I couldn't tear my eyes away from the image on Tyler's phone. The resemblance was undeniable—the Guardian had Isabelle's face. No, that wasn't quite right. The longer I stared, the more subtle differences I noticed. The jawline was sharper, the eyes deeper set, the expression more severe.
"This isn't Isabelle," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Tyler tilted his head, studying . "No, it's not. But I suspect you see the resemblance to soone you know."
I handed the phone back to him, careful to keep my expression neutral. "What exactly are you showing , Tyler?"
He pocketed the device and glanced around to ensure we were still alone. "Follow . There's more I need to show you, but not here."
We slipped away from the main celebration, through a side corridor adorned with priceless artwork. Tyler led to a small, private study at the end of the hall. Once inside, he locked the door behind us.
The room slled of leather and old books. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, interrupted only by a massive painting that dominated the far wall.
"Look," Tyler said, gesturing toward the artwork.
I stepped closer, and my heart nearly stopped.
The painting depicted a tall, imposing figure bathed in golden light—a Guardian in the midst of battle. Though the face was partially obscured by a helt, the profile was unmistakable. This wasn't Isabelle. This was...
"My father," I breathed, the words escaping before I could stop them.
Tyler's eyes widened. "You recognize him?"
I quickly recovered, stepping back from the painting. "No. I ant he looks like what I'd imagine a father figure to be. Strong, protective."
Tyler didn't appear convinced, but he didn't press the issue. "This painting dates back three hundred years. It depicts the Guardian who protected Veridia during the Great Calamity."
My mind raced with implications. If this truly was my father, then he wasn't just old—he was ancient. And powerful beyond comprehension.
"Why are you showing this?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady. T-h%is c$hapt&e&r. was fi*r st see&n on MV^^L#E M@^.P&Y^R.
"Because I believe we're on the verge of another Calamity," Tyler said softly. "The signs are all there for those who know how to read them. The Guild's increasing aggression, the awakening of ancient bloodlines, the disturbances in the energy balance between light and dark."
I stared at the painting, at the face so achingly familiar yet belonging to a stranger who'd abandoned at birth. What had happened to him? Why had he left? Was he still alive sowhere?
"Liam?" Tyler's voice pulled back to the present.
"We should return to the party," I said abruptly. "People will notice our absence."
As we made our way back, my thoughts were a chaotic storm. The possibility that my father had been a Guardian—one of the most powerful beings in existence—both thrilled and terrified . If true, what did that make ? And why had I been left to grow up as an orphan, suffering years of abuse and humiliation?
---
Back at the celebration, I tried to focus on my original mission—learning about the dark energy resources I desperately needed. But the image of that painting kept floating before my eyes, distracting from conversations and strategic planning.
"You seem troubled," ca a silky voice from behind .
I turned to find Blaise Rostova watching with those calculating eyes of hers.
"Just thinking," I replied.
"About the Guild? Or perhaps about certain missing persons?" Her smile was razor-sharp.
I tensed. "What do you know about missing persons?"
"Only that my father has expressed interest in eting you." She swirled her champagne. "Harold Rostova doesn't often take interest in newcors to our circle, Liam. You should consider it an honor."
Harold Rostova—patriarch of the Rostova family and a force to be reckoned with in Veridia's power structure. Not quite at the level of the Martial Guild, but certainly influential enough to be either a valuable ally or a dangerous enemy.
"Why would your father want to et ?" I kept my tone casual despite my suspicion.
"Perhaps to assess whether you're worthy of the attention you've been receiving." She stepped closer, her perfu enveloping . "Or perhaps to discuss mutual interests regarding certain... institutions in our city."
The Guild. She was suggesting her father might share my opposition to the Veridia City Martial Guild.
"When and where?" I asked.
"Tomorrow. Noon. The Rostova estate." She handed a small, embossed card with an address. "Don't be late. Father despises tardiness."
As she glided away, the conversation around shifted. A group of young n entered the ballroom, their arrival causing a stir among the guests.
"The Four Young Dandies of Veridia City," soone nearby whispered reverently.
I studied them with interest. Each was impeccably dressed, exuding wealth and confidence. According to the whispers around , they represented four of the most prestigious families in the city—masters of business, politics, and cultivation alike.
One of them caught staring and raised his glass in my direction. I nodded back, maintaining a facade of casual interest while ntally cataloging potential threats and allies.
When the initial excitent died down, I approached Ricardo Beaumont, our host for the evening.
"Magnificent party," I complinted him.
"Glad you could make it, Liam." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I hear you've been looking for certain... botanical resources."
I kept my surprise hidden. News traveled fast in these circles. "I have so interest in ancient herbs, yes."
"A difficult field to break into without proper connections." Ricardo sipped his drink. "So of the most valuable specins haven't been seen in the open market for centuries."
"I'm learning that," I admitted. "I was hoping you might have so insights."
Ricardo glanced around, then lowered his voice. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"Thousand-year herbs. Preferably those with dark energy properties."
His eyebrows shot up. "Ambitious. Those are exceedingly rare. The few families who possess such treasures guard them jealously."
Before I could respond, Tyler Westwood joined our conversation. "If it's rare herbs you're seeking, Liam, you might be interested in the Exchange eting."
"Exchange eting?" I asked.
Tyler nodded. "A gathering of the great families within a Mystic Realm. We trade treasures, information, and yes—sotis ancient herbs."
My interest was imdiately piqued. "How does one gain entry to such a eting?"
"Typically by offering sothing of significant value," Ricardo explained. "The spots are limited, and competition is fierce."
"When is the next one?" I pressed.
"Three days from now," Tyler said. "The Westwood family is one of the hosts this ti. We have a few slots available for those who can demonstrate suitable offerings."
Ricardo's phone buzzed. After checking it, he excused himself, leaving Tyler and alone.
"I need to be at that eting," I said quietly.
Tyler studied for a long mont. "Co see tomorrow. Two o'clock, at the Westwood compound. I may be able to help you secure a position."
Hope sparked within . "Why would you help ?"
"Let's just say I have my reasons." He turned to leave, then paused. "Actually, Liam, I believe you possess sothing that might be of great interest to ."
"Oh?" I kept my tone neutral, though alarm bells were ringing in my head.
"Sothing worth not just entry to the Exchange eting, but perhaps even a ten-thousand-year-old herb from my family's private collection." His eyes glead with anticipation.
My face turned cold as I imdiately understood what he was after. This wasn't just an opportunity—it was a dangerous bargain with potentially devastating consequences.
"We'll discuss it tomorrow," I said carefully, my mind already calculating the risks and rewards of such an exchange.
Tyler nodded once, then lted back into the crowd, leaving with the weight of his proposal and the haunting image of my father's face in that ancient painting.
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