Escorted by Maera and two hooded guards, Gaël moved through the bowels of the arena, his mind alert to every flicker of shadow. The corridors twisted beneath the coliseum like a subterranean labyrinth, the air cooler, thick with a metallic scent interlaced with the heady fumes of dark incense.
His footsteps echoed faintly on the polished stone, drowned beneath the distant roar above, as though the world above belonged to another reality. At each turn, fleeting figures slipped into the corners,shifting shadows that seemed to watch over this underground sanctuary.
They halted before a massive double door, carved from ebony wood, its silver engravings shimmering with a strange light. One of the guards rapped twice, sharp and crisp.
The door swung open without a sound.
Gaël entered behind Maera, leaving the two guards at the threshold.
The room was larger than a mere office, bathed in the dim glow of lanterns blackened with age. The air was heavy with the scent of melting wax and resin, lending a solemn weight to the atmosphere.
At the center, seated on a chair hewn from raw stone, was Valérian Ombrelac.
His coat, a deep black embroidered with patterns like shadowed roots, heightened the dark aura that surrounded him. His skin, pale as a ghost, contrasted starkly with his eyes: iridescent abysses with a purple sheen, watching Gaël with a calm, unreadable curiosity.
His face bore a distinctive mark shared by many Umbromancers: beneath each eye, a thin line, like a delicate crack, stretched down to his cheekbone, as if his body struggled to contain a power on the verge of breaking free. Around his wrists floated true shadow bracelets, slender tendrils of black, suspended just above his skin, slowly swirling, clear artifacts crafted by his own hand.
At the hollow of his throat, a dark shard was embedded deep in the flesh, like a gemstone grafted over the ages, pulsing to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat. With each throb, faint ripples of darkened energy spread outward, the air itself trembling ever so slightly, as if echoing the distant toll of a bell unheard by all but the soul.
"Sit, young man."
Gaël didn't move right away. Every instinct screamed that this man was not to be underestimated.
Maera took her place on a bench against the wall, legs crossed with languid grace.
A flicker of movement to Gaël's left caught his eye.
Brann was already there.
Leaning against a stone pillar, arms crossed, his face closed and unreadable. He hadn't taken a seat, and Gaël understood the message instantly. He would not sit before this man.
Gaël mirrored him, remaining standing, his muscles still taut from the earlier fight.
A faint smile ghosted across Valérian's lips.
"I haven't quite figured out the nature of the bond between you two yet…" he murmured, tapping his finger slowly on the armrest of his throne. "Brann claims you're not his apprentice, just a stubborn kid who crossed his path…"
His gaze slid over Gaël, examining him with calculated interest.
"And yet, I know a swordbrother when I see one."
Silence settled between them, heavy with meaning. Gaël fought back a shiver.
"Very well." Valérian straightened slightly. "There's much for the three of us to discuss. But first… let's speak of what brought you here."
Absentmindedly, he spun an onyx ring on his finger.
"Brann, the Umbra drinker…" An amused smile flickered across his face. "I heard you were looking for an Umbromancer? Well, here I am."
Brann wordlessly drew out a black fragment of terrifying purity.
The moment it caught the light, a cold ripple seemed to sweep through the room. The object pulsed with a darkness so profound it appeared to devour the surrounding glow, casting shifting reflections like liquid shadows.
Maera, who until then had been lounging lazily on a divan, snapped her head up, eyes wide with a gleam of hungry fascination.
"A shard of Umbra… and not just any shard," she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of excitement and greed. "This one's… colossal."
Valérian remained still, but his gaze sharpened, probing Brann with renewed interest.
"I need it refined," Brann declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The master of the house arched a brow, his smile widening just a fraction."A fragment of this density… that won't come cheap."
He extended a hand, his fingers brushing close but never quite touching the shard. The energy radiating from it seemed almost alive, swirling in tendrils of shadow that danced across his palm.
Maera rose, her bone bracelets clicking softly with every movement.
"You know what that demands, Drinker?" she purred, her voice a teasing blend of warning and temptation. "A shard like this… it could reshape your inner channels. You might burn from the inside out, even you, if you try to swallow it."
She glided forward, almost feline in her grace, until she was a breath away from his face.
"Or maybe… that's exactly what you want?"
Brann met her gaze, unwavering.
"I know what I want."
A dense silence settled over the room. Valérian drummed his fingers, thoughtful.
"We'll need reinforced seals, catalysts, and probably… but tell me, where did you find it?"
Brann didn't flinch.
"On a Greater Hollowborn."
A shiver ran through the gathering.
Maera, usually so sure of herself, took a step back, her smile flickering for the briefest moment. Even Valérian, ever composed, fell quiet for a heartbeat, as if weighing the weight of that revelation.
"A Greater Hollowborn…" he murmured, leaning forward slightly. "Fascinating."
Gaël had a flood of questions ready, but he held them back, not daring to interrupt the exchange between the two men.
'Does Brann really intend to absorb it?' he wondered. 'Why ask for refinement? That's not like him…'
While the Umbromancer examined the fragment, Maera drifted toward Gaël, a sly smile curling her lips, her golden eyes glinting with something dark and wicked.
"Tell me, pretty Brother…" she murmured, her voice a silky purr, almost mocking, "were you part of the team that took down that horror?"
Gaël tensed ever so slightly. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword on reflex, as if his body decided for him.
Maera stifled a low, velvety laugh, as smooth and poisonous as wine laced with venom.
"Relax, kid. Just breaking the tension."
But before he could muster even a single reply, Valérian snapped his fingers.
"Take it to the Crucible. Let's see what this shard has to offer."