Black walls. Blacker air.
The chamber pulsed with restrained corruption, the stale scent of dried blood mixing with incense and rot. Six seats ford a crescent in the gloom, elevated above a central platform. Only three were occupied, but that was more than enough.
Askael stood at the base, arms crossed, jaw tight.
One of the seated figures leaned forward—a woman draped in chains that hissed when she moved. Her eyes glowed with a dull amber light, and her voice sounded like soone speaking through water.
“You failed.”
“No,” Askael snapped. “I was interrupted. Eryndar himself was there.”
That caused a pause. One of the others—a towering man with antlers twisted from bone and rust—let out a low chuckle.
“The Wall walks again. How quaint.”
Askael’s teeth ground together. “Send more n. Send again. I’ll end the boy. Or take Eryndar down with him.”
The third voice spoke—calm, ancient, barely louder than breath.
“No.”
The chamber went still.
Even Askael flinched.
“…What?”
The central figure lifted one hand. From the far end of the chamber, a door creaked open.
Click.
Heels. Delicate, deliberate.
Click.
Askael turned. His face twisted.
“Oh, for f—”
A girl strolled in. Short, lean, dressed in a loose black tunic with a crimson sash. No armor. No visible weapon. Just a silver, curved blade hanging lazily from her hand—dragging along the floor like a bored child pulling a stick.
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She smiled.
“Miss , Askael?”
From one of the elevated seats, a figure leaned forward—tall, composed, with sharp features carved from marble and shadow. His cloak moved like smoke, barely disturbed by motion. The others sat in silence as Vaeren revealed his face with the ease of soone used to commanding silence.
“Seriah,” he said, with a nod that was half greeting, half warning.
The na settled over the room like fog. Not spoken by the leaders. Not announced. Just understood.
“You’ll accompany Vaeren,” the chained woman said, her voice hissing with Essentia barely contained.
Askael stepped back, disgust plain in his voice.
“You’re seriously sending her?”
The woman in chains tilted her head. “She volunteered.”
“She doesn’t even—! She hasn’t gone through the Ritual. She’s not corrupted. She doesn’t belong to us.”
“Aw,” Seriah cooed, tilting her head. “Jealous?”
Askael’s hand drifted to his blade.
Her smile widened.
“Wanna fight for it, Askael? Mmm?” She took a step closer, eyes shining. “We can call it a spar. First to lose a limb concedes.”
The tension crackled. But the central figure raised a single finger—and just like that, Askael stopped.
“You’ll regret this,” he muttered. “She can’t be trusted.”
“She doesn’t need to be trusted,” the horned man rumbled. “She only needs to be effective.”
Seriah twirled her blade once, let it rest on her shoulder.
As the doors closed, Seriah glanced toward the high seats.
“If he dies too fast, can I have the other one? The quiet one.”
A pause. The horned man chuckled.
The woman in chains answered, voice like iron dragged across stone.
“Elliot is not your concern. Yet.”
Vaeren stood from his seat in a single, fluid motion. He descended the steps in silence, his presence like a curtain of pressure drawn across the room. No sound accompanied him—not footsteps, not breath, not even the whisper of cloth.
He stopped beside Seriah.
“We move at dawn.”
She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“So dramatic. What are we doing, hunting legends or playing escort?”
Vaeren didn’t look at her.
“Eryndar.”
That got her attention.
Seriah’s smirk faded into sothing more curious—eyes sharpening like a blade being turned toward the light.
“The Unmovable Wall himself?”
He nodded.
“He interfered. Now we remove him—temporarily. You will engage the boy. Push him. Break his path. Scatter them.”
Seriah twirled her blade once and let it fall lazily back into her palm.
“You don’t want him dead?”
“Not yet. He’s more valuable when afraid.”
A beat.
“And if Eryndar doesn’t separate?”
Vaeren looked at her for the first ti—cold, composed, calculating.
“Then we kill him.”
The silence that followed didn’t feel like shock—it felt like hunger being fed.
Seriah shrugged.
“Fine by . But if I do kill the kid by accident, I’m not writing a report.”
Vaeren turned away.
“Just be ready.”
“I was born ready,” she whispered, mostly to herself.
As the two walked toward the exit, the chamber seed to exhale. The remaining Circle mbers said nothing. They didn’t need to. What was coming was already in motion.
As they passed through the towering obsidian doors, Seriah tilted her head toward Vaeren and asked, with a mock innocence that felt like a knife:
“So, how fast do you think he’ll run when he realizes we’re not here to fight fair?”
Vaeren didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
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