On the other side of the house...
Juno walked through the dimly lit corridors of the House, the rhythmic sound of his whistling bouncing off the walls as he went. His mind was calm, his steps carefree, as usual. He was content with his leisurely pace, not in any rush to find anything. The House was a strange place, after all—full of mysteries, dangers, and rumors. And Juno found himself particularly drawn to those rumors.
As he turned a corner, his eyes caught a small group of men—three of them—standing around, deep in conversation. They were speaking in hushed voices, though Juno's sharp hearing caught most of it anyway. His curiosity piqued when the mention of something he hadn't heard before drifted into his ears.
"…The White Ghost," one of the men was saying, his voice low. "I swear, she's out there, in one of those damned city hallways. Some say she's as strong as the Ten."
Juno's ears perked up. As strong as the Ten? That certainly caught his attention. His steps became lighter, quicker, until he was standing right behind the group without a sound, his presence a shadow in the air.
"What about the White Ghost?" Juno asked, his voice cool, but carrying an undercurrent of interest.
The three men froze, then slowly turned toward him with skeptical expressions. One of them, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, sneered. "What, kid? You want a piece of that rumor too? You think you're some kind of hero?"
The man shrugged, and the other two began to laugh, clearly amused by Juno's sudden appearance. "If you don't want to get robbed, you'd better skedaddle. We don't take kindly to nosey kids around here."
Juno's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible grin. His eyes darkened slightly, a shift in his mood—subtle, but palpable.
Without a word, his body became a blur, and the next moment, he was standing directly in front of the scarred man. The other two men had no time to react, still caught off guard by his sudden movement. Juno's hand shot out, and in an instant, a spike of pure darkness erupted from his palm, shooting straight through the chest of the scarred man.
The man barely had time to gasp before the darkness consumed him completely, dissolving his form in an instant. The other two men froze, eyes wide with terror as they looked from the remains of their companion to Juno, who stood there, casually wiping his hands.
"You should've listened," Juno said with a sharp grin, his voice casual, yet chilling. "If you ever come across something worth talking about again, keep it to yourselves."
The remaining two men took one look at the carnage and bolted, sprinting down the hallway without a second glance.
Juno stood there for a moment, watching them flee. He let out a small chuckle to himself,
Juno's irritation faded, his expression returning to its usual calm—cool and confident, like he hadn't just reduced three grown men to nothing but shadows on the wall.
Their voices had annoyed him. Their ignorance had insulted him. But it was that name—The White Ghost—that had intrigued him.
He stood quietly as the silence returned to the hallway, only the distant hum of the House itself filling the air. Moments later, soft footsteps approached—measured, respectful.
"Master," came the familiar voice, smooth and low.
Mena emerged from the darkness behind him, her long violet hair swaying slightly with each step, a black blindfold wrapped neatly over her eyes. Though sightless, she never once faltered in her path. She bowed gently. "You summoned me."
Juno didn't turn to look at her yet. His eyes were still fixed ahead, focused on where the men once stood. "Mena," he said, tone calm but laced with curiosity. "Tell me what you know about the White Ghost."
Mena straightened and spoke with the careful tone of someone reporting to a king. "Very little is confirmed, Master. The White Ghost is… elusive. She is said to reside in one of the deeper city-hallways, rarely seen—only whispered about. Some claim she's as strong as the Ten."
That alone was enough to bring a smirk to Juno's face. "And what about her power?" he asked. "What makes her so feared?"
Mena tilted her head. "It is said she wields a generational power."
That made Juno raise a brow. "A what?"
"A generational power, Master," Mena replied. "Not passed by bloodline or heritage… but by inscription. When a bearer dies or relinquishes the power, it chooses its next wielder—not by lineage, but by fate. The inscriptions are ancient, etched into the House itself or hidden in forgotten objects. The one chosen becomes the new host, awakened by destiny rather than design."
Juno's interest sparked. "So it's not inherited—it's earned. Chosen."
"Yes, Master," she confirmed. "Each new bearer interprets the power differently. It grows with them, adapts to them. No two wielders are ever the same… but all are said to carry a mark left behind by the last."
Juno let out a low chuckle, dark and thrilled. "Now that... sounds fun."
He stepped forward, eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. "A power with history… one that chooses you. I want to meet her."
Mena bowed again, her tone composed. "Shall I begin collecting information, Master?"
"Yes," he replied. "Every whisper. Every trail. I want to know where she is—and how many ghosts she's left behind."
"As you command," Mena said softly, remaining still as Juno strode past her, his footsteps fading into the corridor.
His smile lingered. The White Ghost. A generational power. Something ancient… chosen by fate.
He couldn't wait to see what kind of mark she'd leave on him.
then instantly killed them, after doing so he straightened up, returning to his leisurely walk.
"The White Ghost..." he mused, his mind racing. "Guess I'll have to see what the fuss is all about."
With that, he continued down the hall, whistling once again, his curiosity now burning brighter than before.
...
The warmth of the dimly lit room and the soft mattress had lured Niko into an unplanned nap. He hadn't meant to drift off—just a moment of rest, he told himself. But now, groggy and blinking through the haze of sleep, he was staring up into Iri's face as she hovered over him.
"Get up, sleepyhead," she said, poking his forehead. "I'm hungry."
Niko grunted, rubbing his eyes. "What?"
"I said," she repeated, already walking toward the edge of the section, "I'm getting food. Come with me."
Still half-asleep, Niko stumbled to his feet and followed her to the edge, where the massive ladder he'd climbed earlier disappeared into the darkness below. He peered over it and raised a brow.
"You're not seriously climbing down all that again?"
"Nope," Iri replied casually—and without another word, she stepped off the ledge.
Niko's heart skipped. "Wait—IRI?!"
She was gone. Just like that. Silence. Then, a faint echo of feet gently touching ground far below.
"…What," Niko muttered, eyes wide. He couldn't even see the bottom. "Did she just—"
Suddenly, a shimmering rune appeared in front of him, floating in the air like a spectral message. Runes curled around it in gentle motion before forming a single inscription in Iri's annoyingly familiar tone:
"Jump off!"
Niko blinked at it, snorted, and read it again, this time mimicking her voice with a smirk. "Jump off," he said dryly. "Yeah, okay, totally not sketchy."
A second rune appeared beside the first one—this one smaller, glowing with warm gold light.
Protection granted. Trust me, idiot.
He laughed under his breath. "You better not kill me."
Without letting himself overthink, Niko stepped forward—and jumped.
The fall should have been terrifying. Should have felt like plummeting through endless air.
But it didn't.
It felt like drifting through thick clouds. Like the House itself softened his descent. Before he knew it, his boots touched the ground with a gentle thud.
Iri was already walking ahead like it was nothing.
"You don't give a guy a second to panic, do you?" he called out, jogging to catch up.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Nah. Builds character."
As they walked through the winding halls, keeping an eye out for their trusty merchant, Niko found himself watching her again. Calm stride. Alert eyes. The confidence of someone who had fought battles and lived through stories no one ever told.
"How'd you get so strong?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
Iri's expression didn't change, but her eyes grew a touch distant.
"Lot of training," she said simply. "And a lot of life-or-death situations. You stop fearing pain when pain becomes the only thing teaching you."
Niko nodded slowly, her words sinking deep.
He realized then—strength in this place wasn't just power. It was survival. It was memory. And Iri… carried a lot more of both than she let on.
...
Far from the winding halls where Niko and Iri wandered, the atmosphere was quiet… too quiet.
Juno stood atop a broken balcony in one of the House's deeper sectors, arms folded behind his head, the hem of his long coat fluttering in the draft that whispered through the cracked stone. He had been walking without a goal—bored, lazy, whistling a tune only he seemed to know. Until—
He paused mid-step.
A flicker pulsed through the air like a heartbeat. Not light, not sound—something else. Rune energy. Soft, but precise. It didn't radiate wildly like most magic here. No, this was deliberate. Controlled.
He tilted his head. "That's not normal…"
His pupils narrowed slightly as he focused. The echo of the rune was faint but laced with something potent. Familiar… yet foreign.
Then it struck him.
The rumors. The ones whispered like legend.
The White Ghost.
Juno grinned slowly, his fangs barely visible beneath his lip. "Huh… so she is real."
His fingers moved in a lazy swirl, and a petal of shadow unraveled from his sleeve and shot forward like a bloodhound catching a scent. It darted ahead, dancing through the air before anchoring to a direction.
He chuckled to himself. "Guess I found a way to kill time."
With a single step, his body collapsed into a pool of black mist and zipped after the energy's trail.
He didn't know who cast that rune.
Didn't know it was her.
But he did know one thing:
Only one kind of person left behind runes that clean. That ancient.
And if that person was the White Ghost… he needed to meet her.
"Let's see what kind of myth you really are," he muttered to himself, eyes gleaming beneath his bangs as he vanished into the dark.
...
As Niko and Iri rounded the corner of a dim corridor, still scanning for signs of the missing merchant, Iri let out a frustrated sigh.
"He's usually around this area," she muttered, clearly irritated.
Niko tried to offer a smile. "We'll find him. Probably just wandered to a different hallway or something."
Before she could respond, a figure stepped from the shadows ahead—calm, composed, almost unnoticed if not for the gleam in his eyes.
He was small, baby-faced, with pitch black hair and eyes like coals dipped in violet ink. He couldn't have been older than fifteen, yet the confidence in his steps didn't match his youthful appearance.
He stopped a few feet from them, gaze locking with Iri's like a magnet snapping into place.
"…You," he said, softly at first. His tone deepened with giddy restraint. "You must be the White Ghost."
Iri narrowed her eyes, instantly falling into a quiet stance—not aggressive, but ready.
Niko blinked. "White Ghost—what?"
Before he could even finish his sentence, the boy dashed forward in a blur. Not with rune energy—no aura, no pulse, no surge. Just pure, overwhelming speed. Faster than Niko could track.
But Iri was faster.
Her arm snapped up in an instant, intercepting the boy's strike with the back of her wrist like it was a dance move. A spark rang out between them—a whisper of force.
The boy didn't stumble. He simply grinned, eyes lit with pure excitement.
"You really are her," he said, almost laughing. "This is so much better than the rumors."
Iri's brows lowered. "Who the hell are you?"
The boy stood still now, straightening with a dramatic flair and brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder.
"No one special," he said with a grin. "Just a fan."
Niko stepped beside her. "Iri... you know this guy?"
"I've never seen this kid in my life," she replied flatly.
The boy just smiled wider, rocking slightly on his heels.