrant much more than that. Tell me something. Where were the kills?”

  That gave the man another moment of pause.

  “The upper quarters,” he replied. “But nowhere near us.”

  “And yet, above the clouds,” the old relic mused. “Under the full eye of the moon.”

  Silence fell back over the room.

  Then the man swallowed.

  “What does that mean, Mistress?”

  “Hmm?” the old woman’s head tilted to the other side. “It means that somebody wants me to know that they are here.”

  “I see,” the man said. He shifted his weight but said nothing.

  “The question lingers so heavily in the air around you that I can taste it,” the woman said. “Do not hold your thoughts in front of me. I would sooner end a man for remaining willfully ignorant than I would for him acting a fool.”

  “Why would someone ever want to get your attention, Mistress?”

  A thick cloud passed through the sky far overhead to blot out the moon.

  The entire room plunged into darkness.

  A chill swept through the shadows. The man’s back went as straight as a rod as the breath caught in his chest and goosebumps grabbed his neck in an icy grip.

  He had served the ancient woman for a long time.

  Long enough to know that, even during the greatest of storms, there had never been a night where the moon’s light hadn’t graced the stained-glass window.

  The window that was now pitch black.

  “That,” the Mistress replied, unmistakable anger bubbling within her words, “is a very good question.”

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