Threads of Suspicion
The burden of mory weighed down, threatening to engulf him in its unyielding tide. His lungs scorched as if with every breath he struggled against so unseen opponent, every outbreath empty with sorrow and yearning. And then—softness. Comfort that pierced the tempest. Fingers, light and firm, traced across his palm, a soft anchor against the turmoil that sought to drag him down.
Leon turned, moved by habit more than cognition. By his side, a hooded figure leaned in, the gentle sll of tranquility washing over him. Nova. Her calm emanated around her like a force, a bulwark to the now, anchoring him in a softness that cut starkly against the tempest raging within his head. Under the darkness of her hood, her green eyes sparkled in the light, glimring with worry that was almost a caress, almost that it could reach inside of him and patch the tattered edges of his soul.
Her voice, a warm whisper, wove through the unseen connection they shared, seeping into his ears and anchoring like a comforting salve. "Darling, what occurred? Where did you disappear just lost?"
Leon’s chest relaxed as he let out his breath, tension easing out of him in a soft sigh. His response hung in her mind without words, folding itself into space between them. Nothing. Just. look over here beside . The man sitting here.
Nova’s lashes fell as she turned her attention to the red-haired stranger. Her lips remained shut, but the slight lift of her brows was a giveaway. Recognition? Suspicion? She didn’t know, and perhaps she didn’t want to. Under the brim of her hood, her erald eyes held, acute and assessing, mapping out the stranger’s bright hair as if committing it to mory.
He’s... good-looking, she told herself, and the self-acknowledgnt contained no heat of desire, only a bemused recognition she couldn’t help but notice. But why should it matter in the first place? Her heart asked forbidden questions she refused to speak aloud.
Leon’s lips curved into a thin, barely perceptible smile under his cowl. A smile reserved for eyes that would see—eyes like hers. Because, Nova. his hair. It matches Rias’. The sa exact crimson.
Her breath caught, small and uneven. The revelation unsettled her more than she had expected, twisting her stomach into tight knots of disbelief. She tilted her head slightly, lowering her voice in his mind, threading it with incredulity. "So what are you saying? That he’s... related? Or—?"
Leon’s eyes rested on the subject, his face impassive. I don’t know, he finally conceded, his voice devoid of pretence. But he’s the only red-haired individual I’ve ever t apart from her.
Silence hung between them, heavy with tension and questions left unspoken. Leon’s golden eyes moved over the man, mapping every feature of his face, every subtle motion, for sothing—anything—that would reveal him. His senses vacillated uncomfortably, torn between curiosity and an insidious suspicion that clung like ivy.
Finally, Leon let out a quiet breath, choosing to depend on the one thing that he trusted more than anything. System, he invoked in his head.
The familiar voice replied imdiately, clear and offhand, sounding as if he was amused by his reservations. Yes, bro?
Scan the guy next to . I want specifics. Imdiately.
There was a subtle ripple of mana churning about Leon’s form—so subtle, so calculated that those around him could not perceive it. And yet, as soon as the testing energy drifted toward the red-haired stranger, the red-haired man himself turned. Slowly. Deliberately. His red eyes caught Leon’s with cold precision, slicing through his mind like knives.
Leon stood frozen, a shiver running down his spine. What the.?
The System’s voice replied rapidly, this ti tinged with remorse. Bro, I’m sorry. I was unable to finish the scan. He’s shielded by a high-tier artifact. His identity is locked. I’m unable to breach it—not with your present strength.
Leon clenched his jaw. What do you an you can’t? You’ve scanned gods, monsters, and worse. Don’t tell this guy
I told you already, the System cut in, hard and unconcerned. As you get stronger, I get stronger. If I’m stopped, it’s because you haven’t broken through yet. Don’t bla , bro—it’s you.
Leon’s nostrils flared, a muscle spiking in his cheek. The fuck?
Facts, the System replied, insufferably smug.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, making a hard breath between clenched teeth. His annoyance seethed, but before he could snap once more, another voice crept into the air—low, calm, and authoritative enough to disrupt the constant creak of cart wheels.
"Mister," the red-haired man said, each word asured, suave, yet weighted with silent command. "Did you just... do sothing to ?"
The cart halted. Not moving, but in mood—every noise muffled, as if the world itself bent forward to hear.
Leon blinked, surprised for a beat, but regained himself imdiately. His face smoothed out, his voice steady, with an edge of cool humor as though nothing had occurred.
"No, my lord," he said softly, his words bearing the weight of suppressed emotion. "You misinterpret. I did nothing."
The red-haired man looked at him wordlessly, eyes piercing but unexpressive, as if stripping away layers to observe what was underneath. For an instant, the silence held, heavy with unspoken tension. Then finally, he nodded once.
"I see," he murmured, his lips curving into the faintest suggestion of a smile. "And by the way... don’t call lord. I’m no one of such standing. Just a small farr on his way to the capital in search of work."
Leon leaned forward, the words scraping against sothing inside him that didn’t feel right. A spark of uncertainty flared in his chest, but he suppressed it, locked beneath a serene face. His gold eyes did not flicker, did not betray what raged beneath.
"A farr," he repeated quietly, as if asuring the word against the air itself. "Of course.
The man’s lips curled up a little further this ti, and with a relaxed yet purposeful movent, he held out his hand.
"My na is Zetch," he said. "Call Zetch."
Leon looked at the proffered hand for an instant before closing his around it in a firm grip, strength for strength. "Leon," he said, his tone unbroken. "Nice to et you, Zetch."
Zetch’s red eyes reflected the faint light, shimring with a soft, uninterpretable gleam. But his smile was effortless, nearly disarming. "A pleasure, Leon," he countered, his voice warm enough to cover over whatever was hidden.
The cart groaned on, wheels squeaking across rough ground. Beside them, Leon’s friends shifted uncomfortably in their seats, affecting nonchalance, though he sensed the weight of their glances slipping irresistibly again and again toward the stranger. Nova especially fidgeted. Even as she pushed back her hood, attempting to hide her face, the rigidity of her shoulders betrayed her distrust. She wasn’t relaxing.
The other passengers continued with mindless conversation, unaware of the undertone hanging in the air. Leon’s mind, however, would not be still. His mind replayed, stabbing and relentless, that one detail—crimson hair, crimson eyes.
Rias.
Coincidence? Or sothing a great deal more sinister?
As the cart moved steadily towards Vellore, Leon pressed his lips into a tight line, constraining his breathing to even itself. But in the stillness of his heart, the question seared, dense and unremovable.
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