The Uninvited Guest

High above the Below Sky District, in the floating Sky District, in the division of unblinking lights, the skyscraper towered like a monument. More than just architecture, it was a symbol—of wealth, of power, of unreachable heights. Only the most influential walked its halls.

A trading hub.

The clouds curled at the edges of the building, cloaking it in an ethereal shroud.

Inside, murmurs of conversation floated between clinks of glassware.

Valentina Seraphine moved with calculated grace, her red dress trailing behind like a lick of fire on polished floors. Heads turned, drawn not just by her beauty, but by the precision in her step. She walked like someone with intent.

From the balcony, the view was staggering—the lights of the district below shimmered like stars, and the Stem loomed in the far distance, a steel monolith slicing the horizon.

"He built a damn good tower, right, Butler?" said a graying man, his tone casual, posture imperious.

"Yes, sir," the butler replied, balancing a tray in one hand while patting his brow with a handkerchief.

Meanwhile, Valentina approached a young man—barely in his twenties—standing among a gaggle of fat businessmen oozing greed. Their laughter boomed; their words reeked of profit. But the boy stood apart. His suit was simple, the blazer's tail brushing his heels, a light gold chain hanging across his chest. He didn't belong with them—too composed, too self-assured.

He turned toward Valentina as she neared, dismissing the men with a wave, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Valentina Seraphine. Rolls-Worth. Financial head," she introduced, voice steady.

"So, how old are you?" he asked, the first thing that popped into his head.

She blinked once. "Twenty-six."

"That's more than alright," he muttered, already turning his attention elsewhere. He snagged a glass from a passing butler, champagne bubbling softly, then looked back at her.

"So what do I have the pleasure of doing with someone like you, huh?" he asked, half-smiling.

"No need to flatter me," Valentina replied coolly. "You're one of the church's managers, aren't you?"

"Hmm. You could say that." He twirled the champagne. "Archbishop, technically. There's a bunch of us."

"So why me?" she asked, tone neutral.

"If you say it's because of my pretty face, I'll believe it," he teased, smile widening.

Valentina didn't flinch. "I was sent here by the CEO of Rolls-Worth."

He raised an eyebrow. "To discuss what?"

"Mutual agreement? If so, no. If not, continue," he added before she could answer.

Hand in his pocket, champagne glass in the other, he seemed utterly unimpressed.

"No, not a trade," she began.

"Is your CEO Valtirei?" he interrupted again, sudden interest flickering.

"No," she answered smoothly. "Different department head."

"And that is?" he asked.

"Classified."

He sighed. "So just tell me what you want."

Before she could speak, he cut in again, eyes flicking to his glass. "Heard about your new Enigmasphere. Only gave it to the heads. Bit... selective, isn't it?"

"That's for another time."

He rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what you want."

Valentina leaned in slightly. "I just want the light." She sighed, Jehanne-sharp eyes seeing everything but the board.

His gaze sharpened, but his face remained unreadable. "What does that even mean?"

Suddenly, the lights flickered—then snapped off completely.

"And I was thinking of another," the boy said softly.

A ripple of confusion passed through the hall. Valentina whispered to herself, "I'll need a vacation in another district soon."

The champagne in the boy's glass began to shimmer. Droplets lifted into the air.

"Shame. Most of you have horrendous attachment skills," he said, tone too calm. "Extremely positive for me."

"There's water in champagne, right?"

Valentina's eyes glittered. She watched the droplets snake toward him—then into his mouth.

A sharp shriek rang out. The boy collapsed, clutching his throat.

"SIR! SIR! Someone help! There's something in the drink!" Valentina screamed, her voice pitched with panic—though her eyes told another story.

Chaos erupted. Guests swarmed around the boy's fallen body.

"Archbishop Azarias!" someone shouted before collapsing from shock.

Third-rank Sentinels barreled through the grand doors.

"You! Come here!" one barked, grabbing Valentina's arm. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know!" she stammered, feigning terror.

Then the boy stirred.

He rose like smoke from a purge pyre—ash in his veins, champagne glittering like sacramental wine on his lips, standing slowly, brushing himself off.

Silence. Every eye fixed on him.

"Ah, nothing really," he said casually, as if he'd merely stumbled. "Just that I've got a reasonably good attachment skill. Compared to yours, anyway." He smiled thinly at Valentina, who now looked visibly shaken.

"How... how are you still alive?" she whispered.

"Pawns always telegraph their moves. You opened with a poisoned gambit, Valentina. I countered with a forced sacrifice," he replied with a grin.

He strode toward her, cutting through the stunned crowd.

Sentinels were already binding her hands behind her back.

"Take her to the Below Sky District," he ordered. His voice was cold, commanding. "She's dangerous—useful."

Valentina's face twisted with disbelief. "Tell me!" she demanded again, voice rising.

He paused, turned, and met her eyes. "The Church anoints killers with titles. Today, mine was... providentially useful."

Her eyes widened. "Then your story skill—"

"Yes," he said, voice low. "I suggest you keep quiet. Hope the Church doesn't hear. But they will."

"You lying piece of shit!" She was dragged away. He watched her disappear through the lavish doors.

Azarias's fingers briefly spasmed—a phantom memory of Elias's sister's gaze. He crushed the reaction, smiling.

"Oh, and yes," he said, glancing back at the murmuring guests. "Champagne is largely water. Surprising, I know—but true."

As if nothing had happened, he returned to the circle of businessmen he'd left just minutes earlier—his life, once again, slipping back into its strange, effortless rhythm.