Arknight : The Rise of The Grand Detective

After everything was finally settled, I found myself back home.

The quiet hum of the city outside my window felt distant, like an echo of someone else's world.

I set my coat aside and exhaled slowly.

At least the commission payout was decent.

Enough to last a month without having to take another job.

I'd need to keep an eye out for my next move, but for now, I could afford a moment's reprieve.

Of course, a fair chunk of that payment had gone to Camelia.

She'd handled Xiaolan's legal case masterfully, as expected.

It still puzzled me why someone as skilled as her had chosen to work for the firm rather than making a name for herself elsewhere.

But that was her business.

Shaking the thought aside, I made myself a cup of coffee, the bitter aroma filling the room as I carried it into my workspace.

The desk was kept meticulously neat, a habit drilled into the previous me through years of necessity. My computer sat in the center, waiting.

With the case behind me, I finally had time to focus on something far more pressing. Something that had lingered in the back of my mind for far too long.

Settling into my chair, I cracked my fingers, opened the browser, and typed:

"Rhodes Island."

The search results populated instantly.

A pharmaceutical company, outwardly dedicated to curing Oripathy.

A recruitment powerhouse, bringing in talented individuals from across the world. That was the official narrative, anyway.

I clicked through a few links, reading the same standard information. Nothing out of place.

But I already knew better.

Next, I glanced at the calendar hanging beside my desk.

December, 1095.

I frowned, rubbing my chin as my mind sifted through the timeline.

The Chernobog Incident.

It would happen a year from now. The first domino in a chain reaction that would shape everything that followed. And then, in 1097—

The Doctor would awaken.

I closed my eyes briefly, recalling everything I knew. On the surface, it seemed like Reunion was to blame for the chaos in Chernobog.

But that was an oversimplification. There were too many variables. Too many hands pulling strings from the shadows.

Of course I knew them.

I leaned back, fingers tapping against my armrest.

It was evident that I had to act. But how was the question.

Any interference would have consequences. The butterfly effect wasn't just a theory—it was reality.

A single misstep, and I could trigger something far worse than what I was trying to prevent.

For now, I needed to have 'that' .

Closing the computer, I stood and stretched. Tomorrow would be the first step.

***

Evening had fallen by the time I arrived at my destination.

The house in front of me was old—too old to be a viable business front. But that was precisely why it worked. No one would suspect a proper broker operating out of a place like this.

Camelia had given me the location when I asked if she knew someone reliable. Apparently, this was the best she could offer.

I knocked firmly, stepping back slightly.

"Hello?"

A brief silence. Then, a voice from the other side.

"Password?"

Without hesitation, I replied,

"A fool's gold shines the brightest."

There was a pause. Then, the sound of locks clicking. The door creaked open, revealing the one standing behind it.

A young boy—golden hair, glasses perched on his nose, and a pair of canine ears twitching slightly atop his head. His tail gave a slight, uncertain sway as he took me in.

"Didn't expect someone like you,"

he muttered.

Then, as if making up his mind, he stepped aside.

"Come in."

I did. And immediately, I noticed the stark contrast between the exterior and interior.

The furniture was refined, neatly arranged with an almost obsessive attention to detail.

Not a speck of dust anywhere. Clearly, the shabby exterior was just a front.

The boy, still watching me with cautious curiosity, tilted his head. His tail trembled slightly—not out of fear, but excitement.

I wasted no time.

"I need a hacker. A good one."

His ears perked up. "

You're in luck," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I live with one."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and darted upstairs.

Moments later, he returned, accompanied by someone entirely different.

She was wearing an oversized zip-up pajama, the hood pulled back just enough to reveal a shock of pure white hair cascading down to her stomach.

A sleeping mask rested just above her forehead, and her wings—small, delicate, yet unmistakably those of a Sankta—shifted lazily as she stifled a yawn.

Her halo flickered dimly.

"Huh?" She rubbed her eyes, squinting at me. "

Who's this, then?"

Poker-faced, I crossed my arms.

"Your next client."

***

"So, you need a special burner phone."

The Sankta girl, still half-draped in her oversized zip-up pajamas, leaned back against the arm of the couch.

Her silver-white hair spilled over her shoulder as she regarded me with an expression that teetered between boredom and mild curiosity.

"Indeed," I replied, keeping my tone even.

"I need a phone that can't be tracked. No reverse searches, no data trails, nothing."

She hummed, stretching her arms above her head before lazily calling out.

"Paolo, get number fifty-seven."

The golden-haired boy—her brother, it seemed—gave a nod and vanished up the stairs, leaving the two of us alone.

I decided to push my luck.

"While we wait, I have another request."

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, motioning for me to continue.

"I need access to a company's communication base. Specifically, someone's phone line."

That got her attention. Her golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she studied me.

"Depends on how big the company is," she said, shifting her weight.

"Bigger they are, more expensive it gets."

I had anticipated that response.

"It's not a giant one I'm after," I assured her.

"Just... a pharmaceutical firm with a few interesting ties."

Paolo returned before she could question me further. In his hands was a small, unmarked device—black, sleek, with no visible branding or identifiers.

He placed it in her outstretched hand, and she, in turn, handed it to me.

"Here. Number fifty-seven."

I turned it over in my palm, feeling the weight of it.

It was lighter than I expected, but the moment she started listing its features, I realised why it was worth every penny.

"Encrypted calls, self-wiping messages, auto-switching IPs. Firewall's good enough to block most backdoor tracking attempts, and it's got a limited hacking suite built in. Not the best, but enough to crack through standard security layers."

I powered it on. No welcome screen, no brand logo.

Just a simple interface with barebones functionality.

"More of a gadget than a phone," I muttered.

"Exactly," she smirked.

"And the cost?" I already knew it wouldn't be cheap, but I asked anyway.

"Two million LMD."

A steep price. It was the entirety of what I had earned from the LPD commision —money that could have lasted me a month, maybe more, if I had chosen to play it safe.

But safety wasn't what I needed.

Without hesitation, I transferred the funds.

She watched the transaction go through before slipping her phone back into her pajama pocket, looking rather pleased with herself.

"You're the first client in months to pay upfront. I like that."

I slipped the device into my pocket, exhaling softly.

"Now," I said, meeting her gaze.

"I need you to hack into a place for me."

Her head tilted slightly, the sleepy amusement fading into something sharper.

"And what place would that be?"

I allowed myself a small smile.

"Rhodes Island."

**

Rhodes Island was on move.

The hum of machinery echoed through the engineering department as Closure leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

The dim glow of PRTS screens cast long shadows across the room, the landship's nerve centre humming steadily beneath her fingertips.

Another routine systems check. Another late night.

Another half-eaten energy bar balanced precariously on the edge of her console.

"Everything's in working order," she muttered to herself, scrolling through the last diagnostic report.

She had been at this for hours now, ensuring the landship's tech infrastructure—its comms, energy grid, and the all-important Primary Rhodes Terminal System—was running without a hitch.

Satisfied, she pushed her chair back with a sigh, preparing to make her rounds through the circuit rooms.

Then the flicker happened.

A small, almost imperceptible glitch at first—just a momentary distortion on the screen.

Nothing unusual. These things happened sometimes when the power grid adjusted its load.

Then it happened again.

This time, it lasted longer. The screen dimmed, then brightened, then darkened completely.

One by one, other monitors followed suit, flickering erratically before shutting off entirely.

Closure sat forward, frowning.

What the hell?

A cold prickle crept down her spine as the screens, all of them, began displaying the same thing.

A mark.

A jagged, claw-like imprint seared across the interface. A twisted, ink-black shape that pulsed and wavered like something alive.

Then came the voice.

Soft at first.

A barely audible murmur beneath the static. It was distorted, layered, as though multiple voices were speaking in unison from deep underwater.

"Hello."

Closure's instincts kicked in. Hands flying over the console, she tried cutting the feed, forcing a system reboot, anything to shut down whatever this was.

Nothing worked.

"No need to be hasty," the voice murmured again, the static thinning slightly.

"I simply wish to communicate. And it's very important that I do."

Closure's jaw tightened.

"And if I'm not interested?" she muttered, still tapping commands.

"You will be," the voice replied smoothly.

" If possible, bring Kalt'sit with you ."

That made her pause.

Kalt'sit?

The voice continued as if sensing her hesitation.

"10:00 PM. Be there."

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

The claw mark dissolved into nothing, the screens flickered, and then—just like that—PRTS was back to normal. No errors. No traces.

No sign that anything had even happened.

Closure exhaled slowly, staring at the monitors.

Someone had hacked Rhodes Island.

That alone should have left her rattled, but instead, she felt something else creeping in

It was an Interest.

Whoever they were, they weren't careless. This wasn't some amateur trying their luck; they had been precise, deliberate. Even with her expertise, tracking them would be a nightmare.

And if they had gone through all this effort to make contact… it had to be important.

Standing, Closure stretched her arms, shaking off the lingering unease.

"Well then," she muttered to herself, already heading towards Kalt'sit's office.

"Guess we will find out soon."