The skyline of Veridion Prime stretched toward the heavens, its glistening towers a testament to power, ambition, and control. Unlike the crowded, grimy underbelly of Neo-Veridia, where neon lights flickered over desperate hands, this city pulsed with precision and elegance.
Here, the streets were clean, the air carried the scent of wealth, and every building had a purpose—a statement of dominance carved into steel and glass. The skyline was filled with monuments to power, and none loomed larger than The Griffin's Roost.
Perched atop the highest tower in the city, a massive griffin sculpture spread its wings, its talons gripping the edge of the rooftop as though it commanded the sky itself. It was a symbol of sovereignty, of untouchable influence, casting its long shadow across the city below.
Inside its walls, political warfare was a daily ritual.
Deep within the uppermost chamber of The Griffin's Roost, a silent war had just ended.
The conference room, a vast oval chamber lined with dark, polished wood, had held fifteen of the most influential figures in the nation just moments ago. Now, it was nearly empty—save for one.
Some of those who had left wore custom-tailored suits, their postures stiff with corporate arrogance. Others, clad in combat gear, carried the presence of seasoned warriors—reminders that even in the world of power, force was still an option.
The conversations among them had been measured, calculated, but tense—like a game of chess played with live blades. Deals had been struck, alliances had shifted, and a few veiled threats had been exchanged.
At the head of the seat, however, one figure remained.
A woman.
She was not rushed, nor did she move with the urgency of those who had just left.
She sat in absolute stillness, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of her chair.
The glow of a holographic display illuminated her face, casting soft shadows over sharp features. Her gaze flickered across numbers, reports, shifting stock values, and guild rankings—but those details were secondary.
The real war wasn't fought in markets or on the battlefield.
It was fought here, in rooms like this, behind doors that sealed away the whispers of men and women who controlled entire industries, economies, and, by extension, the country itself.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the latest Hunter Guild Rankings.
Something was shifting.
Pressure points were forming.
In Veridion Prime, there were several great guilds, each controlling a sector of influence that extended far beyond just hunters. Their power stretched into corporate empires, financial institutions, political seats, and military contracts.
But in reality, there were only nine that mattered.
And at the heart of them all was The Griffin's Roost.
The undisputed number one.
For now.
The room still carried the weight of the discussion that had just taken place—a summit of the most powerful guild leaders, a gathering that had ended in uneasy tension rather than agreement.
The Lionsgate Consortium—Ranked second, but always circling like a predator, had started maneuvering aggressively into military contracts that had long belonged to The Griffin's Roost.
Their leader, Victor Kross, was not a man of patience.
He had made that painfully clear today.
"We both know stagnation is just another word for decline." His voice had been silken, edged with veiled steel. "If The Griffin's Roost refuses to evolve, then perhaps it is time for a shift in leadership."
A direct challenge.
The memory of it still lingered in the air like the scent of a blade unsheathed but not yet swung.
Then there was The Obsidian Syndicate—Ranked third, a guild built on trade dominance, black market influence, and political manipulation. Their leader, Selene Voss, had smiled throughout the entire meeting, her expressions unreadable, but her words were daggers wrapped in silk.
"It's always dangerous when those at the top start looking down instead of around," She had mused. "History is written by those who see what's coming, not by those who assume they're untouchable."
A warning.
A warning that The Griffin's Roost was being watched.
And if an empire is being watched, it means it is being measured.
Being evaluated for weaknesses.
She leaned back in her chair, allowing a small, almost imperceptible smile to flicker across her lips.
They thought they were subtle.
They thought their challenges were clever, veiled just enough to provide deniability.
But she had been playing this game for far too long.
Her name was Evelyn Caedryn, and she was the Grandmaster of The Griffin's Roost.
The woman who sat at the apex of power.
The one who held the keys to the city.
She had built this empire, not through brute force but through flawless execution, through decades of outmaneuvering rivals, eliminating threats, and ensuring that every move made against her was accounted for before it even happened.
The room may have been silent now, but the war had already begun.
She picked up a crystal glass, the amber liquid inside swirling as she contemplated her next move.
There were three possible plays.
One—Strike first. Crush the Lionsgate Consortium before they could fully commit to their challenge. Break their alliances, fracture their financial backing, and leave Victor Kross with nothing but shattered ambitions.
Two—Play the long game. Let them believe they had an opportunity. Let them get comfortable. Then, when the time was right, remove them quietly, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but a memory of their rebellion.
Three—Do nothing.
Let them make the first mistake.
Evelyn exhaled softly, setting her glass down.
No. Not the third option.
She had never been the type to sit and wait.
Her enemies were already moving.
Which meant it was time for them to learn why The Griffin's Roost was at the top.
Her fingers danced lightly across the holographic interface, pulling up new directives—adjusting financial strategies, political alliances, and redistributing the guild's military assets to key regions.
Let them watch.
Let them think they had a chance.
And then, when the moment was perfect—
She would remind them all why she had never lost.
Outside, the griffin statue stood firm, its stone wings outstretched, eyes carved to gaze over the city below.
A silent reminder.
That those who ruled from above never feared those who crawled below.