When Leo stepped into the café, he paused.
There was someone inside — a second customer.
He hadn't been informed. No signal, no alert from his network, not even a whisper through the usual channels.
Frowning, he stepped back outside. The door clicked shut behind him as he walked a few steps away, just out of range. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a small, dull-gray box about the size of his palm.
The box was simple — made of cheap alloy and reinforced with some wood pulp material. A few worn symbols were etched around the edges, barely glowing. A Whisperglass Casket.
It didn't look like much. And that was the point.
Whisperglass Caskets were cheap, practical communication tools that had once been expensive and rare. But after the Spark Empire's war, a flood of military leftovers and black-market knockoffs turned them into everyday items. These days, even a minor clan could afford a few for their servants.
Leo's was older, slightly modified — but not special.
He popped it open with a click.
Inside was a shallow layer of colored sand — purple and blue grains, slightly warm to the touch. Pressed into the lid were small slots holding tiny glass vials, each labeled with smudged runes and initials.
He pulled out one vial, uncorked it, and sprinkled a pinch of sand into the box.
Immediately, the colored sand inside began to shift.
The grains stirred and spun, clustering together. Slowly, they piled upward and formed a crude shape — a three-dimensional face, made entirely of sand. It wasn't perfect. No lips, no hair. But the expression was there — and the eyes blinked open.
The connection was established.
"Master Leo!" the sandy face called out, crackling slightly as it moved.
Leo's tone was calm, but cold.
"Someone's in the café. Why didn't I know?"
The sand-face blinked.
"S-Sir, we didn't flag him. No magical presence, no noble crest. Looked like a commoner."
Leo stared. Silent.
The wind shifted slightly.
"Who made that decision?" he asked.
A pause.
"I-I think it was Handler Ferin. He said it was probably just some nobody…"
Leo exhaled through his nose.
"Have Ferin resign from the Arcane Communications Academy," he said flatly. "If he doesn't by morning, break his arms and legs."
The sand-face stiffened. "Y-Yes, sir."
The grains began to fall apart, the face collapsing into loose sand again. Leo shut the lid with a small snap and tucked the casket back into his coat.
He looked back at the café entrance.
So far, things had gone well. He had slowly grown his strength with help from the café — magic beads, personal power, rare knowledge. More than that, he had built something small, but important: a network.
The Council of Ash.
A loose group of low-talent mages, failures, and misfits. People like him — or who used to be like him. All of them had one thing in common: they had nowhere else to go.
Leo gave them purpose. Tools. Direction.
And slowly, loyalty.
But it wasn't strong enough. Not yet.
This intrusion — this untracked customer — was a problem.
Not because of what the person had done.
But because they had slipped through his system.
Leo hated surprises.
He looked back at the building.
If the customer was a random idiot, fine. Nothing needed to be done.
But if the man had potential — even a little Leo would find a way to pull him in. Into the Council. Into the structure. Into his plan.
He reached up, adjusted his collar, and smiled faintly.
"Let's see who you are."
Then he turned and walked back toward the door.
(Hey guys, sorry couldn't make a ch yesterday, was a bit tired)
(Since NONE of you responded to my very obvious techniques of making us closer, I named the organization myself)
(Anyways, if you like the book so far, please be sure to reward power stones as it helps other readers to find the book)
(Bye~)