——Silent Masks and Deeper Shadows
The city's central station echoed with the soft hum of distant trains, nearly deserted beneath the wash of artificial lights.
As Shawn stepped off the maglev, shadows stretched across the polished floor like restless ghosts.
Beneath his shirt, the Thunder Core pulsed faintly—a silent, rhythmic warning.
He'd taken only four steps toward the exit when they emerged.
Three figures, clad in impeccably tailored black suits, slipped out from behind the pillars.
Their faces were hidden behind smooth, featureless masks that swallowed the light.
No voices.
No threats.
Just hands—firm and deliberate—closing around his arms.
"Shawn Carter?"
The voice came from a fourth man, who calmly removed his mask.
He had sharp, elegant features and wire-frame glasses that caught the sterile station glow. His smile was polite. Almost… warm.
"We'd like to have a conversation."
A hood dropped over Shawn's head before he could answer. The world vanished into fabric and force.
"What—?!"
A cloth pressed against his mouth, cutting off the protest.
Hands guided—no, delivered—him into a waiting car. Tires shrieked on wet pavement. The vehicle plunged into the night like a ghost ship.
Inside, silence.
Only the low hum of the engine, steady and unbothered.
Shawn's mind raced.
Who were they?
The O.S.S.? Too subtle for this kind of show.
National Guard? Unlikely—they preferred warrants and paperwork.
Some syndicate? A shadow agency?
Whoever they were, they weren't amateurs.
Their timing was too perfect. Their movements, too surgical.
The car slowed. Stopped.
Hands dragged him out.
His shoes hit concrete—smooth, worn.
The air tasted of old wood and something faintly ritualistic… incense?
Down a hallway. Then stillness.
The cloth ripped from his mouth. He gasped.
A hotel room.
Dimly lit. Clean, but not luxurious.
Five masked figures surrounded him. Motionless. Wordless.
One stepped forward.
"Why did you post about buying a jade seal?"
Shawn's stomach dropped.
So that's what this was about.
"What?" he blinked, feigning confusion.
"The seal," the man pressed on, voice calm but edged with something sharp. "Engraved with ancient symbols. It wasn't just an antique, was it?"
Shawn didn't respond.
"You were looking for something else."
He chose his words carefully. "I collect rare items. That's all."
The figure said nothing. Instead, he raised a tablet. Displayed a screenshot.
Shawn's online post.
Harmless, to most eyes. But the right eyes? The trained eyes?
It was a signal. A coded invitation. A breadcrumb on the trail to the Arcane Cores.
"You're playing with things far beyond your understanding," another voice said.
The first man nodded. "Second question: Why would a middle schooler be poking around Meta Origin Mountain?"
Shawn kept his voice even. "Field research."
A chuckle.
"For which department? Archaeology? Or Temporal Physics?"
He clenched his fists. "I'm not answering any more questions."
Silence followed.
Then—a shift.
A strange resonance filled the air.
He felt it before he saw it.
The pendant under his shirt stirred—then slipped free.
The Thunder Arcane Core.
Now exposed, it glowed faintly, casting soft pulses of deep blue light. The air thickened, as though reality itself were holding its breath. A low vibration rippled outward, brushing against the edges of perception.
The hotel walls shimmered.
Reality blinked.
The masked figures froze.
Someone inhaled sharply.
Then—a step back.
Fear.
"Impossible…" someone whispered.
The temperature dropped. The room felt denser, as if gravity had doubled. It wasn't just a change in air.
It was something deeper.
Then—
"Enough."
The voice didn't shout. It didn't need to.
It moved through the room like a law of nature.
Shawn turned.
At the far end of the room, a figure stepped forward.
An old man.
He moved slowly, but his presence was like a seismic shift. The Arcane Core dimmed instantly—its power folded in on itself, as if cowed.
Long silver hair spilled over his shoulders like mist. His robes were simple, yet shimmered with threads of shadow and starlight.
But it was his eyes that rooted Shawn to the spot.
Ancient. Infinite. As if galaxies had once burned there and never quite faded.
The masked figures bowed their heads.
Shawn's pulse stumbled.
This man wasn't just powerful.
He was a threshold.
The old man gazed at him for a long, still moment. Then, gently, he reached out and touched the pendant.
"Lucy's work," he murmured.
His thumb traced the Core's surface. Then he handed it back with unexpected gentleness.
"Sir—" the man with glasses began.
"I know what he's been doing."
The old man's voice had shifted—warmer now. Almost amused.
He sat beside Shawn. Poured himself a glass of wine.
"You remind me of her. Stubborn. Clever." He sipped. "Also reckless."
Shawn swallowed. "You knew Lucy?"
A faint gleam crossed the old man's eyes. "I know many things. Including how this ends if you keep chasing those Sigils."
He leaned in, his breath a mix of mint and aged whiskey.
"They are not what you think. And the ones guarding them?" He smiled faintly. "Far less polite than us."
Silence wrapped the room.
Then—
"Let him go."
Soft words. But final.
"Tell him to take down his online postings," the old man added. "Then return him home."
Shawn stared. "Just like that?"
"You have no idea how deep this goes," he said. "And for your own sake—stop digging."
There was no anger in his tone. Only something far heavier.
The weight of knowing.
Before Shawn could respond, darkness returned.
A cloth. Over his eyes. Over his mouth.
And then—the car.
The rumble of the engine. The rush of tires.
The city blurred past again.
He should've been terrified.
But his mind burned with only one thought:
They weren't just interrogating him.
They were afraid of him.
And that meant one thing—
He was getting close.
The clock struck midnight.
His phone flickered.
2031.07.01 | 49D:001:16:45
Back in his room, Shawn sat motionless, the Thunder Core cool in his palm.
The game had changed.
And now, he was a piece that could tilt the board.