Night had settled softly over Black Tortoise City, and a cool stillness lingered in the air.

Luciel had just finished dinner and retired to the new study — a room recently furnished by the rabbit-eared girl, Minuo. The faint scent of polished wood and new leather lingered in the air. The shelves gleamed under lamplight, lined with freshly bound scrolls and books. The desk, carved from dark oak, reflected a warm sheen. Everything here bore Minuo's careful touch — thoughtful, meticulous, and just a little too perfect.

Luciel ran his fingers along the smooth edge of the desk and smiled faintly.

"Minuo's really grown up," he murmured.

He sat down, straightened a piece of animal-skin parchment, and uncapped a stick of charcoal. The tip scratched faintly as he began to sketch — half-drawn blueprints of future projects: canals, workshops, city walls yet to be expanded. There were so many empty places in this city waiting to be filled — not just buildings, but entire industries.

He could already imagine them: smithies ringing with the rhythm of hammers, markets crowded with traders, craftsmen and farmers working side by side. But all that began here — with sketches and ideas. Someone had to give the first spark, even if it was crude and uncertain.

He drew for a while in silence, the charcoal smudging beneath his fingers. Then he sighed and looked at the paper with mild frustration. "This animal skin… really isn't meant for this."

The charcoal stick, rough and brittle, left uneven lines. He turned it between his fingers and frowned. "And this thing isn't much better."

The thought drifted unbidden through his mind: Should I just make paper myself?

Luciel leaned back in the chair, eyes half-closed, remembering flashes of another world. "The process wasn't that complicated," he muttered. "I saw enough videos about it, didn't I?"

Back on Earth, he'd once fallen down a rabbit hole of popular survival videos — people making everything from soap to ancient Chinese ink, even paper from tree bark and rice straw. He could almost hear the cheerful voiceovers, the fast-cut montages of hands weaving and stirring and pressing pulp into sheets. Those videos had millions of views. He used to watch them out of curiosity, never realizing how strangely useful that knowledge would one day become.

He smiled ruefully. "Guess I should thank those content creators. Never thought I'd owe my survival to YouTube."

The room was quiet enough that his voice felt too loud. And for a moment, an ache stirred — homesickness, sharp and sudden. He missed Earth. Not the noise or the crowds, but the small, ordinary things: the glow of screens, the hum of traffic, the endless access to information. A sigh escaped him before he could stop it.

"Luciel, may I come in?"

The voice was soft but clear — Elara's, cool and even as always.

Luciel blinked and straightened. "Come in," he said, setting the charcoal aside.

The door creaked open, and the white-haired girl stepped into the light. The flicker of lamplight brushed over the silver mask hiding half her face. Her posture was as composed as ever, yet her eyes — visible through the mask's slits — flickered with unease.

"Sit down," Luciel said gently, motioning toward the chair across from him.

Elara hesitated, then nodded and took a seat.

Luciel leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "It's just the two of us. You can take off the mask."

She froze, her fingers brushing the edge of the mask. "You noticed…" she murmured, almost embarrassed. Then, after a moment, she slipped it off. Her pale face flushed faintly under his gaze.

"Since dinner, you've had something on your mind," Luciel said quietly. "Is it about Amestris City?"

Elara's eyes widened slightly. "You could tell?"

Luciel smiled faintly. "You looked at me at least twenty times over one meal. Even Mia wouldn't stare that much."

Her lips twitched, almost a smile — almost. Then she lowered her gaze, voice softening. "There's something I've never told you before. About… our past. Mine, Alina's, and Ariel's."

"I'm listening." Luciel leaned back, hands clasped before him, his expression calm and open.

Elara took a breath. Her hands trembled slightly as she folded them in her lap. "We were all born and raised in Amestris City. More precisely, we were raised by it — part of an assassination unit they've cultivated since childhood."

Luciel's expression darkened, though he said nothing.

Elara's voice grew quieter, more distant. "We weren't just trained killers. We were experiments. Amestris City has been researching a way to control something they call the virtual ghost infection — a corruption that grants immense power but erodes the mind."

She hesitated, then continued. "There are very few people who awaken with natural gifts. And those who are enhanced through alchemy or mutation require enormous resources. So they found another path — a cruel one. They began infecting ordinary people deliberately, trying to balance the infection and keep their minds intact. If successful, they'd create soldiers who could wield a ghost's strength without losing their humanity."

Luciel exhaled slowly. "So they made monsters on purpose."

Elara nodded, her voice trembling. "Yes. They called them alien ghosts — beings with human minds but the power of corrupted spirits. We were told it was for the city's protection. But it was just control. They gathered orphans and survivors from the small tribes they destroyed, raised us, trained us, and—" her voice broke "—used us."

She looked up, eyes burning with restrained fury. "The truth only came to us by accident. One of our missions was to hunt a defector. She was the one who told us what we really were."

Luciel's brows knit. "How many of these… alien ghosts does Amestris City have?"

"I don't know," she admitted, shaking her head. "The experiments were kept secret. Most of us only knew rumors until recently. I'd heard whispers of successful trials… but I never thought they were true until I saw one with my own eyes — a ghost who had actually survived the infection."

Luciel's voice lowered, thoughtful. "And the day you and the others came after me — you were ordered to kill defectors?"

Elara hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Anyone who tries to escape Amestris City is hunted down. We were the hounds."

Luciel fell silent for a long moment. The lamplight flickered across his eyes, turning them to molten amber.

"How many of you were infected in your group?" he asked at last.

"More than fifty," Elara whispered. "But most… didn't survive. Some died during the infection. Others broke under training."

Luciel's gaze sharpened. "Could they be swayed? The survivors, I mean. Could they turn against Amestris?"

Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. "It would be difficult. The city's indoctrination runs deep. But…" She hesitated, glancing at him. "I think some already know the truth. I could see it, sometimes — the way they hesitated during missions, the doubt in their eyes. They stayed because leaving meant death."

Luciel nodded slowly, understanding. "Then we don't approach them yet. Not until we know who can be trusted."

There was wisdom in his tone, but also restraint — the mark of a man who'd made hard choices before. "Those who stay might be pretending ignorance to survive," he said. "Or they're waiting — biding their time for revenge. If we move too soon, we'll only expose them."

Elara looked at him in quiet admiration. His calmness steadied her own trembling thoughts.

"Luciel," she said softly, "you must be careful. The ghost units of Amestris… they're far stronger than ordinary soldiers."

Luciel smiled faintly. "Don't underestimate Black Tortoise City, Elara. We're not the same fragile outpost we used to be."

Her gaze flicked up in surprise.

"The rock tortoise alone is enough to make any city think twice before marching on us," he continued, the corners of his mouth lifting. "And as for secret assassins—" He shrugged. "They can try."

Elara's lips curved slightly. "I wasn't underestimating us," she said quietly. "It's just… hard not to fear the place you grew up in."

Luciel's expression softened. He understood that kind of fear — the kind that burrowed deep, long after the threat was gone.

After a moment, he changed the subject. "You and Alina — I've been meaning to speak to you both. I want to form a new division within Black Tortoise City. A department focused on surveillance and intelligence. Internal security, reconnaissance, counter-espionage — things we'll need once the city grows larger."

Elara blinked. "You mean… us?"

"Yes. Both of you," Luciel said. "You've lived as shadows before. You understand how assassins move, how spies think. That experience will be invaluable."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes bright with resolve. "I'm calling it the Ghost Special Forces. Or simply, the Ghost Department."

The name hung between them, weighty and deliberate.

Elara stared at him, startled. "Ghost…?"

Luciel smiled faintly. "Because I want it to move like one. Unseen. Silent. Deadly when needed." His tone grew softer, thoughtful. "Back on Earth, we had special forces — elite soldiers who operated in the dark, protecting nations from shadows no one ever saw. I want our ghosts to be that for Black Tortoise City — protectors no one notices until it's too late."

Elara was quiet for a long moment. "And Alina?" she asked finally. "She'll agree?"

"You can ask her," Luciel said gently. "If she's willing, she'll join. If not, I won't force her. That's not how this city works."

Elara nodded slowly. The thought of belonging to something again — not as a tool, but as a person with purpose — filled her chest with a warmth she didn't expect. "I'll talk to her," she said softly.

Then, after a pause, she added, "Ariel could join too. She's strong, and she—"

Luciel chuckled, cutting her off gently. "Ariel's better suited to research. Let her stay in the institute. People who can build and create are far rarer than those who can destroy."

Elara opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. He was right. Ariel's absentmindedness might be dangerous in the field — but in the lab, it was brilliance.

"You're right," she said at last, smiling faintly. "She'd probably forget she was on a mission halfway through."

Luciel laughed softly. "Exactly."

For a while, neither spoke. The lamplight danced across the walls, long shadows flickering between shelves and stacks of parchment.

Elara looked at the sketches spread across the desk — the half-finished blueprints of the future city. "You really believe this place can last, don't you?" she asked quietly.

Luciel's gaze lingered on the drawings, his voice calm but full of conviction. "It won't just last. It'll outgrow every city that came before it. We'll build something they can't destroy — not with fear, not with ghosts, not with blood."

Elara's eyes softened. For the first time in years, the word hope didn't feel foreign.

"Then I'll make sure your city stays safe," she said, standing. "No matter what it takes."

Luciel nodded, watching her go. The mask dangled loosely from her hand, forgotten.

When the door closed behind her, he turned back to the animal-skin parchment. His charcoal waited beside it, dark and blunt.

"Ghost Special Forces," he murmured, testin

g the words aloud. They sounded right — sharp and quiet, like the edge of a blade drawn in darkness.

He smiled faintly and began to sketch again.

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