I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

\'This wasn\'t just a break-in,\' Zafron thought, his mind racing. \'It\'s like a tornado hit the place... or something much worse.\'

He paused in the kitchen, his eyes falling on a jug and a cup of tea on the counter. Still warm, he noticed as he checked the jug.

"They were here probably some hours ago," he muttered. "What in the blazes happened?"

As the reality of the situation sank in, Zafron felt a surge of... something. Power? Adrenaline? Whatever it was, it coursed through his veins, making him feel stronger, faster.

\'Focus, Zafron,\' he chided himself. \'New powers or not, you need to find them.\'

Without a second thought, he burst out of the house and into the streets of Drakoria. The cool night air whipped past him as he ran, faster than he\'d ever moved before.

"Mara! Matilda!" he called out, not caring who heard him. People turned to stare at the man racing through the streets like a man possessed, but Zafron barely noticed.

As he searched, his mind whirled with possibilities. \'Could it be Malachi? Or chordelia? Or is this something else entirely?\'

After what felt like hours of fruitless searching, a realization hit him. \'There\'s only one person in Drakoria who might be able to help.\'

"Cassandra," he breathed, changing direction mid-stride.

***

Meanwhile, as Zafron left his house...

A solitary figure moved through the shadowy streets of Drakoria, his presence commanding yet eerily quiet. A wide-brimmed hat obscured most of his features, save for the glowing end of a cigar clenched between his teeth. His eyes, hidden in the shadow cast by his hat, remained locked on the ground before him.

As he strode purposefully down the cobblestone path, a group of enforcers passed by. Their faces lit up with recognition, and they snapped to attention, saluting crisply.

"Steele!" one called out.

"Officer Steele!" another echoed, his voice tinged with awe.

It was indeed the legendary investigator himself - the man who had solved countless mysteries and locked away a staggering 1,578 criminals. His reputation preceded him across all three cities: Lumina, Astoria, and here in Drakoria.

But Steele paid them no heed. He didn\'t even seem to register their presence, let alone their greetings. For Steele was in work mode, and when Steele worked, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Beneath the shadow of his hat, his eyes glowed an otherworldly green - the telltale sign of his unique magical ability, the Phantom Gaze. While other officers saw only the physical world around them, Steele\'s vision pierced through the veil of time itself.

Phantoms danced before his eyes - echoes of past events, invisible to all but him. His gaze followed a trail that only he could perceive, each step calculated and precise.

His silent pursuit led him to a house, the very one Zafron had just vacated. Steele stood motionless before it, the smoke from his cigar curling upwards in the still night air.

The green glow beneath his hat intensified as he studied the scene before him. To any passerby, it might have appeared that Steele was simply staring at an empty street. But in reality, he was witnessing a replay of recent events, absorbing details that would have long since vanished for any other investigator.

A small, grim smile played at the corners of his mouth. The hunt was on, and Steele never failed to catch his prey.

***

The journey to Cassandra Beaumont\'s estate, usually a good half-hour walk, took mere minutes. Zafron marveled at his newfound speed even as fear continued to fuel his desperate sprint.

\'Well, at least this XX virus is good for something,\' he thought wryly. \'Who needs a cart when you can outrun one?\'

He reached the mansion gates, barely winded. The guards, recognizing his uniform, let him pass without question.

"Evening, Zafron," one called out. "Bit late for a visit, isn\'t it?"

"Official business," Zafron lied smoothly, not breaking stride. \'Add "improved lying skills" to the list of upgrades,\' he noted mentally.

He made his way to the wing where he\'d last seen Cassandra, his heart racing for reasons beyond his exertion. But as he reached her quarters, he found them empty.

"Damn it, Cassie," he muttered. "Now\'s not the time to play hide and seek."

Realizing she must be in the main house, Zafron retraced his steps. As he descended the grand staircase, he heard voices from the living room.

There, he found Cassandra\'s childhood nanny serving tea to Uncle Harold. The scene was so mundane, so normal, that for a moment Zafron felt like he\'d stepped into another world.

\'From chaos to tea time,\' he thought, almost hysterically. \'What a night.\'

As Zafron stepped into the living room, his eyes darting frantically, searching for Cassandra, he was brought to an abrupt halt by a stern voice.

"Mr. Zafron," Uncle Harold\'s crisp tone cut through the air like a knife. "I wasn\'t aware your duties extended to such late hours. Or perhaps guarding my niece has become a... round-the-clock affair?"

Zafron froze, his mind racing. \'Of all the people to run into, it had to be Uncle Sourpuss. Just my luck.\'

"Good evening, Lord Harold," Zafron responded, bowing slightly, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. "I apologize for the intrusion. There\'s an urgent matter I need to discuss with Lady Cassandra."

Uncle Harold\'s eyebrow arched skeptically. "At this hour? Surely, it can wait until morning."

\'About as much as a tsunami can wait for tea time,\' Zafron thought, but outwardly he maintained his composure. "I\'m afraid it\'s quite pressing, my lord."

"Hmm," Uncle Harold mused, setting down his teacup with a soft clink. "While we\'re on the subject of your duties, Mr. Zafron, I\'ve been hearing some... interesting reports about your conduct."

Zafron blinked, momentarily forgetting his urgency. "My conduct, sir?"

"Yes, your methods of \'guarding\' seem to be rather... unorthodox," Uncle Harold\'s eyes narrowed. "Some might even say inappropriate."

\'Oh, fantastic. Now I\'m getting a performance review from Lord Stick-up-his-arse. Could this night get any better?\' Zafron thought, fighting to keep a neutral expression.

Just then, as if answering his silent plea, Cassandra appeared at the top of the staircase. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Zafron, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as memories of their earlier encounter flashed through her mind.

\'Oh god, why is he back? And why does he look like he\'s just run a marathon through a hurricane?\' Cassandra thought, taking in Zafron\'s disheveled appearance.

"Zafron?" she called out, descending the stairs. "What are you doing here?"

Uncle Harold turned, his frown deepening. "Cassandra, you should be in bed. Mr. Zafron was just leaving."

Cassandra reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes locked with Zafron\'s. She could see the urgency, the barely contained panic in his gaze.

"Actually, Uncle," she said smoothly, "I asked Zafron to return. There\'s a matter we need to discuss."

Zafron\'s eyebrows shot up, but he quickly schooled his features. \'Bless you, Cassie. I owe you one... or ten.\'

"At this hour?" Uncle Harold\'s skepticism was palpable.

"It\'s regarding tomorrow\'s security arrangements," Cassandra lied effortlessly. "I had some concerns I wanted to address immediately."

Uncle Harold looked between them, suspicion clear in his eyes. "Very well," he said finally. "But make it quick. It\'s late, and appearances must be maintained."

As Uncle Harold retreated to his study, Cassandra grabbed Zafron\'s arm and pulled him into a nearby alcove.

"What in the world are you doing back here?" she whispered furiously. "And why do you look like you\'ve been dragged through a hedge backwards?"

Zafron leaned in close, his voice barely audible. "Mara and Matilda are missing. My house looks like it\'s been hit by a tornado. I didn\'t know where else to go."

Cassandra\'s eyes widened. "Missing? What do you mean missing?"