Douluo Continent, Star Luo Empire — Crescent Moon City, Year 2082
The Crescent Moon City branch of the Spirit Hall simmered with unease, cloaked in a heat that clung to the stone walls like sweat. Scrolls and tablets lined every surface—stacked high, hung from racks, or embedded into glowing archives. Occasional flickers of light pulsed from jade-embedded record stones, casting shadows that danced like restless ghosts on the floor.
A weary ceiling fan turned above, groaning with every revolution, failing to move the heavy, humid air that pressed down upon the outpost like a smothering hand.
At the heart of this restless stillness sat Inspector Lira Voss, a Rank 47 Soul Ancestor known for her unshakable focus and sharp, calculating mind. She leaned forward at her desk, a dense stack of case files to her left, untouched tea cooling to her right. In her hand, she held a glowing jade tablet.
Three words pulsed softly across its surface:
"Skyhaven Heist."
Just below the title flickered an eerie, stylized jester's card—its grinning face hauntingly detailed. A final image hovered beneath it: the smooth jade wall of a vault, freshly scarred by a single word.
"Trickster."
Lira's emerald eyes narrowed as she tilted the tablet slightly, letting the glow trace across her features. One of her purple spirit rings hummed quietly at her side, feeding power into the device.
A quiet voice broke the silence.
"Inspector Voss... this just arrived from Skyhaven," said Taren, a junior officer barely out of training robes. He stood in the doorway, fidgeting like a colt before its first charge. "This marks the third vault this year. Same pattern. Same thief."
Lira did not glance at him. Instead, her fingertips brushed the tablet's etched surface, following the curve of the word left behind.
"The jester mask. The card. The untouched locks and absence of soul fluctuations," she murmured, mostly to herself. "He is not merely stealing. He is performing."
Taren cleared his throat, summoning courage.
"The higher-ups have specifically requested that you and... and Officer Jian handle this case," he said, voice tightening. "They said after the Jade Serpent incident—"
"Find Jian. Now," Lira interrupted, her voice as crisp as a snapped blade.
Taren stiffened, nodded once, and turned to leave. In his haste, he nearly knocked over a lantern hovering near the hall's threshold. The orb darted out of his way with a nervous flicker before settling again.
As his footsteps echoed down the corridor, Lira leaned back into her chair, exhaling slowly. She reached toward a wide crystal map embedded into the stone desk before her. With a gentle touch, she activated it, and a luminous projection of the Star Luo region shimmered into view. She marked the new hit—Skyhaven Vault—with a glowing red sigil, adding it to a growing web of crimson dots that stretched across the map like a sinister constellation.
Her eyes studied the pattern—three cities, three hits, all precise, all theatrical.
"Whoever you are, Trickster," she whispered under her breath, "you do not steal for wealth. You steal to be seen."
And now… you have my full attention.
-------
Crescent Moon City — Jian's Forge
At the outer edge of Crescent Moon City, where the cobbled roads gave way to red clay paths and smoke kissed the horizon, the steady clang of steel rang like a heartbeat.
Inside a low, stone-walled forge, Jian Holt worked beneath the glow of lanterns. The air was heavy with coal dust and molten heat, thick enough to taste. Sparks danced with every strike of his hammer, flashing orange against soot-darkened skin and a bare chest streaked with sweat.
Half-finished tools—blades, hooks, gears, and curious circuits—hung from the walls like iron skeletons. Faded sketches of beasts fluttered under the draft from the open window, each one marked with notes and soul power estimates scrawled in quick, brutal shorthand.
Jian, a Rank 46 Soul Ancestor, had no interest in the quiet of libraries or the ceremony of the Spirit Hall. His craft was his cultivation.
Just as he brought the red-hot blade down upon the anvil, shaping its edge with precise, patient force, the forge doors slammed open.
Taren stumbled through a plume of smoke, coughing as he waved away the heat with one arm. His uniform was damp with sweat and slightly askew from the run.
"Jian! I have been looking everywhere," he wheezed. "Inspector Lira needs you—immediately. It is urgent!"
Without pausing his rhythm, Jian tilted his head slightly, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Lira?" he said, voice thick with amusement. "Is she still chasing shadows and stories no one else can see?"
Taren stepped closer, nearly tripping over a box of metal scraps.
"No. This one is real," he insisted, breath still catching. "Skyhaven Vault. Another hit. Same signature. She said—and I quote—'Do not dawdle.'"
Jian finally stopped, raising the blade with both hands. Its edge gleamed with the glow of heat, perfectly balanced and humming faintly with restrained energy.
"Skyhaven," he repeated softly, eyes narrowing.
Then, almost like a ritual, he tapped the blade once more. A clear, crystalline ring cut through the air, echoing with finality.
"There," Jian said. "The piece is finished."
He set the blade gently into a cooling rack, its steam rising like smoke from a dragon's breath. Then, without another word, he reached for a worn leather cloak hanging by the door.
He did not glance back at the forge, nor the scattered blueprints on his workbench. The tools would wait. The fire would keep.
This—this was something else.
Something worthy.
As they stepped into the afternoon light, Jian turned briefly to Taren.
"Let us see what kind of ghost dares walk into a vault and leave with nothing but a name."
---
Crescent Moon City — Outpost Street
The streets outside the Spirit Hall outpost pulsed with evening life, aglow in the amber hue of lantern light and low-setting sun. Merchants bellowed over worn trinket stalls, their tables cluttered with pendants, powdered herbs, and trinkets. Children darted between beasts of burden, and Ironhoof carts creaked under loads of grain, steel, and spice. The air was thick with sound—the clatter of hooves, the clamor of voices, the hiss of steam from cooking stalls.
Amid the swirl of motion, Inspector Lira Voss stood still.
She leaned against a timeworn stone pillar outside the outpost, arms folded tightly beneath her dark cloak. Her hair was drawn back in a tight braid, and her gaze swept the crowd like a hunting hawk. The city's chaos never touched her. It flowed around her.
Then came the unmistakable beat of heavy hooves.
From the northern street thundered an Ironhoof Stag—a sleek, antlered horse armored in plated leather, prized by messengers and rogue cultivators alike. It reared slightly as it slowed, nostrils flaring, hooves kicking up a plume of red-brown dust.
Seated atop it, cloak billowing, was Jian Holt, grinning like a man riding into a tavern brawl rather than a potential national crisis.
He dismounted with a casual leap, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. A pair of fruit sellers muttered curses as the stag snorted too close to their crates. Jian ignored them completely, his gaze fixed on the waiting figure at the pillar.
"Did you miss me, shadow?" Lira asked, her voice dry as flint.
Jian tossed back his dust-speckled cloak, smirk unchanging. "Only missed that famous scowl of yours. Feels like home."
Lira pushed off from the pillar and tossed him a glowing jade tablet. It arced through the air, caught effortlessly in Jian's calloused hand.
"Another vault," she said, her voice lower now. "Skyhaven. The thief left no trace except a jester's card. Same mask, same calling sign. This is not simple theft."
Jian turned the tablet in his hand. The image of the jester's mask glowed briefly, flickering with an echo of soul energy.
He let out a low whistle. "Whoever this is… they have style. Masks, cards, and soul seals with no fingerprints? That is not a robbery—that's a statement."
His grin widened. "So, do we crash the stage mid-act or wait for the encore?"
Lira was already walking toward a waiting cart, its silver-bound wheels gleaming under lantern light. She climbed in without breaking stride.
"We leave tonight," she said over her shoulder.
Jian followed, sliding in beside her and resting the tablet on his lap.
"Skyhaven, then?" he asked. "Not Blaze City? Or Stormhaven?"
"Skyhaven," Lira confirmed, eyes fixed forward.
The cart lurched into motion, pulled by a pair of sleek Windmanes bred for speed and silence. It weaved into the maze of streets, leaving behind the noise, the heat, and the tangled rhythm of Crescent Moon City.
For now.
---
Skyhaven City — Starlight Circus
Beneath the blaze of the afternoon sun, Skyhaven City shimmered like a dream of glass and jade. Crystalline spires pierced the sky, refracting sunlight into brilliant arcs that danced across whitewashed rooftops. Gondolas floated above the city's skyrails, and wind-fed banners fluttered with sigil-marked elegance.
At the city's vibrant heart pulsed the Starlight Circus—a kaleidoscope of movement and sound. Tents of shimmering silk swayed in the breeze, each glowing with levitating lantern orbs that hummed softly with light. Colors changed with the mood of the crowd, and illusionary fireworks occasionally bloomed above the main pavilion.
A towering marquee shimmered with enchanted calligraphy:
"Tonight Only — Kael's Mirage"
Crowds had already begun to gather. Children with sugar-glass candy cheered near puppet stalls. Vendors shouted over one another, offering glimmerfruit, roasted chasm-bird, and illusion-painted masks.
But inside the Grand Silk Pavilion, the chaos gave way to awe.
At the very peak of the main tent, Kael, now a Rank 46 Soul Ancestor, stood poised on a thread-thin tightrope suspended thirty meters above the crowd. The higher the tension from the audience, the more unstable it became.
Kael's sleek black costume hugged his form. A sleek half-mask clung to his face, projecting light illusions with every step. This was his Martial Soul—Mirror Mask, a rare tool-type spirit that warped light and perception, allowing him to craft visual mirages, bend depth, and confuse motion.
He raised his arms.
Then, with a burst of power, he vaulted into the air, executing a breathtaking five-part flip mid-spin, slicing through beams of refracted light. Each twist left afterimages—a dozen Kaels tumbling midair—until he landed lightly on a palm-sized disc, no larger than a plate, floating above the final rope segment.
The crowd below erupted.
Down on the floor, near the rune projectors and illusion weavers, stood Sylia, Kael's long-time assistant and a seasoned Soul Elder, clipboard in hand and expression unreadable.
"You are insane," she muttered, scribbling notes onto a soul-etched slate. "Five aerial rotations before even reaching the safety glyphs? No stabilizer net?"
Kael slid smoothly into a bow atop the disc, grinning under his mask. "Insanity sells. They cheer loudest when they think I might fall."
Sylia snorted, half amused, half exasperated. "They will remember the fall. I hope you realize that."
"They will remember me," he replied simply, his tone softer now.
She tossed a small ceramic vial into the air. Kael caught it without looking, uncorked it with a twist of his thumb, and downed the contents—a recovery elixir, cool and bitter on the tongue.
As the taste settled, Kael turned to a quiet corner of the performance area, where a single crate stood beside the supply tent. On top sat a jade-framed photo—two figures frozen in time.
A boy no older than ten, cheeks flushed with excitement.
And beside him, a broad-shouldered man with warm eyes and soot-stained hands—Torin, his father.
Both laughing, backstage. Before the collapse. Before the fire.
Kael's smile faded. His jaw tightened.
The crowd's cheer rolled through the tent like thunder, but for a heartbeat, Kael heard only silence.
Just the echo of memory. And the whisper of unfinished vengeance.
---
Skyhaven Vault — Dusk
The Skyhaven Vault rose like a jade fortress, its smooth walls glowing with layered wards. Symbols of sealing, detection, and binding pulsed faintly along its surface, maintained by generations of Soul Masters.
Outside, Master Vren, grey-haired and battle-hardened, spoke into a communication talisman. "Patrol shift in two. Focus on the southern perimeter. No breaks, no blind spots."
Across the street, hidden inside a plain merchant cart, Kael sat motionless. Dressed in an unremarkable robe, his Persona Shift dulled his presence. On his lap lay a parchment, inked with vault schematics and carefully marked ward cycles.
Kael's finger traced a narrow vent path. He gave a faint, knowing smile.
Skyhaven Spirit Hall
In the strategy chamber, Lira and Jian studied a glowing projection of the last heist. The figure in the recording—Kael—moved like water through the vault's inner halls, ducking past glyph traps and rune pulses with surgical grace. With a flourish, he carved the word "Trickster" into jade and vanished.
"He tripled the security this time," said Captain Rhen, arms crossed. "No jester's getting in."
"He is not a jester," Lira replied calmly. " I believe he is a performer. Every move is deliberate. Like choreography."
Jian, lounging nearby with a fruit in hand, grinned. "So we catch him mid-performance?"
Lira shot him a sharp look. "This is not a guessing game. He will return."
Outside — Kael's Cart
Kael rolled up the parchment and tucked it into a satchel labeled: "Act 4." The cart rolled forward into the city's dusk-lit streets, just as Vren disappeared around a corner.
Lira paused the projection on the word etched in jade: "Trickster."
Behind her, Jian knocked over a glowing crystal.
She did not flinch.
Just a slow, warning stare.
"He is coming back," she said.
"And this time… we will be ready."
To be continued...