The ssage arrived at 02:13 a.m.
Official summons.
Report to Governnt Headquarters at 06:00.
Urgent.
Failure to comply will result in administrative punishnt.
Samael stared at the communicator's screen with an empty expression.
That was the downside of working for the governnt.
You didn't really have a choice.
You were always at the rcy of orders.
"Who schedules sothing at six in the morning…" he muttered, burying his face into the pillow.
Samael was the type to sleep late.
And wake up late.
Being forced out of bed at that hour felt like a personal attack.
The headquarters building didn't help.
Massive.
Gray.
Cold.
Imposing in a calculated way.
"I don't want to go…" he grumbled while crossing the main entrance.
To make things worse, he was ten minutes late.
The GPS had sent him to the wrong address.
If he had been fully awake, he would have double-checked.
But he hadn't.
And now he was paying for it.
He approached the reception desk.
"Excuse … I was told to report here."
His voice was low.
The attendant looked up.
She was beautiful.
Which, naturally, only made things worse.
"Hello. You must be Samael, correct?"
She had already been inford about those summoned.
Only one was missing.
"Y-Yes."
"Please follow the corridor. Third door on the right. Wait for instructions."
No reprimand for being late.
Which, sohow, made him even more nervous.
"Thank you…"
He walked away.
Already exhausted.
He had barely arrived.
The corridor was long.
Deserted.
Far too silent.
The air conditioning exhaled an artificially cold wind that seed to seep into his bones.
Each step echoed softly against the polished floor.
The atmosphere was oppressive.
What is this eting about?
A few days ago, Elizabeth had ntioned sothing strange:
The governnt hadn't sent them to hunt criminal Awakened.
Nor to protect anyone.
No ordinary mission.
Nothing.
For those who had survived the First Nightmare… that was unusual.
Suspicious.
A knot of unease began to tighten in his chest.
He still hadn't discovered where Sunny lived.
Over the past few days, he had tried to locate his house.
No success.
No background.
No public records.
And the data of the Forgotten Shore survivors was sealed.
Locked away.
Samael stopped before the third door.
Gray tal.
Plain.
Unmarked.
But at that mont…
It seed larger than it should have been.
He took a deep breath.
"You can do this."
He pushed the door.
It creaked softly.
And the room revealed itself.
Several chairs.
Already occupied.
People he didn't know.
The first to catch his attention was a young woman with long white hair.
That alone would have been unusual.
But her eyes were covered by a black blindfold.
On the right side, a blue flower embroidered into the fabric.
She was short.
Shorter than Sunny.
Samael stood around one ter eighty.
Nothing extraordinary.
But beside her — and Sunny — he seed tall.
Her face expressed nothing.
No curiosity.
No impatience.
Like a statue carved from pale marble.
The next figure was a brown-haired man.
Ordinary face.
Nothing particularly remarkable.
Except his height.
Easily over one ter ninety.
Beside him, a black-haired boy.
Deep dark circles beneath his eyes.
Empty eyes.
Not empty from lack of sleep.
But from sothing else.
They seed to know each other.
Yet there was a strange tension between them.
Silent.
Unresolved.
Samael looked away.
Further ahead, another man.
Roughly his own height.
Handso.
Brown eyes.
Brown hair.
A serene expression.
Subtle.
But there was sothing about him.
Sothing that made Samael's instincts recoil.
Strong.
Very strong.
That was not the presence of a re Awakened.
It was an Ascended.
A Master.
And in the corner of the room—
Black hair.
Lavender eyes.
Elizabeth.
Samael had never felt so relieved to see soone.
If he had to remain there alone, surrounded by strangers, the air would have beco unbearable.
He gave a slight nod to the group.
Then sat beside her.
He wanted to ask.
Wanted to know what she thought of all this.
But speaking would draw attention.
And he did not want to be noticed.
Not in that environnt.
So he remained silent.
Waiting.
Ti began to stretch.
Samael stared at his hands.
Interlaced his fingers.
Unlaced them.
His leg bounced subtly.
A nervous rhythm.
"This is taking forever…" he murmured almost soundlessly.
He had slept four hours.
For an Awakened, that was enough.
Technically.
But he was used to eight.
Each second seed to thicken the air.
The room grew heavier.
Denser.
As if sothing was about to happen.
And everyone there knew it.
Even without knowing what.
The door behind them remained closed.
But the sensation of being watched…
Never left him.
And for the first ti that morning—
Sleepiness was replaced by sothing far worse.
Anticipation.
And then—
Finally—
The gray tal door opened.
The sound was low.
Controlled.
But in the silent room, it thundered.
A man entered.
Around forty.
Hair already touched by gray strands.
Deep eyes.
Ancient.
Not ancient from age.
But from experience.
Those were the eyes of soone who had seen many die.
And survived them all.
If his presence wasn't enough, his aura completed the introduction.
Light.
Contained.
Yet crushing.
A Master.
And not an ordinary one.
Stronger than the other present in the room.
In the current era, Masters were not exactly rare.
But neither were they common.
Not like the Awakened.
Still, they were far from the absurd scarcity of Saints — who could be counted in a few dozen.
And infinitely distant from the Sovereigns.
Three individuals.
Only three.
And in that room…
There were two Masters.
The newcor walked to the center.
Slow steps.
Certain.
The room seed to adjust to his presence.
Authority.
Natural.
Indisputable.
Samael frowned slightly.
If his mory served him right, the governnt possessed only one Saint within its ranks.
Cor.
The only one.
That ant Masters like this man… and Jet… were fundantal pillars of the military structure.
Speaking of Jet—
Samael would have preferred him a thousand tis over.
The unknown was worse.
Much worse.
The man stopped at the center.
And looked at each of them.
Unhurried.
Completely unhurried.
When his eyes t Samael's—
A shiver ran down his spine.
Instinctive.
Primordial.
But…
Compared to the presence of that Saint on the King Serpent Island?
This was almost comforting.
Child's play.
The man finally spoke.
His voice was deep.
Controlled.
Tired.
Not tired from lack of sleep.
Tired from responsibility.
"Hello. I am Master Wein."
He introduced himself like soone who had done so dozens of tis before.
No theatrics.
No need to prove anything.
Samael felt sothing strange.
That experienced, slightly worn voice made him realize sothing rarely spoken aloud:
The governnt lacked Awakened.
And the ones it had…
Were overworked.
Mission after mission.
With no real rest.
"You will form a team with those present for a secret and confidential mission."
The information fell like a blade.
No context.
No explanation.
"There will also be mbers of Legacy Clans. They are still being selected."
The silence in the room grew heavier.
No one there was naïve.
Legacy Clans did not participate out of kindness.
They participated for interest.
And they pressured the governnt whenever convenient.
Their presence ant politics.
And when politics mixed with Nightmares…
Soone always paid the price.
"Why us?" the other Master in the room asked.
His voice was firm.
Calm.
He was the only one with enough status to question.
Wein didn't seem bothered.
He had probably expected it.
"Because you have proven yourselves capable."
A brief pause.
"And because you are new."
The answer was too direct.
Too raw.
A few gazes shifted subtly.
"The selected need a certain level of strength," Wein continued. "But we cannot afford to lose experienced personnel."
The next sentence was not spoken imdiately.
But it hung in the air.
You are… replaceable.
"Therefore," the Master concluded, "you were chosen."
The room sank into silence.
Heavier than before.
Samael felt sothing tighten in his chest.
It wasn't pure fear.
It was awareness.
They weren't there because they were the best.
They were there because they were promising.
And expendable.
The mission was secret.
Confidential.
Involved Legacy Clans.
And required Masters supervising.
That could only an one thing—
It was big.
Too big.
And for the first ti since entering that room, Samael didn't think about sleep.
Nor social anxiety.
He thought about only one thing:
How many more graves would that cetery have to receive?
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