Princess Velia Syn Ravnall stood amidst the ruins.
The night sky shimmered faintly between the aging buildings of the city's lower district, like an open wound refusing to heal. Broken lights flickered in puddles of dirty water, and the cold wind tugged at the tattered hem of her Nythera Academy gown. The royal emblem was still emblazoned on her chest—scarred, but not erased.
Dried blood clung to the side of her face. Her legs trembled—not just from the biting cold, but from a fear she couldn't quite name.
Around her, the remains of an open plaza—once the heart of a community—had become a graveyard of hope. Refugees, nightmare hunters, and criminals now lived side by side in a dangerous silence.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
Not without an escort.
Not without permission.
And as if answering her dread, seven hooded figures emerged one by one atop the rooftops. Silent. Still. Like wounds waiting to be reopened.
Assassins.
One of them jumped. A dagger drawn, slicing through the night.
CLANG!
A flash of blue struck the ground faster than sound. It didn't explode. It didn't roar. It was a silent pulse of magic that threw the assassin back, shattering bone with a single blow.
Velia staggered. Her breath caught. Her gaze locked onto the figure now standing before her, shielding her from death's reach.
A young man.
Jet-black hair. Eyes darker than a starless night. No system light. No flashy Awakener effects typically triggered by skill activation. And yet—the world around him seemed to hold its breath. Using the Tag Character feature from Little Garden, Kaelen didn't need to shout or chant spells. One snap of his fingers—and the power from his combat avatar in Little Garden flowed into his real body, granting him destructive force no human in this world should possess.
Kaelen Virelith.
He came because he felt something.
A distortion in magic. Wild teleportation. A blatant violation of the spatial laws of this world. Something that shouldn't be possible—Earth had no wizards capable of cutting space. And yet, it happened. So he came to see.
He came to assess.
And now—he had chosen to act.
"Your movements are slow," he muttered.
The voice was soft, like a whisper carried by the wind. But its weight felt like a sentence.
"Your killing technique is poor."
The assassins charged in unison.
Kaelen raised a single finger. No shout. No chant.
Magic didn't explode. It cleaved.
A thin silver line swept through the air, almost invisible. Four of the assassins froze mid-step. Their bodies were severed in utter silence. They didn't even realize they had died.
Two tried to flee. But fear froze their movements—they had been hit with a Fear status effect from Kaelen's skill, like puppets dangling on strings of illusion. The last one, trembling… dropped his weapon and ran without looking back.
Silence.
As if the world froze once more.
Velia could only stare. Her eyes wide. Whether in awe… or in terror.
"W-Who are you…?"
Kaelen turned. Slowly. His gaze pierced through any pretense. As if he saw more than just the royal blood in her veins.
"Kaelen," he answered.
"And you… are far from where you belong."
Velia let out a small sob. Her fingers clenched the frayed edge of her skirt.
"Kaelen… I've read your reports. You… you wield a skill that's supposed to be exclusive to the nobility."
"But what you just did… that wasn't awakening. That wasn't royal magic either. It was something I don't understand."
For a moment, Kaelen narrowed his eyes. Not out of surprise—but from a realization far more troubling: someone was watching.
His awakening skill had drawn eyes that should not have seen it. And if Velia knew… then maybe others already knew as well.
A new problem.
Kaelen didn't reply. Instead, he lowered his hand and slipped a ring from his finger—one of a matching silver pair he had kept since the day of deployment.
He tossed the ring into the air.
And it didn't fall.
The ring grew larger, spinning slowly. Within its circle, another space emerged. A silver gate lit up calmly—flat, not dramatic. It was a miniature version of the Gate Ring he once used to drag a False God into Little Garden.
Velia stared in awe. Her breath caught.
"What is that…?"
"An exit," Kaelen said flatly.
He looked at her. No urgency. No persuasion.
"If you want to live, follow me."
Velia looked at the gate. Then at Kaelen. Then at the scattered corpses of assassins around her. Her legs nearly gave out.
"W-Why did you save me…?"
Kaelen stared at her. Silent.
And for the first time, his expression shifted.
Faint. Tired. Worn.
"I didn't save you."
"I just happened to be passing by. And it seems you might have answers I need."
Velia didn't understand. But her body moved. She stepped toward the gate. And the world around her began to shift—reality trembling from filthy alleyways into the neat, orderly space of an apartment room.
Kaelen followed behind her.
And in the final second before they passed through the silver ring, Kaelen glanced at the sky.
Saying nothing.
And over the lower district, the night fell quiet once more.
But far to the north, in the frozen lands of the Nythera Kingdom—something long dormant began to stir.
Verenwald's Secret Chamber — Northern Territories of the Nythera Kingdom
The ceiling was low, arched with black obsidian stone, etched with magic circles and ancient symbols from an era before the Awakening System was discovered. Thin trails of incense smoke drifted through the air, mingling with the metallic scent of old artifacts embedded in the walls.
At the center stood Count Verenwald, an authoritative figure from one of the high noble houses tasked with maintaining stability in Nythera's northern region. His eyes narrowed sharply at the shadow operatives kneeling in silence before him.
"Repeat your report," he said coldly—his voice barely audible, but sharp enough to freeze the air.
"The primary target was not eliminated. We lost track of the princess... and, my Lord—there was high-level magical interference. A teleportation... not registered with the official systems of the lower city."
Silence.
CRACK!
The crystal cup in Count Verenwald's hand shattered. Dark wine spilled like blood across the stone table.
"Unauthorized high-level teleportation in the lower district... outside the academy or royal system's control?" he muttered—half anger, half disbelief.
An elderly advisor from the side of the room finally spoke, his voice slow, as though afraid of his own words.
"...Could this be... the work of a Hidden Household?"
The room froze.
That phrase—Hidden Household—was an old legend, often used to scare ambitious young nobles into submission. According to the tales, they were an ancient bloodline untouched by the kingdom's system, a remnant of a time before classification ranks.
"Utter nonsense," one of the shadow operatives growled. "That story was just propaganda from the former king... a fairytale to force the Four Great Households into submission so none would dare claim the throne."
"But how do you explain that teleportation magic?" another whispered, uncertain. "None of us could trace it. It was as if... the world itself obeyed him."
Count Verenwald stood, turning slowly. His gaze pierced each person in the room.
"We don't have the luxury of debating myth. If the 'Hidden Household' truly exists, then they've waited for centuries... and now move their pieces through the princess."
He stepped toward a magical projection showing a map of the lower city. Red dots glowed—marking the massacre sites where his assassination team had fallen.
"And if they don't exist... then our enemy is even more dangerous—because someone outside the system has obtained power that rivals the gods."
He raised a silver staff and activated a restricted magical signal.
"Spread the word discreetly. Princess Velia is missing. But don't mention the assassination failure. Let the public believe she was rescued by an unknown faction."
The operatives bowed their heads.
"And if the Hidden Household is real..." he sneered, voice cold.
"...then let's drag that legend out of the shadows—and burn it, along with every dying hope they've clung to."
Kaelen's Apartment — Neutral Zone, District 11
The place was quiet. Not luxurious, but clean and orderly—every corner too meticulously arranged to feel like an ordinary residence. Books lined the wooden shelves in perfect symmetry, sharing space with softly glowing potion bottles.
Velia sat on a low couch, wrapped in the thick blanket Kaelen had handed her. Her face was still pale, but calmer now—like someone who had just brushed past death and found herself somewhere far from both palace and court.
"Thank you," she whispered at last.
Kaelen sat across from her, slowly stirring a cup of herbal tea he'd brewed himself. His eyes never truly left Velia—as if dissecting every word, every flicker of emotion.
"I'd like to know," he said quietly, "why a princess became the target of an execution squad in the lower city."
Velia drew a deep breath.
"Because I'm the greatest obstacle in their path to the throne."
She looked at Kaelen, hesitant, but desperate to explain.
"The upper world has already collapsed from within. What remains is just the illusion of order. The high nobles aren't ruled by the crown anymore—they're ruled by fear."
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "Fear of what?"
Velia lowered her gaze for a moment.
"Of something that might not even be real," she murmured.
"Of a lie."
Kaelen leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing, waiting in silence.
Velia continued, her voice steady but hollow.
"The lie of the Hidden Household. Long ago, the previous king spread tales about a secret bloodline sworn to protect the kingdom—watching from the shadows, ready to erase anyone who betrayed the throne. There was never proof. No one ever appeared. But the nobles... they never had the courage to test whether it was a myth."
"So…" Kaelen spoke softly, his tone sharpening,
"You kept nobles in check—nobles whose military and magical power eclipsed the crown itself—by feeding them ghost stories about phantom enforcers?"
Velia gave a faint nod. "We had no other means. That... was the only thread we inherited. The only thing keeping them in line."
Kaelen let out a quiet sigh. He placed his teacup down, then stood and walked toward the window. The lights of the lower city flickered like fallen stars that had lost their brilliance.
"And they believed it?"
"Not completely," Velia replied. "But they never dared to challenge it. Because no one knew who might secretly belong to the Hidden Household. A servant, a royal guard... even their children's tutor."
Kaelen let out a faint, ironic smile.
"Fascinating. Controlling power through fear of an unprovable fiction... a form of illusion magic more refined than anything I've ever seen."
Velia hugged her knees. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"And now... even that lie is starting to lose its grip."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of distant machines and the sound of their breathing.
Then Kaelen spoke—his voice cold, resolute:
"Give the Hidden Household to me."
Velia looked up, startled.
Kaelen continued—soft, but heavy with intent:
"Let me turn that lie into truth.
And in return, I'll discipline every dog that dares bark at its master."