When he truly caught on to the elf, when the veil finally slipped... it was not in so back alley or damp prison cell, but in the gilded chaos of a trial-season party.
Back then, as Sir Keiser, he had been prowling the marble halls of a noble estate, sharp-eyed and tense. It was ant to be a celebration, a glittering affair of wine, masks, and music.
But the halls outside the banquet room told a different story. Whispers slipped between tapestries, furtive glances darted in candlelit corridors, and every locked door hid more than just servants’ supplies.
And then he found them.
A child.
Or so they seed. A boy or girl... it hardly mattered... with hair neatly combed, cheeks still round with youth, and wide, practiced eyes.
They were standing in a side chamber they had no reason to be in, fidgeting with the hem of their silks. The child claid they’d wandered away from their parent, that they’d gotten lost in the vast estate, their voice trembling with just the right amount of innocence.
At first, Keiser almost believed them. Almost.
But training had already sharpened his mind.
Under Gideon’s relentless drills and Aisha’s sharp, exacting tests, he’d been forced to morize entire family trees of the nobility.
He knew nas, faces, bloodlines... down to the last wling child born to so minor baron on the western frontier.
He could recite them in his sleep.
And this one? This ’child’?
They did not exist.
Keiser had caught them speaking too fluently of matters no child would understand, slipping questions about nobles’ whereabouts and overheard bargains.
It was not idle curiosity... it was information-gathering, transaction masked as childish rambling.
At the ti, Keiser lose his authority to pursue anyone. He was still ’Sir Keiser’, bound by the rigid training and trials of a King-to-be. He couldn’t risk stirring noble tempers or chasing shadows in front of the court. And so, he let the the child go.
It wasn’t until much later... after he and his faction had to travel into elven lands, that he finally understood.
That ’child’ had not been a child at all like he thought, but an elf cloaked in mana, changing face and form. It explained everything... the endless slipping away, the phantom appearances in different guises, the uncatchable spy who seed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.
And in that mont, the truth had snapped into focus.
The black market’s phantom network was no vast conspiracy of agents. It was this one creature. This elf. Changing shapes as easily as a one might change clothes, infiltrating rooms and circles no mortal could ever touch.
The mory clung to Keiser now, sour and bitter as gall.
The trial-season party had given him his first real glimpse of the truth. And though he had hunted, cornered, and even bound the elf more than once, he had never held them for long. They always slipped through. Always.
Leaving behind nothing but the faint echo of a mocking laugh and the sting of humiliation.
But by then, the knowledge had co too late to matter.
The Gambit was already spiraling, growing darker and more dangerous with each passing turn.
And the revelation, that the black market’s network was in truth a single elf... was swallowed by far greater threats.
In the end, it beca the least of his worries, a detail buried under the weight of betrayals, battles, and the inexorable march toward ruin.
The bars of the elf’s cell began to shimr faintly, a pale greenish glow crawling along the iron like veins of fire.
With a low groan of wringing tal, the rods twisted outward, bending in an unnatural arc until an opening wide enough for the elf’s tall fra appeared. The sound was wrong... like bonescracking under pressure.
The elf stepped through the gap without even ducking, movents unhurried, as though walking out of a doorway rather than a prison.
The others recoiled instinctively.
Jim and Jill stumbled back against the opposite wall. Tyron froze, his knuckles white as he clutched the vial beneath his shirt.
Even Keiser felt the tug of Lenko’s grip again, pulling him backward with almost desperate force.
"You don’t seem shocked... nor afraid to see , child." The elf’s voice was a silken drawl, carrying in the damp dungeon air as they sauntered forward.
Keiser held his ground.
He stared directly into those shifting eyes, even if it ant tilting his head upward. The elf was taller, unnervingly so, and the shadows only emphasized their elongated, inhuman grace.
Still, Keiser did not flinch.
Lenko did.
His face had gone pale, his jaw tight with gritted teeth. "How did you get here?" His voice trembled, though he fought to steady it. "Elves aren’t allowed in the capital... not after what happened before."
The elf’s gaze slid from Keiser to the others, head tilting slightly as their sharp ears twitched. A soft hum slipped from their throat, low and resonant, vibrating against the walls until the entire dungeon seed to breathe with it.
It raised every hair on their necks, prickled skin, and left the air tasting of tal and ozone. Even Keiser felt his hackles stir.
Then, with a sudden shift, the elf leaned down. Their height bent toward Tyron, whose breath hitched sharply under the weight of that inhuman gaze. "You too, child..." Their tone was almost purring. "You’re an interesting one."
Tyron shrank back, eyes wide, pressing himself to the damp wall.
"But," the elf continued, straightening and tilting their head toward Keiser, "lesser than this one."
The slender hand extended, and a finger pointed at Keiser with deliberate precision. The digit was pale and elegant, nails elongated into delicate tips that looked more like polished talons.
Even without touching, they seed sharp enough to prick blood with the gentlest graze.
Keiser’s gaze flicked briefly to that hand, then back up to the elf’s eyes. He said nothing, but the weight of silence pressed heavy, and Lenko’s grip on him only tightened.
A sharp smile cut across the elf’s face. "A halfling could never be compared to this one."
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