Author's Preface
The sleek, black carriage glided to a halt in front of the baker’s house.
Agastya’s muscles coiled with tension. ‘ Why did Dictor come back?’ he thought, his hand hovering near his spatial ring.
But as the heavy carriage door swung open, the tension instantly evaporated and was replaced by profound confusion.
The man inside was not Dictor’s, nor was he a Vanguard operative. It was a young man. He was Astragan's younger brother. He was wearing a clean but heavily faded white shirt and simple dark brown trousers.
Stepping out of the passenger cabin behind him was a taller man, standing at an imposing five feet eleven inches. Though he wasn’t as long as Agastya, whose body was six feet one inch. He had thick black hair cropped short on top and a coarse, dark beard. His clothes told a story of a lifetime of quiet sacrifice. His coat was rough and worn from years of gruelling labour, the fabric carrying several meticulous, hand-sewn stitches to repair the tears. It was immediately obvious to Agastya's trained eye that this man refused to spend a single coin on himself, sacrificing his own comfort so his children could eat and wear decent clothes.
"Dad!"
Elara darted past Agastya, her boots slipping slightly on the frosty cobblestones. She threw her arms around the tall man’s waist, burying her face in his worn coat.
The father let out a heavy breath, his large, calloused hand coming up to gently pat his daughter’s hair. Then, his dark eyes shifted over her shoulder, landing on Agastya standing frozen in the doorway.
The older man offered a tired, deeply relieved smile. "Astragan," he said, his voice rough but incredibly warm. "If you were having problems... you should have discussed them with us, son."
Agastya’s eyes widened. Standing there in the freezing, snow-bitten air, looking at the exhausted father and the younger brother who had spent their entire day scouring police stations for him, something broke inside the assassin.
A sudden, overwhelming warmth flooded his chest. It was a genuine, visceral surge of love. The lingering remnants of Astragan’s soul and biological instincts were forcefully overriding Agastya's cold, calculating mind.
Before he could stop himself, his vision blurred. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes.
Agastya opened his mouth, wanting to give a smooth, calculated excuse, but what actually came out was a stutter. "D... Dad. It’s not like that."
He swallowed hard, fighting to steady his trembling voice. He stepped back, holding the door open. "It was something else. I have good news for all of you. I'm sorry for making you unnecessarily worried. Please, come inside where it's warm."
The father and younger brother nodded, their faces relaxing as they guided the weeping Elara toward the house.
Agastya waited for them to pass. After they passed through, he pulled the heavy coat tight around his shoulders. Just as he reached for the doorknob to shut out the winter fog, the Bureau carriage driver, who had silently escorted his family home, tipped his dark hat.
"Please be ready by 0900 hours tomorrow, Sub-Inspector Ruinheart," the driver said respectfully, his voice carrying clearly through the mist. "I will come to collect you."
With a snap of the reins, the Aetheric carriage pulled away, disappearing into the dark streets and leaving Agastya to face his new family.
Agastya turned around and pushed the heavy wooden door shut, locking the bitter winter fog outside.
As the deadbolt clicked into place, the Vanguard driver's parting words echoed in his mind. Sub-Inspector Ruinheart. A genuine, uncalculated smile touched his lips. In his previous life, titles meant nothing — they were just code words that usually resulted in a higher bounty on his head. But in this life? It meant a steady income, a position of authority, and undeniable security. He had a real job. He had a squad of lethal teammates.
But most importantly, he finally had people to care about and people who cared about him.
He walked his way to his father’s bedroom. It was the only room in the entire crumbling building that possessed a working chimney.
Agastya stepped inside. It was a medium-sized space, though the crushing poverty of the Lower Wards was glaringly obvious here. The plaster on the walls was heavily cracked and peeling, with fragmented chunks of raw, grey cement exposed underneath. Yet, despite the structural decay, the room was meticulously clean and inviting.
Unlike the rest of the house, it was wonderfully warm.
Agastya carefully closed the bedroom door behind him, ensuring not a single draft of precious heat could escape into the freezing corridor.
Elara, his father, and his younger brother were huddled near the soot-stained brick hearth. They were carefully feeding splinters of dry wood into the small grate, coaxing the embers. As the wood finally caught, casting a flickering, comforting orange glow across their exhausted faces, they dusted the ash from their hands and moved to sit together on the edge of a sagging double bed.
Agastya walked over and carefully took a seat on the edge of the sagging double bed. The ancient metal springs groaned loudly under his weight, a stark contrast to the quiet crackle and pop of the dry wood burning in the hearth.
The room fell silent as the three of them looked at him. Agastya sat there, feeling the impossibly heavy envelopes of cash burning a hole in his coat pocket, bracing himself for the inevitable questions.
His father was the first to speak. His dark eyes squinted in the firelight, noticing the crisp, blindingly white fabric of the high-end shirt peeking out from beneath Agastya’s coat. It was a material far too pristine for the soot-stained Lower Wards.
"Did you buy a new set of clothes?" his father asked politely, though a hint of parental suspicion laced his tone.
"No, Father," Agastya replied, keeping his voice perfectly calm. "You could say it was... kind of a gift."
Elara, who was sitting close to him to share the warmth of the bed, suddenly leaned in. Her nose twitched. She leaned in closer, practically pressing her face into the lapel of his heavy coat, and took a deep, exaggerated sniff.
Her puffy eyes went wide. She pointed an accusing finger directly at his chest.
"I knew it!" Elara gasped, her sweet voice instantly shifting into the sharp tone of a victorious detective. "I was wondering why you smelled like expensive lavender and ozone! That is a woman's scent!"
Agastya froze. His sharp, tactical mind came to a screeching halt. ‘ What?’ He looked down at his shirt. It was the spare shirt from Captain Alice's spatial ring, and he had literally been bathed in Eliza's Aetheric healing magic. Of course it smelled like them.
‘Apex predator,’ Agastya thought, completely bewildered. ‘Master assassin of the Imperial underworld... and I am currently being compromised by a teenage girl with a super-powered nose.’
"Wait, hold on," his younger brother chimed in, his jaw dropping as he leaned forward. "Are you serious? Astragan got a girl ? We spent six hours freezing our boots off at the police precinct thinking you were in jail, and you were out on a date ?!"
"A date that got him expensive new clothes, apparently," Elara added, crossing her arms with a huff. "Unbelievable."
His father’s relieved expression vanished, immediately replaced by the stern, heavy frown of a disappointed patriarch. He crossed his arms over his worn, stitched coat. "Astragan Ruinheart. Did you close the bakery and abandon your post today to go court a wealthy woman in the Upper Wards?"
"Nah! No, it’s not like that at all!" Agastya blurted out, holding up both hands in a rare moment of genuine, uncalculated panic.
He desperately scrambled for an explanation. How could he possibly tell them that the 'women' they were smelling were actually a terrifying silver-haired teleporter who threatened to murder him, and an Aether-wielding medic who had to magically reconstruct his shattered ribcage?
"First of all, let me be very clear here," Agastya said, trying to reclaim his authoritative older-brother persona. He reached into his coat pocket. "I was not on a date. I was taking a test for a new job. A government job."
Elara squinted at him, clearly not buying it. "Hmmm… A government job that gives out women's perfume?"
"Elara, please, just let me finish," Agastya sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
He pulled his hand out of his coat and tossed the two thick, heavy envelopes directly onto the centre of the squeaking bed. They landed with a heavy, muted thwack .
"I was recruited," Agastya said softly, watching the firelight reflect off the paper. "And they paid me an advance."
His younger brother leaned forward, raising a sceptical eyebrow. He reached out and snatched the top envelope, pulling the unsealed flap open. Instead of government paperwork, a thick, tightly bound stack of crisp, colourful, high-denomination Elartraum notes slid out, catching the orange light of the fire.
The boy froze. The stack of cash slipped from his numb fingers, hitting the blanket and fanning out in a mesmerising display of wealth.
The room went dead silent except for the fire snapping and crackling.
Elara slowly looked from the absolute fortune on the bed, up to the pristine white shirt, and finally to her brother's face. She squinted.
"A government job?" Elara asked slowly. "A government job that pays hundreds Elartraum in advance, dresses you in fancy tailored clothes, and leaves you smelling like expensive women's perfume?" She gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth in utter horror. "Astragan... did you become a high-end escort for lonely noblewomen?!"
"A gigolo?!" his brother yelled, staring at Agastya in a mix of shock and sheer awe. "I mean, you're handsome, bro, but I didn't think you were that handsome!"
"Elara! No!" Agastya nearly choked on his own spit, his face flushing hot. "I am not an escort!"
His father stared at the fanned-out cash, his calloused hand slowly rising to clutch his chest. He looked like he was genuinely about to go into cardiac arrest. "My son," the old man wheezed, swaying slightly on the mattress. "My firstborn... selling his virtue to the aristocracy..."
"Dad, breathe! Nobody is selling their virtue!" Agastya scrambled forward, gripping his father’s worn shoulder to steady him before the man fainted. "I am a detective now! I was recruited by the Bureau of Investigation! That is my official signing bonus and my first month's operational advance!"
Agastya quickly reached into his inner pocket and slapped his heavy, black metal ID card onto the bed beside the cash. The golden crest of the Bureau gleamed in the firelight.
"See? Sub-Inspector Astragan Ruinheart," Agastya said, pointing frantically at the card while desperately maintaining the Veil of secrecy. "They brought me in for an aggressive physical baseline test. The perfume you smell is just the high-end antiseptic from the Bureau's medical ward after I got patched up from the sparring exam. That's it! It is completely, one-hundred-per cent legal police work!"
Elara leaned over, inspecting the black metal card with her sharp eyes before finally letting out a massive sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank," she muttered, slumping back against the wall. "I thought we were going to have to explain to the neighbours that the bakery was funded by your rich sugar mommas."