LOCATION: THE SANCTUM — COUNCIL OF THE FIRST THRONE
They didn't gather often.
Only when the world cracked loud enough.
Today, it did.
The chamber was round. Cold. Blackstone walls wrapped in silence. No banners. No gold. Just seven carved seats—and one glowing glyph at the center.
Cardinal Vael sat alone.
Waiting.
First to arrive:
Dren Voskar—grinning like a man who brought fire in both fists. He kicked his seat before sitting.
"Still smells like fear in here."
Next:
Ezekar Nythe—cloak smooth, eyes hidden. He nodded once, sat without a word.
Then came:
Halix Varn—cold, poised, unreadable. She didn't glance at the others. Only at Vael.
Vael didn't smile.
He stood and walked the circle slowly.
Stopped by Dren.
"You burn cities."
Dren cracked a knuckle. "Only the ones asking for it."
Vael turned to Ezekar.
"You let Lucan live."
Ezekar's lips twitched but he said nothing.
Then to Halix.
"You trained obedience. But they choose rebellion."
Halix's voice was calm.
"Rebellion is just misdirected purpose."
Vael's eyes narrowed.
"Lucan Malryk."
The name changed the air.
"Not a hero. Not a mistake. Something else."
Dren scoffed. "Then fix him. Or kill him."
Ezekar spoke softer.
"Or use him. A short-term weapon still wins wars."
Vael paused. His tone dropped.
"You all want an ending. But none of you understand what started when he lived."
And then—
The doors opened.
Verrick walked in.
Not summoned.
The chamber didn't welcome him.
It watched.
Eyes turned. Words caught in throats. Even Dren raised a brow.
Only Halix moved.
Not toward him.
Just her voice—calm, absolute.
"Meet Verrick."
"My new Commander."
The room shifted.
Ezekar leaned forward, just enough for his voice to carry.
"Curious," he said. "Last I checked, he was leading the Hollow Creed. Now he's your lapdog?"
Verrick didn't even blink.
Dren barked out a laugh, slapping his seat.
"This gets better by the day."
Ezekar's tone cooled further.
"Councils aren't for fallen rebels."
Halix's reply was frost on glass.
"Then perhaps you shouldn't be here either."
Ezekar's eyes narrowed behind the veil of his hood.
"Bold."
"Necessary," Halix returned.
Before anyone else could speak, Vael raised one hand.
Silence snapped back like a chain.
He didn't look at Verrick.
Didn't look at anyone.
He simply spoke.
"If you fear his presence, he stays."
"If you fear his loyalty, you're already behind."
That shut it down.
Verrick said nothing.
He didn't need to.
His silence spoke louder than Ezekar's shadow games or Dren's grin.
He stood where no commander should be—inside the highest room of the Order.
And no one threw him out.
Not because he belonged.
But because something worse than treason had happened.
He was being welcomed.
---
LOCATION: ASHVALE — HALIX'S PRIVATE SANCTUM, (Later That Night)
The chamber doors opened without ceremony.
Verrick entered—not cloaked, no longer hiding. He wore the armor of his new command: black-etched, burnished with chain-glyphs. The insignia of the Creed of Chains gleamed on his chest—official now. Recognized.
Halix didn't rise from her seat at the high table of the sanctum. Her prayer scripts drifted midair, glowing faintly, waiting to be read.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
"I had a faction to name," Verrick replied, voice even.
"And you chose Iron Creed," she murmured, like the taste of it sat bitter on her tongue.
"They needed something they could believe in. Something sharp."
"And they believe in you?"
"They believe I don't pretend," he said. "And I don't ask for faith—just blood."
Halix finally looked at him. No veil tonight. Just sharp eyes and a colder smile.
"They'll follow that for now. But your leash is short."
Verrick stepped forward, a respectful distance—but close enough to speak plainly.
"I didn't come for a leash, Halix."
"No," she said, standing slowly, her chains hissing with divine tension. "You came to finish what you started with Malryk."
Verrick's eyes narrowed at the name.
"He split the Creed. Turned my own blades on me. He's not just dangerous—he's infectious."
A pause. Then—
"He's not a god," Verrick said. But every day we hesitate, someone else starts to believe he is."
Halix studied him, weighing intent.
"And your new Creed?"
"They'll bleed because I tell them to."
She nodded once, stepping past him toward the prayer window.
"You were always my sharpest weapon," she said quietly.
Verrick turned his head.
"And now?"
She looked over her shoulder.
"Now you're just visible."
A beat.
Then Verrick added, low and hard:
"We don't need to trust each other, Halix. Just bleed the same enemies."
To that, Halix gave a small, dry smile.
"I never trusted you, Verrick."
"And yet," he said, turning to leave, "here I am. Your Commander."
No bow. No salute.
Just two killers with a common problem.
---
LOCATION: ASHVALE – GLYPH BASTION RUINS, (Same Night)
The mirror glyph cracked with a low hum.
Three members of the Echo Veil slipped into the sanctum—silent, cloaked in black, vanishing behind folds of light. No doors. No sound. Just mirrors bending to let them through.
Their goal? Retrieve the Glyphborne Ledger—a forbidden record said to hold ancient sanctum maps, key rites, and forgotten spellbindings.
It was hidden in the Bastion's deepest vault, locked behind mirrored seals.
Nyza, the youngest, whispered, "I found the ledger shelf."
"Keep quiet," the leader muttered. "Silence is survival."
Nyza nodded and started scanning, fast.
As they searched, the mirrorlight shimmered behind them.
Then the chains came.
A wall shattered open with a thunderclap. Six enforcers of the Creed of Chains stormed in—heavy armor, blades glowing with divine glyphs. Leading them was a Chainlord, head shaved, tattoos burning with authority.
"This sanctum is holy," he growled. "Your presence is blasphemy."
The Echo Veil didn't answer.
They attacked.
Nyza flickered, vanishing into mirrored light—reappearing behind the Chainlord with a blade aimed at his throat.
He caught her mid-swing, slammed her to the ground.
The others moved fast—one bending light to create ghost images, the other distorting time just enough to make the Chains miss their strikes.
Steel clashed with shadow. Glyphfire lit the air.
Three against four.
Then ten.
Reinforcements arrived—more Chains, more steel, more death.
One Echo Veil fell, throat cut mid-flicker.
Another went down fighting, glyphs burning out as her lifeblood hit the floor.
Nyza tried to run. Wounded. Bleeding. She reached for a mirror gate.
It didn't open.
A chain caught her around the neck.
She screamed, but it was over.
---
LOCATION: ASHVALE – HALIX'S SANCTUM, LATER
Halix stood in her sanctum, calm, cold, mid-lesson with young clerics.
A door slammed open behind her.
The Chainlord walked in—bloodied, armor cracked. Dragging Nyza like a sack of bones.
She was barely conscious. Face bruised. Veil torn.
The Chainlord dropped her at Halix's feet.
"Caught in the ruins," he said. "Echo Veil. Seraphine's agents. One survived."
Halix didn't blink. She dismissed the clerics with a wave.
They fled without question.
She stepped closer to the girl, crouched down, and lifted her chin with a single finger.
Nyza tried to snarl.
Halix just smiled.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Just... certain.
"Let's see what breaks first."
Behind her, the mirror cracked.