The Iron Bank of Londonium stood as a towering monument to wealth and influence, its marble pillars gleaming under the dim sunlight filtering through the polluted skies. But today, its halls were a warzone. Shouts of panic mixed with the deep, mechanical growls of Seeker soldiers as they stormed the building. Anton Vaeler, the head of the branch, sat slumped behind his massive oak desk, listening to the inevitable destruction inching closer.
The Seekers were unlike anything Anton had ever seen. The soldiers, specially designed by Eden's military science division, were living weapons. Standing eight feet tall, they moved with terrifying precision. Clad in black, seamless armor, they radiated raw power and efficiency. Stories about them circulated like myths: soldiers with enhanced strength, unmatched reflexes, and minds devoid of fear or hesitation. If even half the stories were true, Anton knew his guards never stood a chance.
The faint echoes of gunfire came from the lower levels, followed by the unmistakable screams of men being overpowered. Each blast marked another failed attempt to hold the invaders back. Soon, silence fell again—an ominous signal that the Seekers were making their way toward the heart of the bank. Anton leaned back in his leather chair, the cigarette in his hand burning down to a stub, leaving a tremor of ash on his tailored suit.
"Burn everything," he muttered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
The men and women huddled in the office sprang into action. Several high-ranking officials, bankers, and aides frantically fed document after document into the steel fireplace. The flames devoured ledgers, transaction records, and contracts, their embers glowing with each flicker of destroyed evidence. These weren't ordinary banking records—they contained the darkest secrets of the Iron Bank's dealings with Eden's emerging elite.
For years, the Iron Bank had discreetly funded human trafficking operations across several regions. The transactions were subtle, buried within layers of shell companies, legal loopholes, and anonymous accounts. But the profits had been immense, and many of Eden's nouveau riche were complicit. It had been a dangerous game, but one that had paid off—until now.
The Edenite government's values were absolute. Any form of human exploitation was treated as a grievous crime, with sentences ranging from life imprisonment to exile. If the documents detailing the Iron Bank's involvement were discovered, the fallout would be disastrous—not only for the Londonium branch but for the entire institution. Anton knew they were standing on the brink of annihilation, and the only way out was through fire.
"Get those ledgers in!" Anton barked as one of his aides hesitated with a bundle of papers clutched in trembling hands.
"Sir, it's—these are signed by—"
"I don't care who signed them! Burn everything!" Anton's voice cracked with desperation, his eyes glinting with fear.
The aide shoved the papers into the fire, watching as the flames consumed names and transactions too dangerous to leave behind. Every flicker of ash was a potential death sentence avoided, but Anton knew it wouldn't be enough. The Seekers were relentless. When they reached his office, they would find something—anything—unless they finished in time.
The heavy pounding on the barricaded door grew louder, the reinforced wood splintering under the force of the Seekers' battering rams. Chairs, desks, and cabinets pressed against the door groaned under the assault.
"They'll be through any moment," whispered Kald, Anton's deputy, his face pale as chalk.
Anton ignored him, focusing instead on the last batch of files. A transaction log linking the bank to traffickers in Norvos was tossed into the fire. It caught flame instantly, the ink bleeding away into nothingness. Anton let out a slow breath—one less piece of evidence to hang them all.
The door shuddered violently, the cracks in its frame spreading like spiderwebs. Soon it would collapse. He could almost hear the Seeker soldiers on the other side, their breathing steady and mechanical, their purpose clear. They would come for him, and when they did, there would be no negotiations, no explanations—only cold enforcement of Edenite law.
Kald looked toward Anton, panic in his eyes. "Sir, what do we do when they—"
"We surrender," Anton interrupted curtly, lighting a fresh cigarette with shaky hands. "The moment the door falls, we yield. But not before."
The pounding continued, relentless and unyielding. The guards outside the office had already been subdued, their weapons useless against the Seekers. Now it was only a matter of time.
Finally, with a deafening crash, the barricade gave way. The door splintered apart, and the massive forms of the Seeker soldiers filled the doorway. They stepped inside with eerie silence, their black visors reflecting the flickering firelight. The remaining officials in the room froze, their fear palpable.
The lead Seeker raised his weapon—a sleek, black rifle that hummed with contained power. "On your knees," the soldier commanded in a voice devoid of emotion, his tone final and unyielding.
Anton stood slowly, flicking his cigarette to the ground. He glanced around the room, taking in the faces of his colleagues—some pale with terror, others resigned to their fate. Then, with a slight nod, he lowered himself to his knees.
One by one, the others followed, their surrender silent and complete. The Seekers moved swiftly, cuffing them with mechanical precision. No words were exchanged; none were needed. The soldiers had no interest in explanations or pleas. Their mission was clear: close the bank and detain anyone who resisted.
As Anton was hauled to his feet and dragged from the office, he cast one last glance toward the smoldering fireplace. The most damning evidence was gone, reduced to ash. Without those documents, the investigators would find only ordinary records—routine transactions, harmless deposits, and standard loans.
Outside, the streets of Londonium were unnervingly quiet. The ornate façade of the Iron Bank stood cracked and scorched, a testament to the chaos that had unfolded within. The Eden Central Bank might have been shut down, but the Iron Bank had clung to its operations for too long—and now it paid the price.
As Anton was shoved into the back of a prisoner transport, he allowed himself a small, fleeting smile. The worst of it was behind them. The Seekers had won the battle, but the truth of the bank's crimes remained buried beneath layers of ash and deceit.
But as the transport rumbled through the streets, Anton's thoughts turned dark. Eden had a way of uncovering truths, no matter how deeply they were buried. The Inquisitors were relentless, and they had a reputation for finding secrets even in the most well-guarded places.
He leaned his head back against the cold metal of the transport and closed his eyes. They had survived for now, but the question lingered in his mind: For how long?