They entered the private room as if it were theirs. The room smelled faintly of incense and old paper; tapestries hung heavy on the walls, woven with the sigils of the House of Saud—threads that caught and held the light in odd, slow-moving ripples. A low fire burned in the hearth, but the chamber’s true light seemed to come from the governor herself: A quiet aura that didn’t glow so much as insist on being noticed.

  Outside the city, everyone bowed to the Emperor. Inside the empire’s far-flung holdings, everyone bowed to the governor, all of them had class who's known as [Oracle]—the Saud house bloodline who could see threads of what might be. The House of Saud provided many such seers, and their influence had become law.

  When the door opened, she entered: Governor Mirya. Young—too young, perhaps, to command a room with such ease—her brown hair braided with care, a thin silver band crowning her brow. Her sash lay over one shoulder; her features were sharp, not fragile. There was a steadiness to her that made the twins’ confident grins feel suddenly thin.

  “What took you so long, Governor Mirya?” one of the twins asked.

  Mirya’s smile was patient. “I don’t have as much free time as the two of you.”

  “Fifty golds,” she said, the number dropping into the room like a stone into still water.

  The taller twin’s eyebrows rose. “Fifthy? That’s three times what we expected.”

  Her smile didn’t change. “My skill costs more than men these days,” she replied. “And this information could save your lives.”

  The shorter twin’s laugh was a small thing, brittle with impatience. “If we fail, our rank might suffer. But I doubt the Emperor will make an example of us.”

  Mirya’s face hardened the merest fraction. “What I can say is.. I do not lie,” she said quietly. “I have not lied.”

  The taller twin jabbed with memory. “Then why did we fail in the ambush? You told us success.”

  Mirya folded her hands, braids whispering against satin. Her expression darkened. “Visions are not certain,” she said. “They are possibilities. My grandmother taught me that what we see is a thread—one of many. You touched one and broke the pattern.”

  She leaned forward. “My grandmother warned us about them. In the north, they call them gold-badge holders. In the west, blessed ones. In the south, they say ‘Goh’—I do not know the meaning.” Her voice dropped to something that could have been reverent or scared. “They are people who fight against fate. Against destiny. In short, they can heavily influence the thread of fate.”

  “You just met one of them.”

  The twins bristled. The room seemed smaller now, the fire a single point in a much larger dark.

  Mirya’s voice grew conspiratorial, threading the room with hush. “Listen. A dispatch just arrived. The century-long operation in the north has collapsed. The general leading the expedition is in a very critical condition.”

  One of twin’s eyes narrowed. “All because of the gold-badge holder?” he asked. “But we killed one a decade ago. We removed that—”

  Mirya cut him off with a question, “Did you truly kill that gold-badge holder?”

  They stared at each other, then at her. For once, the twins were not instantly smug. “They resembled one another,” the taller hedged finally. “Similar. But—”

  “We must kill her now,” the other twin declared, the sentence sharp as a blade. “Where is she hiding?”

  Mirya released a long breath that seemed to age her in the space of a second. “I do not know,” she said. “She may still be here. Maybe not.”

  The taller twin’s impatience turned to a mocking whistle. “How convenient. Then what good is an [Oracle]?”

  Mirya regarded them with something like pity. “You will find her in five years. No. She will find you.” The words were simple; the room took them in as if they had been handed a stone. “You will see her—and the day you do, you will be killed.”

  Silence took the chamber as if the hearth went out. The twins’ faces shifted—anger, amusement, disbelief—each emotion trying on the next like a cloak.

  “Five years is too short,” one scoffed, and then, as though testing the world’s limits, laughed. The laugh had no warmth. “This mission just got interesting.”

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  They hedged themselves in bravado—old armor for men who feared a fate they thought themselves above. “Most people assumed we were enough to kill that gold-badge holder,” One of the twins said, trying to regain ground. “The one we took a decade ago—he was far stronger than us.”

  Mirya watched them, fingers still folded, the silver band at her brow catching firelight like a discontinuity. Then she asked quietly, “How did you succeed then?” Her voice was casual, but the question carried an edge.

  “That is our business secret.” One of the twins grinned,”We’re just going to do the same to her. Or maybe something similar.”

  “We’ll tell you if you.. spare our coin this time.” One of the twins smiled as he slowly put back the pouch of coins to his pocket.

  She folded the silence into her hands and let them sit there, watching the twins’ confident faces, the room’s tapestry of futures rolled up like a map.

  “You may leave,” she added finally, her tone lifting, businesslike again. “I don’t like the two of you but you’re my additional source of income so be careful. Five years is not a long time.”

  They bowed leaving a pouch full of gold coins on the table. Mirya watched them go, then turned to the window. Outside, lantern light moved like a slow current through the streets. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the threads tug at the band on her brow—the faintest of pricks, like a bee’s wing against the skin.

  When she opened her eyes again, they were steady. The future had spoken. She would watch it carefully.

  ….

  Kana couldn’t believe it. The black market auction was here—in the very same inn as the noblewoman she’d been stalking.

  Going to the black market auction was a gamble. Hoping the item she was looking for was available there.

  She followed at a distance, keeping to the walls, slipping through a side corridor that connected to another building. The air changed there—cooler, heavier. Beneath the stone and perfume, she caught the faint scent of oil and ink and coin.

  Dozens stood in line ahead of her, cloaked figures shifting impatiently. The murmur of conversation was low, cautious, like a current beneath still water. It took nearly half an hour before Kana reached the entrance.

  A guard stood there, arms crossed. His voice was as sharp as a blade dulled through repetition.

  “No weapons allowed,” he barked, again and again, to each masked entrant.

  Kana’s pulse jumped. She pulled all her daggers from her cloak, one by one, slipping them back into her [Inventory]. When she stepped forward, the guard’s eyes met hers.

  “Pass,” he grunted. Then his gaze narrowed. “Wait.”

  Her heart hammered. I have no identification… this is.. not good.

  “Are you planning to show your face like that?” the guard asked.

  Kana almost sighed with relief. So that was it. Without speaking, she summoned a mask from her [Inventory]—the dog mask she used to wear—and slipped it on.

  “I have it,” she said quietly.

  The guard grunted approval. “Move along.”

  Inside, the air felt different again—humid, humming with the vibration of whispered wealth. The chamber stretched before her like a theatre carved into the bones of the building. Rows of seats circled a raised stage at the center, where enchanted lanterns glowed with steady bright light. Masked patrons filed into place, their movements deliberate, confident. Each mask was different—bird faces, polished porcelain.

  Kana found a seat near the edge, half in shadow.

  A man in a long sash and imperial robes strode onto the stage. His posture screamed a lot of charisma.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he called, voice strong and clear. “I am Holm, your host for tonight’s auction.”

  Kana frowned. No amplification stone? He’s projecting his voice maybe with some skill?

  “To save your precious time,” Holm said with a grin, “let us begin.”

  A servant brought a small box to the stage—old, wooden, engraved with runes. Holm opened it, revealing what looked like a weathered book.

  “Our first item tonight,” he declared, “a skill book—[Lesser Heal]. You know its function well, so we start the bidding at twenty gold coins.”

  Hands rose like leaves caught in the wind.

  “Forty gold.”

  “Fifty.”

  “Sixty.”

  “Eighty.”

  “One hundred.”

  “Any further bids?” Holm asked, his tone rising theatrically. “Once. Twice… Sold! For one hundred gold!”

  Kana stared at the book. A skill book. A real one. Her heart beat faster. Would it even work for me? For my class?

  The host motioned for another servant. “Next: [Lesser Accelerate]. A movement-type skill. Starting bid, twenty gold.”

  Kana listened as prices soared higher—fifty, eighty, one hundred fifty gold. The numbers made her stomach twist. That’s enough to buy a big townhouse in the capital.

  “Before we move to the main items,” Holm announced, “we’ll begin with consumables. Health potions—ten vials available. Opening bid, ten gold each.”

  The bidding was brisk, ending between fifteen and twenty-five gold.

  Then came the words that made Kana straighten in her seat.

  “Now—[Teleportation Scroll]. Only three in stock.”

  Kana’s breath caught.

  “Starting bid at ten gold.”

  The crowd murmured, surprised.

  She felt the tension roll through her shoulders. I bought mine for one gold. Loaned, even. Everything here is worth a fortune.

  “Going once… twice…”

  “Sold! Twenty-five gold!”

  Holm lifted another. “Second [Teleportation Scroll]. Starting at ten gold.”

  “Fifteen!” someone called.

  Kana raised her hand. “Twenty.”

  Holm pointed. “We have twenty gold! Going once, twice… Sold—to our esteemed client in the dog mask.”

  A subtle wave of attention moved through the nearby bidders.

  The final scroll sold for thirty gold. She’d been lucky.

  Holm continued the auction, but Kana no longer heard him. Her mind was already elsewhere. The twins might have arrived in this city now. They probably had their network, their informants… I can’t stay long.

  When the attendants began closing bids for the next item, Kana quietly slipped away. She presented a slip of parchment marked with her seat number at a small window, where a clerk retrieved her scroll.

  “Twenty gold,” the man said without looking up.

  Kana counted out the coins again for her own peace of mind, her jaw clenched. Twenty gold for survival, she told herself.

  She took the scroll, slipped it into her [Inventory], and vanished back into the labyrinth of the Empire city’s midnight streets.

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