Lynea sat in the center ring with her hands on her knees. Fragnts still at her shoulder. The training hall’s dim glow made the copper channels in the floor look like veins under skin.
She didn’t start with drama. She started with a breath.
"My family" she said, "belonged to sothing most people have only heard as a rumor. If they’ve heard it at all."
She looked down.
"The Moirai."
The word hit Raizen before he was ready for it. But Lynea kept going, jaw tight, like she’d fall apart if she stopped.
"A long ti ago - before us, but not so long people - the Underworks were run by Wardens. Not the guards the surface hires now. Real ones. The kind that looked at people and only saw numbers. They ca down with ledgers and guns and made fear feel like law."
She paused.
"The Moirai were Nyx hunters before any of that. Respectable ones, loved by everyone. Five families that originated from an ancient clan of assassins. They kept their luminite knives in the air - old technique, passed down hand to hand. We killed Nyxes long before the Phalanx or Vanguards were even a thing - that’s what the knives were for. Monsters." Her fingers curled against her knee. "Then the Wardens ca, and they weren’t Nyxes, but they hurt the sa. So the families stood together and did what they knew how to do."
One of her fragnts turned once, then stopped.
"Assasinate. Quickly. Silently. They freed the Underworks. No speeches, no public fuss. Only a week of blood and silence after. So people cheered. So people paid. People slept easier because the nas that hunted them stopped being a list."
She brushed her thumb across her kneecap.
"It all should have ended there. Would have been a good story." Her voice stayed flat. "But the thing about being paid for killing is you start thinking people owe you for it. The Wardens left a hole, and the families filled it. And what they filled it with was worse."
Raizen watched her hands. They hadn’t moved from her knees, but her smooth knuckles were pale. He also watched her face while she spoke. Lynea didn’t usually talk much. That was the thing about her - in the few months since they’d t, she gave more silence than words. A nod here, maybe. A short sentence there. Whole days where the most she offered was a look that usually ant "I heard you, and I’m choosing not to respond."
Now she wouldn’t stop. The way she was talking, though... Was strange.
Not strange like he suspected her of lying - wrong like soone who’d rehearsed this so many tis in her own head that the words ca out stripped. Short. Cut down to bone. She wasn’t telling a story, she was just placing facts on the floor between them, one at a ti, the way you’d lay knives on a table before explaining what each one was for.
"The weight, maybe" Raizen thought. Maybe she talked like this because it all weighed heavily on her. Maybe it was a bit too much. He decided to keep listening, though.
"They called it keeping order. Said the Underworks needed structure. They weren’t even wrong - the tunnels were full of refugees and smugglers and people with nowhere else to go. Neoshima up top was busy pretending to be a miracle-city. Down below, we were pretending not to starve." She swallowed. "The Moirai set prices. Set rules. Got rich. Very rich. Richer than most surface families who never looked down unless they dropped a coin."
Raizen’s brow creased. "So they just... Took over?"
"They ruled" Lynea corrected. "And anyone who fought back got crushed. Not every day. Just enough. People learned which streets to walk, which nas not to say, which debts to pay twice."
She lowered her eyes.
"Soone didn’t like that. You can guess who."
Lynea kept staring at the floor
"There were three founders. They built a place called the Rust Room. It wasn’t pretty, but it was efficient. It was a small hidden facility where they made people who could survive the knives. They taught angles you couldn’t possibly predict. They taught you how to move in ways that didn’t look human. They taught you how to kill the best killers in the Underworks."
Hikari’s breath shifted. "Takeshi."
"Takeshi. Elin. Atman. Those were the three founders of the Rust Room. I do not know if they’re still alive..." Lynea’s hands turned palm-up for a mont. Then back down. "But they were the Underworks’s answer to the Moirai’s tyrrany."
She was quiet for a second, as if carefully choosing words.
"Takeshi was in his early thirties. His record shouldn’t have been possible. He beat everyone they put in front of him. People started calling him things - the Strongest in the Underworks, the Liberator, the Legendary Assassin, nas like that. The kind of nas people give when they need to believe soone can save them."
Raizen didn’t move.
"But he wasn’t cruel. Not at all" Lynea said, with a tone that sounded likee profound respect. "He never tortured anyone for answers. He spared when he could, and when he couldn’t, he made it fast. Chose the least painful death. People call that weakness." She paused. "Until they’re the ones who need it."
"But the truth is... He freed the Underworks. Not alone - dozens died next to him. But he was the only one the Moirai truly feared. His na alone made the five families disappear. They went dark. So vanished. So swore revenge but never showed their faces ever again."
She inhaled once, slowly, then continued.
"Takeshi got married" she said, and her voice went quieter. "Had a daughter. There are parts of the Underworks that breathe relieved when soone like that lets himself have a normal life."
She didn’t linger on it.
"And then what was left of the knives found that one crack in his armor."
Her jaw tightened.
"They ca for his house. When he wasn’t ard. When he wasn’t ready. Because that’s the only way cowards know how to win." Her voice was cold, and that was the worst part. "They killed his wife. They didn’t even show rcy for his daughter. They took his arm and his eye. And they left him like sothing they expected the world to completely forget."
She didn’t rush any of it.
"Everyone assud he died. Easier that way. Funerals are simpler than doubt."
Raizen’s hands had gone cold. Not the cold of the room - the kind that starts in the center of your spine and spreads outward until your fingers go numb.
He knew this story. Not the details. Takeshi had never given them, and he had never asked, because so wounds aren’t ant to be touched. But he saw the arm that wasn’t there. He saw the eye behind the black leather strip. He watched Takeshi teach him how to hold a blade with one hand because the other was gone, and he never once heard the man’s voice break.
Now he knew why.
Now he knew what had been living behind every correction. Every silence. Every ti Takeshi had looked at him and his eyes reflected sothing Raizen couldn’t na.
Hikari’s hand gripped her knee under the low light. Lynea kept going. She didn’t look at Raizen. Maybe she knew what she’d just cut open. Maybe that’s why she didn’t stop.
"After that, the quiet grew teeth again. Not loud. Not public. The Moirai didn’t put up banners. They just wanted people to rember that safety is never guaranteed. A body here. An official gone there. Sothing no one could prove. The Underworks learned to swallow it." She shifted her weight. "That’s what survival looks like down there."
"Eleven years" she said, so they’d have the number. "Since Takeshi’s family was taken. By my own kind."
Her eyes stopped hiding what was behind them. Not guilt exactly. Sothing heavier - the weight you carry when you understand both sides of a history and can’t set either one down.
"I was born to one of the five" she said. "The i family. The kind that thinks it’s virtuous because it hands you stale bread once a day and hits you when your hands shake."
Hikari’s face softened. She didn’t speak.
"They watched handle knives. There wasn’t really a choice - you learn, or you starve." Sothing cold settled into Lynea’s voice. "By ten, I could hold more blades in the air than grown n who loved killing more than their own families. They kept telling I’d "restore control." Their control. They said it like a toast. My grandparents believed it like a prayer. Then like prophecy."
She pulled her sleeve up. Just enough.
Her forearm was covered in scars. Not one or two. Dozens. Small, deep, layered over each other until the scars covered more skin than the skin itself. She held it in the light for a mont, then let her sleeve fall.
"Training" she said, "is just the word they used for punishnt when they were supposed to love you. Miss a grip - no food. Miss a timing - no water. Fail a drill - run blindfolded through a room full of the things you failed with."
Hikari’s breathing had gone shallow. Raizen could hear it.
"They made kill animals first. Small ones. Rabbits. Cats. Then n who’d been sentenced to death by courts we built ourselves - fake courts, designed to make murder feel like righteousness."
Her voice barely trembled. Barely.
"I could kill Nyxes. I could make my hands move faster than my own fear. But people-"
She stopped.
"I couldn’t. I just couldn’t kill a person. Even when they told the person deserved it. Even when they called it practice. Even when they told the cris they might have commited. Even when they put their hand over mine on the grip and tried to force my fingers to close."
Nobody moved.
"I disappointed them." The word ca out like she’d been carrying it in her mouth for years. "That’s the word that hurts those kinds of parents more than if you broke every bone in your body. Not rebellious. Not immoral. Disappointing."
She reached for the hem of her tights out of habit - and found skin. The dark tights she always wore weren’t there.
She chose not to hide tonight.
She drew her right leg into the dim light and turned it. Raizen’s first instinct was to look away. He didn’t.
The back of her calf carried a scar that ran like a coastline. Red. Rippled. The kind of skin that had been burned and then forced to grow back by soone who didn’t care how.
"They burned when I said no" she said. "Then they healed it wrong, on purpose, so it would say sothing on their behalf every ti soone looked at ."
Her voice didn’t waver.
"They called it a lesson." She paused. "I call it... Proof. Proof I don’t belong to them."
She put her leg back, hands on her knees again, palms down.
"So I ran away."
Silence.
"The thing nobody tells you about running" she said, "is that it isn’t the hard part. The hard part is figuring out what your hands are for when nobody’s telling you anymore." She looked at her own palms. "You can sell what they taught you. But that would only make more like them. You can quit on purpose because nobody would ever have to think about you again."
She looked up. t their eyes. Hikari first. Then Raizen.
"Or you can choose."
"I chose to save people" she said, under her breath. "Not to balance anything. There’s no scale. Not to be forgiven - there’s no one to forgive . Just to prove I can do sothing with these hands besides hurt." Her voice found sothing solid under it. "Nyxes don’t pretend to deserve rcy. They don’t ask for second chances. In that one way, they’re more honest than my own family. So I enrolled. The Academy doesn’t ask what your hands did before. It asks what they’ll do next."
The smallest thing that could be called a smile crossed her mouth.
"More than a few years later" she said, softer now. "I found out Takeshi wasn’t dead."
Raizen went still. Completely still.
"One arm. One eye. Stubborn enough that people started calling him a myth again. He found what was left of the Moirai. Not families anymore. Just people with fake masks.." She paused. "Bloodthirsty is an ugly word. I don’t have a better one."
She breathed in slow. Let it out.
"He killed them. All of them that still claid the na. Sa strength he once used to spare. He left the ones who’d already walked away on their own. He didn’t co for - we never t. By the ti I heard a rumor I could trust, the rumor said he was dead."
Her gaze dropped.
"Poison" she said. "Not the kind that makes a dramatic scene. The kind you get from a scratch you don’t even notice. That’s how far they’d fallen. To use poison. On him -"
Hikari’s hand tightened on her own knee.
"I.. Um... I asked where he was buried" Lynea said, and sothing shifted in her voice. "So I could bring my own respects."
Raizen sighed. "Sadly, we do not know either. We don’t know much more than rumors"
She looked past them. At the far wall with its scratches and old marks.
"That’s my debt" she said. "To tell you why the luminite fragnts – not even knives anymore – float when I ask." She looked straight into Raizen’s eyes. "To say my na with the truth still attached to it."
She straightened her back.
"i" she said. "Lynea i."
Nobody spoke.
The hum in the walls were still barely audible.
Then - a presence. Soone that had been there the whole ti, now letting herself be seen.
Kori leaned against a pillar where the light didn’t reach. Arms folded low.
"So" Kori said quietly, "that’s what happened to him."
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