[Scene: Quinster Island – Mossveil Guild Hall, Main Chamber]
The walls groaned under silence.
Every eye was fixed on the trembling hands of the guard holding the envelope.
The seal had already been broken.
But the weight of the words inside still pressed down like a noose.
Veldora Mossveil stood at the head of the room — breath loud, jaw clenched, making a low growl like a caged beast.
Behind him, ministers and officers stood frozen.
No one dared sit.
The guard cleared his throat and read aloud.
Letter from Whisper's Light (Verbatim)
To the Leadership of the Mossveil Guild,
We write not as enemies, but as witnesses.
Witnesses to cruelty concealed behind golden gates.
To voices silenced. To lives stolen.
This letter is your moment —
Not of judgment, but of choice.
Whisper's Light formally demands:
– The immediate and unconditional release of all prisoners held within Quinster under unlawful or abusive circumstances, including but not limited to civilians, dissenters, the royal family of Quinster, and Yuan.
– The surrender of Mossveil Guild's control over governance, militarized authority, and economic seizure on Quinster Island.
We offer this not as a threat, but as a final diplomatic opportunity.
You have until the day of the Warm Festival — four days from this message — to comply.
If you do, no blood need be spilled.
If you refuse — know that we will not shout.
We will act.
And Whisper's Light does not act in halves.
Signed,
— Whisper's Light Command.
"Peace is offered. Justice will arrive either way."
Silence.
Thick. Sharp. Total.
Veldora didn't breathe.
His fingers curled tighter with each word — until his nails drew blood from his palms.
When the guard finished, he didn't dare lower the letter.
He just stood there.
Veldora (barely audible):
"Did they… say surrender?"
The room stayed frozen.
He turned toward the balcony, staring at the stone cityscape of Quinster beyond.
Veldora (growling):
"They think they can humiliate me… on my land…"
[Flashback Scene: Quinster Coastal Waters – Night of Arrival – 1:48 AM]
The moon was a sliver — barely enough light to kiss the waves.
Two Quinster patrol ships drifted across the eastern coast, slow and routine. Banners fluttered faintly with the Mossveil insignia.
One of the crewmen leaned against the rail, arms folded.
Soldier: "Sir, look—there. Starboard side."
He pointed toward the dark horizon.
Soldier: "A small boat. Just one. Coming straight for us."
The captain of the ship, weathered and bored, barely glanced up from his tea.
Captain (chuckling): "Probably some drunk fisherman who overshot the docks."
Soldier: "Should we inform the capital?"
Captain (waving him off): "What, and wake the desk rats over a rowboat?"
"Let him drift. He'll either sober up or die. No concern of ours."
The soldier hesitated—but nodded.
Then—
A noise.
A clang.
Followed by silence.
The captain paused.
Captain (sharpening): "...You hear that?"
Another sound. This one wet. Fast.
And then—
A scream from the lower deck.
Both men bolted from the bridge.
They rushed toward the stairs—
But stopped cold.
A man stood there already. In the middle of their upper deck.
Two swords drawn. Clothes black as void. Hair soaked. Gaze unflinching.
Solis.
Captain (shouting): "HEY! Don't move!"
He raised a flintlock pistol.
But the moment his finger touched the trigger—
Crack.
Solis had vanished.
The back of the captain's skull was struck clean. He dropped without a word.
The second soldier reached for his blade—
Too late.
A blur. A dull thud. And darkness.
The deck fell quiet once again.
Solis exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on the twin blades.
Solis (to himself): "Fourteen. All unconscious."
He looked to the second patrol ship.
[Scene: Second Patrol Ship – Simultaneously]
Lightning danced briefly on the ship.
No one on the deck was standing.
Katrina casually stretched her arms and blew a strand of hair out of her face.
Katrina (to herself): "Done. Boat's ours, boys."
She clicked her communicator twice — a silent signal.