The red moonlight bleeds over every path in Twilight Sanctum, painting the cracked stones with a sickly crimson shine. The air thickens around them, as though the night itself wants to pull them into its nightmare.

Shaan had felt that same chill the first time he stepped into this place. Back in the human world, the sky had never bled red, and the night had never carried this kind of weight. The cold air clawed at his skin, then crept into his bones until he could barely breathe. But now, the fear no longer shakes him. He's learned to walk beneath this light without flinching or even noticing it anymore, just like everyone else who calls this place home.

'I just wonder where they'll hold the social punishment.'

"Shaan, hurry up! Nalira and Mr. Courier are way ahead!"

"Ah, alright, Chelsie. I'm coming."

Today marks his first step into the punishment the trial assigned to him. Relief flickers deep inside his chest like a fragile flame. He escaped the cell, which means he will not use the title of criminal. If Grandma Isabelle heard otherwise, she'd probably collapse from shock.

"Uhm… excuse me," Chelsie murmurs as she slips between the passing crowd. "Shaan, come on. We're almost there."

"Alright, I get it."

Shaan quickened his steps to keep up with Chelsie. The faint crimson glow from the moon spilled across the stone path, stretching their shadows as they walked. Chelsie finally slowed her pace and stopped in front of a towering stone statue, its worn surface catching the red light like old blood. Nalira and Mr. Courier already stood there, surrounded by a restless cluster of people.

"Lira, Mr. Courier," Chelsie called out as she hurried toward them. Her voice broke the murmur of the crowd. "Thank goodness, I'm not late."

"Elsie, weren't you behind us earlier?" Nalira raised an eyebrow.

"Uhm… yeah, but my stomach suddenly felt weird, so I rushed to the nearest toilet," Chelsie explained. "I also asked Shaan to wait for me."

"I see," Nalira replied.

Shaan let his gaze wander across the gathering. The crowd shifted like a single body, quiet but heavy. "So, what are these people doing here?" he asked. "Are they also people who received social punishment like us?"

"Not all of them," Mr Courier said, lifting his arm to reveal the red band on his sleeve. "This band marks the volunteers who help Twilight Artificer build the bridge. That's what sets us apart from them."

'Ah, so that's what it means,' Shaan thought, nodding slowly. 'No wonder I saw the same band on Chelsie's arm when I followed her earlier.'

"Now we just have to wait for the leader twilight artificier to appear and give—" Mr. Courier cut himself off and pointed to the side. "Ah, there he is. Mr. Philip, the leader of Twilight Artificer Faction."

The sound of Sir Philip's footsteps, firm and deliberate, echoed across the courtyard. Conversations faltered. Heads turned as if drawn by an unseen force. Even though he was merely walking through the crowd toward the massive statue at the front, his presence seemed to ripple through the air. Authority clung to him like a mantle.

'No wonder everyone's stunned. Shaan paused for a heartbeat. Sir Philip is truly extraordinary.'

"All members of the Twilight Artificier and volunteers, it's time to start working," Sir Philip declared, his deep voice carrying over the crowd like a steady drumbeat. "We must repair the bridge as quickly as possible."

"We understand, Sir Philip," came the unified reply.

"New volunteers, please raise your hands," called one of the twilight artificier members. "I'll explain the task distribution."

Shaan slowly lifted his hand, feeling the weight of a hundred gazes even if none were aimed at him directly. A second officer appeared, motioning for the newcomers to form a separate line.

"All right, all new volunteers, follow me."

The group was led to a long canvas tent pitched near the entrance of the Twilight Sanctum. The line moved forward, one by one disappearing into the tent's shadowy mouth. When it was finally Shaan's turn, his breath hitched.

Shaan froze. His eyes widened as soon as he stepped inside the tent. Sir Philip sat calmly in a chair at the center, the weight of his presence filling the space. Behind him stood four long boards lined up side by side, each covered with different things.

The first board at the far end displayed a detailed bridge design drawn with black markers. The next two boards showed photos of the construction process, each surrounded by scattered handwritten notes that Shaan couldn't quite read from where he stood. The last board, positioned at the opposite end, carried a massive table listing the names of labor faction members and volunteers.

"Shaan Devansh, I'm glad to see you here." Sir Philip smiled and gestured for him to sit. "We've met before, haven't we?"

"Yes, Sir Philip. I remember it clearly," Shaan replied. "Thank you for helping Dr. Marshal during the trial."

"Ah, that was nothing," Sir Philip said with a soft chuckle. "I've known Dr. Marshal for a long time. I consider him a brother here. He's a good man, and I'm always glad to help him."

"All right," Shaan said, scratching the back of his head. "Sir Philip, about what happened before… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with the other faction leaders."

"Ah, so you still remember that?" Sir Philip chuckled and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "Honestly, I already forgot about it. Don't worry, it wasn't a big deal."

"Still, I want to apologize," Shaan insisted.

"That's fine. You shall forget about it now," Sir Philip waved the matter off. "Instead of talking about that, let's discuss your duties as a volunteer. But before that, I want to ask you something." He picked up the lighter resting on his desk, flicked it open, and lit the cigarette between his lips. "Do you mind if I smoke in here?"

"Not at all, Sir Philip," Shaan replied quickly, shaking his head. "What do you want to ask?"

"When you were in the mine," Sir Philip said as he took a slow drag, smoke curling around his words, "Marshal told me you saw the magic sigil. What exactly did it look like? I want to make sure Marshal's account matches yours."

"I remember it clearly," Shaan said. "It looked like an upside-down triangle."

"All right, I see." Sir Philip nodded slowly, his sharp gaze narrowing. "Then tell me—how many inverted triangles did you see in that sigil?"

'Huh? Why is he asking that?'

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