Aftermath and Arrival
The sun had long risen, though its light barely filtered through the choking gray ash in the sky. Fires had been put out, but the smog of death, dust, and despair lingered in the air. The rescue efforts continued with grim determination.
Liam's voice was hoarse from shouting, and his synthetic muscles ached—an odd sensation he was still adjusting to.
"We've dug more graves than I can count," he said, staring at a field slowly filling with shallow mounds and crude wooden markers.
Layla, usually sharp-tongued and defiant, simply whispered, "I've seen horror in labs and warzones… but this? This is an abyss."
AISAR's voice cut in, calm and crisp despite the chaos."Sir, your scheduled meeting with Sir Belore is due in forty minutes."
Liam blinked, exhaustion nearly blanking his memory. "Right… thank you."
Layla stood, brushing off her coat. "Let's not keep our dear Knight Commander waiting."
Knight Headquarters – Second Floor, Third Room
The entrance was chaotic. Knights sprinted through the halls, giving quick orders, hauling supplies, or helping the injured. No one stopped Liam and Layla—they moved like ghosts through the wreckage of what was once order.
At the reception desk, a woman scribbled frantic notes while juggling two magical communication stones. Her eyes were red from crying, and dark circles sank beneath them like bruises from sleepless nights.
Layla approached gently. "Miss, the meeting room? Has everyone arrived?"
The receptionist didn't even glance up. "Second floor, third door. You two make it twelve. Now move—stop crowding the front, I don't have time for hand-holding."
They took the stairs in silence, each step echoing in the stillness above the chaos.
When Liam opened the door, time seemed to freeze.
The Gathering of Power
The room's occupants turned to face them—ten figures who, in different circumstances, might never have shared the same air without drawing weapons.
Liam's bionic eyes scanned the room instinctively.
High Inquisitor Seraphin Vale[1] – tall, robed in ivory and crimson, his silver staff glowing with holy light. Judging. Always judging.
Archmage Lorien Quavek[2] – elegant, aloof, the air around him charged with mana. His sharp blue eyes narrowed with calculative interest.
Commander Belore Bart[3] – standing tall at the head of the table, the only face that welcomed them.
Lady Ysolde Calwin[4] – draped in silks and armor-stitched leather, gold rings flashing as she crossed her arms. Cool, business-like.
Dr. Kessian Thorne[5] – plain-robed, with a red sash soaked from fieldwork. He gave Liam a nod, quiet and tired, but supportive.
Marquess Vaelros Nightbane[6] – lounging in the corner, shadow wrapping around his boots. A thin smile curled beneath crimson eyes.
Magister Orvax Grimm[7] – robed in bone-white, his eyes sunken yet glittering with dark intellect. A skull sat on the desk before him, silent company.
Mistress Calra Vynn[8] – radiant and terrifying, her smile too pleasant, her perfume a siren's trap. Her gaze flicked between Layla and Liam with hunger.
General Hadrek Vorn[9] – battle-scarred, arms crossed, sword always within reach. He sneered slightly at Liam's entrance.
The Oracle of Broken Glass[10] – cloaked in tattered robes and beads of broken mirror. She stared through Liam as if watching a different timeline.
Liam's head throbbed.
"Ugh. You people again? Seriously, Belore?"
Layla didn't hide her disgust. "What the hell is this—some cursed council of nightmares?"
Belore sighed heavily. "You're not wrong."
He gestured for them to sit. "But if we want this city to survive, this—" he pointed around the table "—is who we have left."
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