[High Council chambers–Deep underground American Warden temple]
Kiara sighs as she steps deeper into the chamber's secrets. The average Warden wouldn't be allowed without an invitation or formal permission. She halts, gazing at the portrait hanging on the porcelain walls.
Five men dressed in old–fashioned clothing that was more advanced than their era. They sat rigidly on a round wooden table.
Warden Society founders. Year 3000 BCE, the plaque read.
"Old men," Kiara comments.
The design of the estate made everything feel more oppressive than usual, as if the walls were eyeing her. It was even less welcoming than Zhang— and he was a person, not an entire underground estate.
"How did they fit so much underground in this one mountain?" Kiara frowns; her steps echo off the hollow walls.
Royal guards fill every corner of the halls, shoulder to shoulder. They felt more like stone ornaments than actual human beings. Kiara waves her hand in front of their expressionless masks, no reaction.
She leans in close.
No breath. Just cold air and rusted steel.
"Creeepy," Kiara shudders, a shiver runs up her spine.
"Please do not do that to my guards," the Arbiter walks forward. Kiara flinches, not sensing his arrival.
"I mean–" Kiara shrugs. "They don't react that much." She snaps her fingers in front of the nearest guard. No response.
"Seeee."
The Arbiter did not smile back. "Leave."
The royal guard mechanically rotates their bodies in perfect unison. They walk off in a clear, uniform line. Kiara's mouth opens slightly, and confusion flickers on her face.
"Why are you here?" the Arbiter questions.
"Oh, my grandfather wanted me to shadow your meeting," Kiara half-chuckles, clapping her hands together. "Ain't politics fun?"
The Arbiter remains emotionless, not impressed. A faint, cold smile pulls upwards.
"Didn't he know?" the Arbiter scrutinizes. "Well, since you're here, it'll be rude to let you leave so soon."
"Woah," Kiara gasps.
That sounds so sinister for no reason, she thinks quietly.
"How have you been studying?" the Arbiter asks. "Not regular life."
"Oh, I was supposed to be studying here?" Kiara raises her brow. She honestly hadn't put any thought into it. She thought she just needed to train and do missions. Not study.
"Get to your class when we're done," the Arbiter warns.
"Yes, sir," Kiara lowers her head.
"Follow me," the Arbiter commands.
Deeper down the corridors, Zhang's shadow moves across the wall. His gaze is low but conflicted. Surveillance Corp Director–Quincy Harlow–walks through a hallway, his cane pushing him forward.
"Nice to see you here."
Zhang walks past the man, his strides echo off one another. Quincy rolls his eyes, following shortly after.
"Hmm," Quincy hums, stepping forward. "What is this need for a sudden council meeting?"
"Isn't it important for those in charge to find a solution?" Zhang frowns.
Quincy's cane pushes forward before suddenly slamming onto the ground. The two walk forward, and the faint dripping of water follows their path.
"How has your life been?" Quincy asks, his leg dragging against the other. "Have you gotten closer to your ideal in these past years?"
Zhang ignores him.
Quincy squints. "It's rude to leave somebody hanging."
Zhang's jaw stiffens. "I've done all I can, and I have put my best effort into it."
With each step forward, Quincy advances, his cane tapping out ahead of him.
"Let me guess–order and uphold duty."
"Everyone has a choice," Zhang mutters. "That's what I was told when I was a boy."
"What do you choose exactly, huh?" Quincy cuts back. "Did Callaghan ever teach you that?"
Zhang stays quiet; his pupils dilate. His eyes stare off into the distance. He grits his teeth, but he says nothing.
He walks forward.
"See you at the meeting."
"Don't be a real son of a bitch now with me, Zhang," Quincy warns, slamming his cane. Zhang's pupils dilate; he remains silent. His gaze is fixed on the horizon. Despite gritting his teeth, he remains silent.
"Never say that to me," Zhang cuts back, low but fierce, refusing to meet Quincy's eyes. The director's eyes flicker as the two shortly walk to their destination.
[Council main chambers]
In a lonely seat nestled in a corner, Kiara sits uneasily. As the members of the High Council look straight at her, a half-smile crosses her face. She awkwardly nods her head, tapping her notebook to look productive.
Oh my god, can this meeting start any sooner? Her body rocks back and forth like a cradle.
The lanky member–Rylon Armitage–grabs a glass cup, carefully repositioning it.
The curly-haired woman–Sarah Cantrell– writes down passages in her notebook.
The Arbiter glances at Kiara, making her straighten her posture.
An assistant manager opens the intricate natural stone doors, opening the path for Zhang and Quincy. The cane man slowly limps over to his corner.
The assistant manager quickly bows his head to Zhang before closing the chamber doors.
The Arbiter slowly descends down in his seat, his warm gaze looking down on the table below him. The council members straightened themselves in his presence.
"You're late, Zhang," the Arbiter reprimands.
"Sorry, I got distracted along the way," Zhang sternly apologizes, his gaze locking with Kiara in the background.
Kiara awkwardly waves, trying to ease the tension. Her knees bounced nervously while everyone sat perfectly still in their seats.
"Now that we are finally all here," the Arbiter says, smoothing his sleeves. "We can begin."
Above the council's chambers, Edward looms in the background, patiently waiting. He looks over his shoulder to see the ordinary recruits training. Mentors and upperclassmen are discussing.
Yet something felt off.
Think you can shut me out, Edward thinks, scoffing at the matter. Doesn't matter, I have other methods.
He exhales slowly.
I trust your eyes, Kiara. A tired smile crosses Edward's lips. Record what matters most.
Inside the council chamber, the members remain more or less rapt on the Arbiter's words. Kiara relaxes in her seat, tapping her pencil against the blank pages of the open notebook in front her.
"The temple is deeply highly divided," The Arbiter continues, drumming impatiently with wrinkled fingers on the wooden table.
"We need to maintain the appearance of stability, that we are safe and nothing can break down our barriers."
Kiara's gaze narrows as she quickly scribbles down her notes.
"We need to focus on how this assassin infiltrated in the first place," Armitage raises his hand. Kiara notices his right eye twitching.
"Only a spy could have messed with our surveillance." He continues, rubbing his fingers on the edge of the furniture. "Had we noticed this assassin, protocol requires all portals to be immediately locked down."
God damn, that was a mouthful, Kiara thinks, her pulse thuds faintly in her ear. Grandpa wants me to write down everything important…but what matters most?
A pause. The Arbiter's expression remains unreadable.
Kiara's pen slows. Her eyes flicker to the subtle exchanges of glances by the council members. Zhang, standing close to the Arbiter, clears his throat.
"Edward and I were facing an elite combatant with a highly devastating technique," Zhang explains, keeping his arms behind his back.
"Acid manipulation is not something anyone would encounter day to day. Rare. Powerful. Hard to master."
"That makes sense," an older member— Joseph Colson— cuts in. "No one in their right mind would want to pick an ability that could kill them in the process."
"The problem was that this assassin was a complete master of his craft," Zhang worryingly clarifies, with a trace of unease. "He said he worked for only one man, yet he followed orders from higher-ups."
"Perhaps a lone operative," Armitage says, voice too even. "Such talents are rare though they've happened before."
Kiara frowns, uneasy. Of course, they're more invested with looking competent than being honest.They work underground in a mountain.
A quiet ripple of discontent sweeps through the porcelain chamber.
Come on, you old people, she twirls her pen, say something less cryptic and more substantial.
"If I may, how do we plan on maintaining our narrative?" Councilman Joseph expresses. "We can't allow more rumors and fear to spread to our junior ranks."
"We must ensure not even the slightest concern could provide our adversaries any leverage," the Arbiter commands, voice low but firm.
That's a weird way to put it, Kiara thought narrowing her eyes. She couldn't buy their words. Her pen hesitated mid-air.
Is it about keeping secrets? How does that avoid weakness? She narrows her eyes, doubtful.
As the council members murmur between each other, Kiara notices fleeting glances between them.
Arthur Flonzo, the mustachioed man, absentmindely rubs his chin as his gaze drifts away. His mustache twitches (like it had a mind of its own).
Kiara found it hard not to admire it-it was indeed a magnificent mustache. It deserved its own council seat.
The short-statured middle-aged man— Frank Rooker—stays in his seat, not talking to any of his peers, keeping everything to himself.
Armitage leant forward and presses his thin lips on his hand, squinting as he made up his mind.
Sarah took a sip of water and looks through the evidence, crunching her calm mask just enough so that a trace of tension shines through.
Kiara twirled her pen like a magician's hand, bored with her thoughts.
"With no concrete evidence of those called higher-ups. We got no lead," Armitage cuts through the stillness, discontent with the conversation. "It would be irresponsible to look further."
"We don't know who ordered the hit lists yet, Zhang leans forward, voice tense.
"If we wait for perfect evidence now, we'll all be dead before we act."
Armitage holds his hand up, cutting Zhang off. "We need to focus on verified data, not rumors. Conjecture undermines stability."
Zhang grits his teeth.
"Fine. If chasing shadows is your form of leadership, then we're all dead," he mutters bitterly.
"Don't push it, boy," Armitage warns coldly.
The Arbiter drums his fingers once more.
"I understand, Councilman Armitage," Zhang apologizes, his gaze disrespectful. The murmuring subsides. "Forgive me."
An airy sigh escapes Armitage as he stacks his papers. 'You are forgiven."
"Now, now. Let's act like civilized men here," the Arbiter cuts through the tension, clapping his hands together. "We are not here for petty arguments." Armitage takes a deep, uncomfortable breath, looking down at the table
"We are to discuss what we will do next to ensure the safety, survival, and continued being of the order," The Arbiter finishes.
Kiara leans into the table, chin cupped in her fist. The Arbiter smooths his robes over his lap while looking towards the council members.
"We'll proceed with higher vigilance. No more breaches will be tolerated."
A heavy silence falls.
Kiara closes her notebook–she didn't write anything too substantial. Only a few lines, she thought, were a bit sketchy. The massive doors groan open, revealing the dim candlelight.
Behind, footsteps echoed—Zhang's familiar silhouette leaves the chambers.
"You did great," Kiara compliments, raising her thumb.
Zhang didn't look back.
"Okay, don't have to be rude about it," Kiara mutters, rolling her eyes, as she already craves the outside air.
Once outside, she hands the notebook to Edward.
The old man surfs through the pages, eyes drifting between the letters. When he shuts the book, a loud shockwave ripples through the air.
"Good job," Edward congratulates, his voice softer than she expected.
"Really?" Kiara frowns.
"Yeah," Edward says, tapping the notebook lightly against her head. Clasping the book, he walks in the opposite direction, whistling to himself.
"That's weird," Kiara comments, planting her hands around her hips.
"Get to your class," the Arbiter warns, appearing behind her.
"Ahhh!" Kiara screams, bolting to the classrooms as if she were being chased by zombies. "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!"
The Arbiter lowers his head, a half-smirk tugging his lips.
[American Warden Temple–Classroom A]
Kiara opens the classroom's doors ever so slightly, and the squeaky hinges scrape a metallic shriek. The instructor leans on his wooden desk, pretending not to notice Kiara shambling to a nearby seat.
He put in zero effort to look interested.
"Sorry. Sorry." Kiara whispers, nearly stepping on her peers' feet.
Heads turn. Everyone stares at her shenanigans.
Stop looking at me, Kiara thinks, pressing her lips thinly.
"As we ignore…I don't know your name," the instructor says, raising his wooden ruler like a conductor's baton. "Tell me your name."
"Kiara Meitner. Didn't know I was supposed to be studying here."
"Oh," the instructor sighs. "Now, back to our lesson plan, everyone."
Adam slightly raises his hand, signalling Kiara. Rushing towards her friends, Kiara flatly sits in the closest open seat. She lazily leans her body on Anby's shoulders.
"What are we learning?"
Anby taps her pencil on her notebook. "History."
"The politically boring side. ," Adam cuts in. "So basically all of it."
"It's not boring," Anby mutters, tapping Adam's notebook. "Some of us like understanding the world."
"It's a snooze, Anby," Adam says, scribbling on his paper. "Except when some guy did a coup that went wrong. That was actually kind of interesting."
Anby stares with disbelief. Kiara rests her cheek on her hand, listening to the lecture.
Seth was too busy sleeping on his desk. Papers were scattered everywhere. If anyone can survive zero sleep, it would be him.
"In Warden Society, especially the American temple, there are two main identities that branch off into separate roles," the instructor explains, whipping his ruler. "We have the combatants and leadership. These roles are traditionally kept apart."
"Separate?" Kiara mutters. Adam lazily writes his summaries. Seth was just…just being Seth. Anby juggled notetaking with a few quick sketches. The rest of her peers diligently wrote their notes, listening to every one of the instructor's words.
"Of course, few did combine both roles like our current temple's successor–Zhang He," the instructor continues, his tone growing weary.
"Though there was one who wielded great political influence, but never sat on the council nor held the Arbiter's mantle. His history is rather… complicated, however, and won't be discussed today."