Alyssara Velcroix II

Suffice it to say, things weren't going particularly well.

The investigation churned on, directionless, and I still hadn't pieced together how to locate the Vampire Monarch or how to expose the truth. Every step felt like trudging through quicksand—progress appeared possible, but I was sinking deeper with each passing moment.

My eyes drifted to the Red Sun in the sky, its presence both awe-inspiring and infuriating. The power of a Legendary-grade artifact. Such artifacts were forged with magic so potent they bent the rules of reality itself. The red divine flames alone were proof of its immense strength, capable of obliterating nearly anything in its path. 

And then there was the rejuvenation ability.

Even though the current Lord of the Palace wielding the artifact could hardly be called competent, the Red Sun's power was undeniable. If its flames could burn through the mightiest defenses, then its healing properties must be equally unparalleled.

"How does it work?" I muttered under my breath, frustration pooling in my chest. But the air offered no answers, only the hum of distant waves lapping against the island. 

Even Deia, the princess of the Palace and future inheritor of the artifact, didn't know the exact mechanics. Only Daedric, her father, held that secret, and I had a better chance of convincing the sun to set in the east than prying that knowledge from him.

"What are you thinking of?" came a voice, soft yet sharp, slicing through my solitude like a razor. Every instinct screamed at me to leave, to disappear into the shadows. But I kept my composure, turning slowly to face her.

"Advisor Alyssara," I said, keeping my tone neutral. She stood there, hands clasped behind her back, her head tilted slightly, a smile on her lips that could have meant anything—or nothing. Her pink hair framed her face like candy floss spun from nightmares, and her cyan-green eyes glimmered with a playfulness that didn't match the weight she carried. 

To anyone else, she was a picture of charm and elegance, a perfect lady of the court. But I knew better. Behind that disarming exterior lurked the strongest Cult Leader in the world, a being who had lived for over a century and wielded power most could only dream of.

She took a step closer, her smile widening. "You seem troubled. Staring at the Red Sun as if it owes you answers. Does it?"

I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Just thinking about how something so bright and grand can cast such long shadows."

Her laugh was soft, almost melodic, but it didn't reach her eyes. "A philosopher too? My, you're full of surprises, Arthur."

The way she said my name sent a chill down my spine. It wasn't the first time she'd used it, but each time felt like she was testing its weight, seeing how much power it held over me—or how much power she could claim with it.

"Hardly a philosopher," I replied, forcing a small smile. "Just someone trying to make sense of things."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were reading between the lines of my words, dissecting every syllable for hidden meaning. "And what is it you're trying to make sense of?"

"Many things," I said evasively. "This investigation, for one."

She tilted her head, her smile sharpening. "You won't find what you're looking for, you know. Not unless you learn to look in places others fear to tread."

Her words felt like bait, carefully chosen to lure me into a conversation I didn't want to have. But I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. "Good advice," I said with a nod. "I'll keep it in mind."

For a moment, we stood in silence. The wind carried the faint scent of salt and something else—flowers, perhaps, though they felt out of place here. Alyssara's gaze never wavered, her expression unreadable.

"You're interesting, Arthur," Alyssara said, her words curling through the air like smoke from a flame that refused to die.

God, how I hated those words. Cecilia had said them once, back when I couldn't stand her overbearing attitude. They'd sent chills down my spine then, but hearing them from Alyssara was infinitely worse.

"You repeat yourself a lot," I replied, narrowing my eyes. My voice was as neutral as I could make it, though my chest tightened like a spring coiling too tightly.

She blinked, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing her face before she tilted her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "You're right. My fault."

What game was she playing this time? I watched her warily as she moved to the railing beside me, leaning against it with the casual grace of someone who could crush mountains and make it look effortless. Her cyan-green eyes drifted upward, tracing the path of the Red Sun as it hovered against the fiery expanse of the sky.

"You remind me of someone," she said, her voice softer now, almost wistful. The sudden shift caught me off guard, but I kept silent, letting her continue.

"Someone I don't remember, though," she went on, her fingers brushing against the railing. "It doesn't make sense, really... but it feels like there's something—someone—missing. Strange, isn't it?"

I didn't reply immediately. I couldn't. Every fiber of my being was on high alert, trying to parse her words and figure out her angle. This wasn't like Alyssara—not the Alyssara I knew, the Crimson Dancer who turned chaos into an art form. Her words carried a weight that didn't fit her usual games.

Was this another one of her mind games? A new tactic to unnerve me, perhaps? 

I activated Mind's Aegis, dividing my consciousness into streams to analyze her every nuance—the cadence of her voice, the slight tremor in her fingers, the faint twitch in her jaw. Alyssara was a master manipulator, but even the best actors slipped up.

The results made my blood run cold.

There it was—a tremor, so subtle it could've been mistaken for the wind, and a flicker of something in her voice. Nervousness. Genuine, unguarded nervousness.

For a moment, I doubted my own analysis. Alyssara was a fortress of poise and cunning. She wasn't someone who faltered, let alone showed genuine emotion. But the evidence was there, staring me in the face.

"Is she being for real?" The question echoed in my mind as I scrutinized her further. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her shoulders weren't quite as straight as usual. Her words had carried an edge of confusion, as if she herself didn't understand the feelings she was expressing.

But could it be true? Did Alyssara, of all people, have something—or someone—hidden in her past that even she didn't fully grasp? The idea seemed impossible. I knew her life, her history, every sordid detail of the Cult Leader she had become. There was no one who mattered to her—not in the way her words implied.

And yet… there was no mistaking the conflict in her tone.

"What are you trying to say?" I finally asked, my voice steady, though my mind raced.

She tilted her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Nothing, I suppose. Just musing about the past—or the lack of it."

The faint tremor in her voice returned, and this time, it wasn't missed. She glanced at me, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to read my reaction, to determine if I believed her.

A part of me wanted to dismiss it all as another layer of her deception. But there was something raw in her words, something too unpolished to fit the Crimson Dancer's repertoire. And that made it all the more unsettling.

"I didn't think you were the type to dwell on the past," I said carefully.

Her laugh was short, almost brittle. "Neither did I. But life has a way of surprising you, doesn't it?"

She turned her gaze back to the Red Sun, her expression unreadable once more. The moment of vulnerability, if that's what it was, slipped through her fingers like sand.

"I'll leave you to your brooding, Arthur," she said after a pause. Her voice had returned to its usual lightness, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the woman who had spoken moments ago was someone entirely different. Someone I didn't recognize.

As she walked away, the soft click of her heels against the stone echoing into the distance, I stared after her, my thoughts tangled. Alyssara, nervous? Confused? Vulnerable?

It didn't add up. 

And yet, there it was.