Eleven buildings burned. Not a single one spared. Among them, one fire had been lit directly in front of the guard post, an enormous blaze fed with heaps of cash and narcotics. A scene explosive enough to make any journalist swarm like flies to a corpse.

Days had passed since the incident. Yet, unexpectedly, 

“Reports show up from time to time, but surprisingly, it hasn’t stirred much noise.”

“No noise?”

“Yes. A few papers ran stories, but they seem to be treating it like a common turf war between major gangs.”

“No pressure behind the scenes to keep it that way?”

“Shall I look into who might be pulling strings?”

The incident hadn’t escalated. The flames that devoured eleven buildings fizzled from public interest as if someone had placed a lid over it. To most, it was nothing more than another scuffle among sewer rats.

Better that way.

“Keep eyes open, but leave it. Quiet makes the gelded bastards drop their guard.”

“Understood.”

Let the press sleep. Let those who pressured the newsrooms fall into complacency. And the moment they grew too comfortable, even ashamed of how little they acted, the noose would tighten.

Alfred stopped in his tracks just before exiting.

“What of Chief Galen? The evidence you had me deliver was successfully handed over.”

“Why? Is he yelling to dispatch a strike team already?”

“Yes. He stormed the strike team office, raising hell.”

“As planned, keep blocking him. Let him go hungry long enough to drool. Then let him feast. Don’t forget to toss in extra pieces of evidence here and there.”

“It will be done.”

“And that old mage near him, have you confirmed anything?”

“We haven’t spoken directly, but we noticed each other.”

“Impression?”

“Not ordinary.”

“Good enough. You’ve been handling matters well lately. One owed life,consider it cleared.”

“…An honor beyond measure.”

“Revoked.”

“Why?”

“‘Why’ is too familiar. And enough with the flowery talk.”

“Understood.”

Alfred made no effort to hide his nature anymore. Secret errands were taken on openly now. Reasons remained unspoken. Questions left hanging.                  Silence understood what words didn’t need to say. Trust worked both ways.

Just for a moment, Alfred’s face twisted into something soft.

“…Should she be left like that?”

Sophia had not moved.

Still in the same place. Still in the same position she had taken days ago. Eyes hollow. Tears dried. Staring at the dagger that had been tossed before her.

No intervention had been made. No words of encouragement. No commands. The space between them was filled with silence, meals eaten, moments dozed, and meditation practiced. Many had asked. Alfred among them. Always the same answer:

“Leave her.”

Every time, Sophia flinched. Every time, she said nothing.

Now, her body shook from exhaustion. The dark circles beneath her eyes deepened by the hour. Her hands trembled from lack of nourishment.

“Let her move on her own.”

“…As you wish.”

Alfred withdrew. While she remained locked in stillness, the current of fate stirred beneath the surface.

[The target’s fate is distorted. Your influence begins to bleed into their thread.] 

[Lower Fate trait ‘Wealth’ strengthens further. Influence from the related target increases.]

[You are on the verge of fully devouring one of the lower fate schemes directed at you.]

Sophia’s schemes had started unraveling. Whether it meant submission or transformation remained unclear. But the path taken had been correct. She no longer moved for others. Now, she would need to move for herself.

Over the same stretch of days, 

[You have gained additional control over the Lower Fate: Flame. The mystical element ‘Crimson Flame’ grows sharper, purer.] 

[A major lower fate scheme has been devoured. Significant Transformation Points gained.]

[Through strategic maneuvering, you have avoided the schemes of the eunuchs and turned the trap against them. Lower fates of Foolishness, Apathy, and Deceit have been consumed. Transformation Points acquired.] 

[With continued neutralization of schemes, a new fate begins to awaken. Lower Fate: Strategy acquired.]

While fate churned, preparations continued in silence. Meditation cleared the mind and sharpened the fire. Madness once spent was quietly replenished.

Alfred starved the hounds. Evidence was planted where needed. The eunuchs pressed at every turn. The coils tightened. And Andre…Andre was given license to hunt. On the way back from the burning of the final drug factory, 

“I, Andre, humbly request permission to kill them.” Andre’s voice cracked with rage.

Eleven factories had burned. Inside them, children; Wide-eyed, dazed, stained black with drugs. Their origin was no mystery…Orphans.

Andre, himself once a child of the sewer, guessed the rest. Rage had no outlet.

“Grant me the right to slaughter them all.” The plea came raw. Not for revenge, but justice.

Children cursed with misfortune. Children who never escaped the sewer’s grasp. He had been lucky, skilled and different. But not better. And now he sought to honor that luck.

“Your time is short. Unleash everything.”

“Thank you!”

“When you’re buried in filth, run toward the flame. I’ll be there.”

“I won’t forget this grace.”

“There is no grace. What needs , have commoners for gratitude?”

Permission granted. Andre bowed low. His shoulders trembled. From that night forward, gang leaders began dying. One after another. Slaughtered. Chaos deepened. War ignited. The underworld blazed like a bonfire.

Exactly as planned. While each played their part, all threads drew closer to a single point. Overlapping fates pressed against the threshold. The moment they crossed,  One spark. One flame. That was all it would take.

[A Significant Fate: Evil begins to stir. The Fire of Fate responds.]

The fuel was dry. Time to ignite.

“Prepare dinner.”

A full stomach would be needed, the decisive flame would require strength.

Sophia’s anger simmered. Days of torment, endless loops of doubt, all while the prince did nothing. He slept. He ate. He watched. Calm and unbothered. As if her suicide were a given. The thought crossed her mind, to actually do it. To end it out of spite.But fear held her back. Not because of death. But because she didn’t know what else to do.

‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘I don’t want to die. I’m not ready to die.’

‘Should I run? Leave it all behind?’

‘What do you want from me… what do you want…’

The thoughts circled endlessly. A life lived in obedience. No defiance. No rejection. The command to die had shaken her to the core. A timid refusal had been her best effort. But it had changed nothing. The prince had not acted. Had not reacted.

Just waited.

It would’ve been easier if he’d given clearer orders. Or maybe he had. And she had simply never learned how to resist.

How does one refuse? Even that felt foreign.

All her life, thoughts and feelings had been buried. Compressed. Hardened like clay. What had been done was not true defiance. Others had acted in her stead.

In another life, she had used another prince to assassinate her family’s patriarch. Then, as matriarch, she disposed of every servant who had tormented her, through the hands of others. She had escaped tyranny through exile. Purchased blades to aim at those she fled. She had even destroyed her own companies.

That Sophia did not yet exist. Her fate, still fractured.

“Planning to starve yourself to death?” The answer remained unknown.