Journey to Become the Zenith

The Northern Queen and the Man Who Would Rule

Above the neon hum of Fantom City’s north end, tucked inside the tallest pleasure house, she rested on crimson-drenched fabric. Her body stretched slow over threads dyed deep as spilled vintage. Third level up, where velvet hush beats louder than street noise. Sheets clung like secrets. Wine-toned silk held her shape long after movement stopped.

A silver glow slipped past sheer fabric, painting soft arcs along her back and the dip at her sides. Her gown, light as breath, followed every shape - how it rose at the front, narrowed low, then widened again below. A slow shift of weight lifted one extended limb above the other, unhurried, like time itself had paused beyond the walls. Quiet filled the room, broken only by the hush of movement.

Her name was Brinda.

To the nobility, perfume and velvet cloaked her like a daydream. She seemed less real - more like something imagined after too much wine.

Fear followed her, draped in fabric softer than whispers. Criminals saw authority where others felt only elegance.

In Fantom City’s shadowy corners, power rested with her among two others. She stood at the top, part of a trio who called the shots behind closed doors.

A spill of purple stretched down her spine, long as evening light falling slow. Those eyes - violet, heavy at the edges yet somehow cutting through fog - could pull truth out before you knew it was gone.

A sorcerer well into the later stages of mastery within Skyfall’s borders. Though few reach such heights, this one walks among them without fanfare - skill etched into quiet gestures, not grand displays.

She ruled the north end without question - behind that polished grin, brothels thrived, bets were placed, drugs moved in silence.

A sudden pull ran through her leg mid-stretch. She froze, sensing something shift beneath the muscle.

Mana.

Heavy. Controlled. Suppressed.

A foot touched the first step. Upward movement began slowly. One stair after another followed. The person kept rising without pause.

Still seated, Brinda stayed put. Her grin appeared, quiet but clear.

What nerve, she mused. Stepping inside as if invited. Quiet confidence filling the space he hadn’t been given.

A sudden movement broke the silence as the door slipped aside. No warning came before it opened wide.

Lane stepped inside.

Midnight strands fell past her shoulders. Eyes like voids, still as stone. Silence clung to her, thick enough to notice. A pause. Just watching.

A small smile began to form on Brinda’s mouth.

”Oh?” she purred, rolling onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. ”What a beautiful young girl. Are you here looking for work? With your face and figure, you might become second only to me, Brinda - ”

When she spoke that word, Lane’s hand gave a tiny jump. A whisper of movement ran through her skin.

Mana gathered.

Brinda’s pupils sharpened.

The air dropped in temperature.

Lane spoke calmly.

”Frostbound Reliquary.”

It wasn’t a spell known in Skyfall.

It was something Victor had taught her.

Ice erupted upward in a crystalline bloom. In less than a breath, Brinda was sealed inside a coffin of translucent frost—frozen upright, violet eyes wide but conscious.

She tried to surge her mana outward.

It didn’t move.

The structure of the ice wasn’t simple freezing—it was layered suppression. Each crystal strand redirected mana flow inward, folding it back on itself like a looped river.

Brinda’s heart skipped once.

This girl... is not normal.

Lane didn’t say another word.

With a subtle motion of wind element, she lifted the frozen figure into the air. The ice floated behind her like a captured relic.

And she walked out.

Across the city, in the western district—

Victor stood in the middle of a shattered courtyard.

Broken roof tiles littered the ground. Lanterns swung violently from their hooks, some already extinguished. A thin haze of dust and displaced shadow clung to the walls.

Opposite him—

Nothing.

But that was the problem.

His opponent was there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Gian.

Known in Fantom City as Night.

The youngest and most feared assassin in the kingdom. Black hair, black eyes, lean build. Twenty years old. Calm. Efficient. And terrifyingly patient.

Victor rolled his neck slowly.

”I really do hate fighting assassins,” he muttered.

From the shadows behind him, a blade flickered.

Victor stepped aside before it arrived.

The dagger passed through air.

Gian didn’t pursue.

He melted back into darkness.

Victor sighed.

”You know,” he called casually into the night, ”you could’ve just handed over your district.”

Silence.

Then, from somewhere above—

”You walked into my territory and demanded it. What did you expect?”

Victor smiled faintly.

A flash of movement.

Steel rang.

Victor caught the second strike between two fingers—mana reinforced.

Gian retreated again.

He wasn’t reckless.

That made him dangerous.

”You’re suppressing your mana,” Gian’s voice drifted from the shadows. ”But you’re not hiding it well enough.”

Victor chuckled.

”You noticed that? Good.”

He raised his hand.

Mana pressure swelled.

The ground beneath them cracked.

Lantern flames guttered out entirely.

The air grew heavy—thick enough to make lungs work harder.

”If you don’t show yourself,” Victor said lightly, ”I’ll destroy the entire western district. Not even ash will remain.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

From within the darkness, Gian felt it.

He had survived countless hunts.

He knew killing intent.

What he felt now wasn’t killing intent.

It was inevitability.

He stepped forward.

Black cloak. Lean frame. Calm eyes.

”Are you insane?” Gian demanded.

Victor’s golden eyes met his.

”Finally showed yourself. I don’t want to fight you anymore—it’s boring. So why don’t you just hand me your position as ruler of Fantom City’s western district?”

Gian blinked once.

”You do know I’m the only assassin here. The only reason they call me ruler is because the northern and southern bosses don’t want to deal with me. The people here just use my name.”

Victor shrugged.

”I don’t care if you have subordinates or not. I just want the title. I plan to become the one and only ruler of Fantom City’s underworld.”

Gian studied him.

No hesitation.

No greed.

Just... clarity.

”Unlike me,” Gian said slowly, ”the other two have entire networks. They won’t bow easily.”

Victor’s lips curved.

”Why don’t we ask them?”

Gian followed his gaze.

Down the alley—

Videl approached, dragging a massive unconscious body across the stone like a sack of grain. Even half-covered in dust and bruises, the Ox King—Eon—was unmistakable.

Behind her, floating silently in a crystalline prison of ice—

Brinda.

Gian’s throat went dry.

The Ox King ruled the southern district with brute force.

Brinda ruled the north with seduction and influence.

Both neutralized.

By Victor’s people.

He looked back at Victor.

The young man’s smile was soft.

Too soft.

”Heh,” Victor murmured, almost amused. ”Conquering Fantom City’s underworld was easier than I expected.”

Gian felt something settle in his bones.

Not fear.

Recognition.

This man wasn’t ambitious for power.

He was restructuring the board.

And Gian understood something else too—

If Victor had wanted him dead...

He would already be.

Silence hung heavy between them.

Somewhere behind Victor, Lane landed gracefully, lowering the ice coffin to the ground. Brinda’s violet eyes flicked toward Victor through frozen crystal—and something unreadable flashed within them.

Interest.

Curiosity.

Something more dangerous.

Videl dropped Eon with a thud.

The Ox King groaned faintly but didn’t wake.

Victor spread his arms slightly.

”Well,” he said calmly, ”shall we discuss terms?”

The night wind carried dust through the ruined courtyard.

Fantom City had shifted.

And for the first time—

Its underworld had a new sun rising above it.