The problem with servants was simple.

They kept leaving.

Seraphina sat in the inn’s common room staring at Rowan.

Rowan stared back.

The battle had continued for twenty minutes.

Neither side had achieved victory.

"Aina."

"Servant."

"I’m leaving."

"No."

"I wasn’t asking."

"That sounds like something a servant would say."

Rowan rubbed his forehead.

Across the room, Daren was eating breakfast while watching.

This was better than theater.

Atlas watched too.

Tax sat on Atlas’s head.

The crow seemed invested in the argument.

Possibly because he enjoyed chaos.

Possibly because he was evil.

The difference was becoming difficult to identify.

"You literally told me yesterday to investigate."

Rowan pointed out.

"Yesterday’s Seraphina made poor decisions."

"And today’s Seraphina?"

"Flawless."

Kael nearly choked on his drink.

The confidence remained undefeated.

Unfortunately.

Half an hour later—

Rowan was still leaving.

A devastating betrayal.

He adjusted his backpack.

Checked his supplies.

Made sure the Valemont key remained secure.

Everything was ready.

Daren stood nearby.

Less prepared.

But determined.

Which was somehow more dangerous.

"You sure?"

Rowan asked.

Daren shrugged.

"No."

An honest answer.

The best kind.

"But if I keep sitting around waiting to figure out what I want..."

He scratched his cheek.

"I’ll still be sitting around next year."

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Rowan smiled.

Small.

Genuine.

"Fair enough."

For the first time in a while—

Daren felt like he was moving toward something.

Even if he didn’t know what that something was.

Seraphina watched the exchange quietly.

Which alarmed Kael.

Deeply.

Because quiet Seraphina meant thinking.

And thinking Seraphina often caused permanent damage to reality.

"Aina."

"Hm?"

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing."

Lie.

A complete lie.

Everyone knew it.

Even Atlas looked unconvinced.

Meanwhile—

Across the city—

Rumors spread.

Because rumors always spread.

Especially when Seraphina was involved.

A group of merchants gathered near a fountain.

One unfolded a newspaper.

Another laughed.

A third looked nervous.

"You think they’ll catch the artist?"

"No chance."

"Apparently a noble offered a reward."

The second merchant laughed harder.

"That makes it funnier."

Nearby workers nodded.

Several had pinned the drawings inside their shops.

One noble had reportedly purchased copies just to burn them.

Which accidentally increased demand.

The situation had become completely uncontrollable.

As all good situations eventually did.

Inside the imperial palace—

Crown Prince stared at another letter.

Then another.

Then another.

Three complaints.

Five complaints.

Eleven complaints.

All related to the same issue.

Drawings.

The future ruler of the empire slowly leaned back.

His advisor looked exhausted.

"A problem, Your Highness?"

Cassian considered the stack.

Then answered honestly.

"Not really."

The advisor blinked.

"Twelve nobles submitted complaints."

"Only twelve?"

The advisor looked horrified.

Cassian folded another letter.

The drawing attached depicted a noble being chased by taxes he personally invented.

The resemblance was unfortunate.

And accurate.

"Investigate the complaints."

The advisor nodded.

Finally.

Something normal.

Then Cassian continued.

"And investigate the nobles too."

The advisor closed his eyes.

Of course.

Of course that was happening.

While the others prepared—

Kael left the inn.

Alone.

The city streets slowly gave way to older districts.

Then older ones.

Then older ones that respectable citizens pretended didn’t exist.

Perfect.

Exactly where he wanted to go.

The token weighed heavily inside his pocket.

The one Lyra had given them.

The one nobody had properly explained.

The underground market was exactly what he expected.

Suspicious people.

Suspicious goods.

Suspiciously suspicious conversations.

Normal.

Very normal.

A hooded merchant spotted him.

Then froze.

Briefly.

Kael was difficult to miss.

Tall.

Handsome.

Armed.

And carrying the expression of a man with very limited patience.

The merchant immediately decided honesty was healthier.

"A customer?"

Kael placed the token on the table.

The merchant looked down.

Then froze.

Actually froze.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The merchant’s expression changed instantly.

"What is this?"

Kael asked.

The merchant looked around.

Then lowered his voice.

"Where did you get that?"

Kael smiled slightly.

The wrong question.

"I asked first."

The merchant swallowed.

Hard.

For several seconds neither moved.

Then the merchant pushed the token back.

"I don’t know enough."

Lie.

An obvious lie.

Kael stood.

The merchant panicked.

"Wait."

Good choice.

Very good choice.

"The symbol..."

His voice lowered further.

"I’ve seen it before."

Kael’s eyes narrowed.

"Where?"

The merchant hesitated.

Then answered.

"Golden Nest."

Silence.

The name again.

Always Golden Nest.

Always Valemont.

The threads kept connecting.

And Kael hated it.

Far away—

Inside a room without windows—

Several figures stood around a table.

Maps.

Reports.

Sketches.

Observations.

At the center sat a drawing.

Not of Golden Nest.

Not of Valemont.

Not of the symbol.

Seraphina.

A terrible drawing.

One clearly stolen from her own propaganda papers.

A man sighed.

"She’s making political cartoons now."

Another looked tired.

"Last month she was redesigning clothing."

"Before that?"

"Monster hunting."

Silence.

A long silence.

Eventually one observer spoke.

"Should we intervene?"

"No."

Immediate answer.

The room quieted.

A calm voice continued.

"Observe."

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Noctaire had reached a conclusion.

The mystery would move.

And Seraphina would move toward it eventually.

Interfering now would only disrupt the result.

So they watched.

As always.

Waiting.

The underground merchant’s words lingered in Kael’s mind long after he left.

Golden Nest.

Again.

Every path somehow led back there.

Valemont.

The symbol.

The missing caravans.

The token.

Golden Nest.

Kael hated mysteries.

Especially mysteries that refused to stay separated.

The worst part?

He could already imagine Seraphina’s reaction.

Which was precisely why he wasn’t telling her immediately.

At least not yet.

The city was peaceful enough already.

No reason to ruin it.

Back at the inn—

Peace had already been ruined.

"Aina."

"No."

"Aina."

"No."

"Aina."

"No."

Rowan stared.

"You don’t even know what I’m saying."

"I know enough."

The argument had somehow evolved.

Nobody knew how.

Even Daren had lost track.

Now the discussion involved:

Servants.

Business contracts.

Fashion.

Property ownership.

And somehow—

Atlas.

"Why is Atlas included?"

Rowan finally asked.

"He’s management."

Atlas looked proud.

Tax looked jealous.

The crow immediately pecked Atlas’s ear.

A leadership dispute.

The innkeeper suddenly entered.

Excited.

Very excited.

Which immediately worried everyone.

The man rushed toward Seraphina.

"A customer is asking for you."

Silence.

Seraphina blinked.

"A customer?"

"Specifically asking for the girl who drew the noble pig."

Daren laughed.

Atlas sneezed.

Tax stole a spoon.

A normal morning.

Outside—

A young woman stood waiting.

Elegant clothing.

Expensive jewelry.

Confident posture.

Noble.

Definitely noble.

The moment she saw Seraphina—

Her eyes lit up.

"You’re the artist?"

Seraphina pointed at herself.

"Potentially."

"You’re also the fashion designer?"

"Obviously."

The noblewoman smiled.

"I want a dress."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Then—

Seraphina froze.

A rare event.

A very rare event.

Because this wasn’t:

A joke.

A rumor.

A dream.

A real customer.

The first customer.

For her.

Five minutes later—

The entire group occupied a private room.

The noblewoman introduced herself as Elara.

She immediately spread several sketches across the table.

Then several dresses.

Then complaints.

Many complaints.

An unreasonable amount of complaints.

"Every shop in this city sells the same thing."

She pointed dramatically.

"This."

Then another.

"This."

Then another.

"THIS."

The dresses were beautiful.

Expensive.

Elegant.

And almost identical.

Seraphina understood immediately.

Boredom.

Fashion’s oldest enemy.

A familiar enemy.

A worthy enemy.

For the next hour—

Something unusual happened.

Nobody joked.

Nobody argued.

Nobody caused problems.

Seraphina worked.

Actually worked.

Focused.

Completely focused.

The room slowly quieted.

Even Atlas slept.

Even Tax remained silent.

Even Daren stopped talking.

Because this version of Seraphina appeared rarely.

The version that remembered every fashion video.

Every design.

Every forgotten dream.

Every sketch nobody ever saw.

The version that wasn’t pretending.

The version that genuinely loved this.

Rowan watched quietly.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

For months he’d seen:

Chaos Seraphina.

Villainess Seraphina.

Monster Hunter Seraphina.

Problem-Creator Seraphina.

This was different.

For the first time—

She looked like someone building something.

Not destroying it.

Building it.

And that realization made leaving feel slightly harder.

Daren noticed too.

The same thought crossed his mind.

Everyone kept talking about Seraphina’s future shop.

Future business.

Future empire.

But suddenly—

It didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

It felt real.

Dangerously real.

Three hours later—

Elara stared at the finished design.

Then stared harder.

Then looked at Seraphina.

Then back at the design.

Then back at Seraphina again.

A dangerous cycle.

Because eventually—

She smiled.

A huge smile.

The kind customers get when they discover exactly what they wanted.

"I love it."

Silence.

Then:

"I absolutely love it."

The room erupted.

Not dramatically.

Just naturally.

Because everyone immediately understood what that meant.

Not a rumor.

Not a fan.

Not a compliment.

A customer.

A real one.

The first one.

Seraphina tried maintaining dignity.

A difficult task.

A very difficult task.

Her smile kept escaping.

"Obviously."

Weak.

Very weak.

Everybody noticed.

Even Atlas noticed.

The bear immediately hugged her.

A terrible mistake.

A wonderful mistake.

Several papers died.

Several chairs died.

One table surrendered.

Worth it.

Far away—

Inside a tailor shop—

Rumors spread.

Then another shop.

Then another.

Then another.

The city was beginning to hear a new name.

Not:

The artist.

Not:

The troublemaker.

Not:

The villainess.

A designer.

And for the first time—

The fashion district started paying attention.

Which was fortunate.

And unfortunate.

Because attention attracts opportunity.

But it also attracts rivals.

And somewhere inside the city—

A certain famous designer slowly lowered a newspaper.

Then reread the article.

Then frowned.

A newcomer.

A talented newcomer.

A dangerous newcomer.

And for the first time—

Someone else’s eyes turned toward Seraphina.

Not because of Valemont.

Not because of Golden Nest.

Not because of mysteries.

Because of fashion.

A completely different battle was about to begin.

And unlike monsters—

Fashion designers held grudges.