A spy amongst the hero’s team 🗡

Years ago—before Otto had earned his title as a villain, before Elyn had become a polished hero—there was a fated incident neither of them forgot. Not entirely.

It happened in a place that barely had a name. Otto, still hidden in the early shadows of his ambitions, had been there under a different name, testing out his first real manipulation scheme: pose as a traveling doctor, poison the well, then swoop in with the “cure” in exchange for loyalty and access to the region’s limited tech. It was his first real taste of control. He almost had it.

But Elyn—young, impulsive, and still wearing his badge of justice like it was holy—was passing through on assignment. He saw the signs. Saw the sickness that didn’t match the water reports. He put the pieces together fast.

He cornered Otto inside the town’s chapel, where Otto had been distributing his “antidote” with a smile. Elyn wasn’t fooled. They fought.

The fight wasn’t legendary. It was quiet, angry, and desperate. Otto fought back fiercely, using a sharp edge and sharper words. Elyn won—but not because he overpowered Otto. He won because the chapel caught fire during the scuffle, and Otto was forced to retreat when a wooden beam collapsed between them.

But not before Elyn got a good look at him.

Not a full face. Just pieces. His voice. His eyes. The way he smiled like the whole world was beneath him. That look never left Elyn’s memory.

But something else happened that night.

When Elyn dragged out the villagers one by one, hands bleeding from the splinters, he realized something that shook him more than the fire or the poison: he had enjoyed the fight, enjoyed facing off with that person. The chaos. The way Otto had spoken to him—not as a hero, but as an equal.

Something inside Elyn cracked that night.

He tried to bury it under medals and praise. But he followed Otto’s name quietly over the years, learning his methods, tracking his failed plots. Not to stop him. Not really.

He wanted to understand him.

Obsessed, quietly, he gathered all he could—images, blurred recordings, whispers from low-level informants. But Otto kept changing identities, faces, accents. Always out of reach.

Until now.

When Otto showed up in the team, disguised as the bright-eyed newcomer, Elyn recognized him immediately. Not his face. But the eyes. The way he smiled. The tiny habits—rubbing his thumb against his knuckle, always scanning the room when he thought no one was watching.

Elyn didn’t say a word. He watched.

Not because he was suspicious.

But because it was the moment he’d been waiting for.

He had long since stopped believing in justice. The missions, the speeches, the self-righteous morality—it all felt brittle and rehearsed. Fake. But Otto? Otto was real. Ruthless, but honest about it. Every action had intent. Every lie had purpose.

It fascinated him.

Otto thought he is the puppet master, but didn’t know he was just a fancy chess piece Elyn absolutely adores.