Chapter 2: The Council of Masks
[One Day Before the Incident]
In a grand hall, high on a balcony, sat five figures cloaked in white robes so ethereal they seemed woven from angelic wings, outlined with sharp red accents. Each figure exuded an overwhelming aura that paralyzed the four young men kneeling below them. These men, no older than eighteen, dared not move a muscle under the weight of such oppressive power.
The elders' identities were concealed behind masks, each shaped to resemble a creature: a wolf, a snake, a crocodile, a raven, and at the center—the Grand Elder—adorned a mask of a hawk. These elders were revered as beings closer to God than God Himself, worshiped by the assassins in the order that they had full control of.
Among the kneeling boys was one who refused to bow mentally to this reverence. To him, these so-called divine beings were merely animals with the fortune of godlike power. This boy, known as Azazel, bore something rare among their kind—a name—a possession so unique in the order it marked him as someone of potential that end the end was nothing more than a useless mistake. Yet, he felt nothing but contempt for these masked figures.
Azazel's brooding thoughts were interrupted by the hissing voice of the Snake Elder.
"You four," the Snake began, his words dripping with venom, "are among the children we graciously took under our wings. Raised, nurtured, and yet deemed unworthy by the world to wield magic."
The Crocodile Elder spoke next, his tone commanding. "You will be tasked with assassinating a merchant of the merchants guild who has been deemed a threat. Your mission: retrieve a letter addressed to one Rhyland Silvers. Fail, and your worthlessness is confirmed. Succeed, and you may earn the right to truly join the Order as assassins and even earn yourselves a name."
The Raven Elder's voice followed, calm yet calculated. "Consider this an opportunity. Not only to serve the Order that took in you orphans but to contribute to its grand vision. Rejoice in the chance to prove yourselves."
Excitement stirred among the boys at these words, except for Azazel, who saw through the facade. The elders' honeyed encouragement was nothing more than propaganda aimed to support these twisted organizations' ideas.
Finally, the Wolf Elder's voice cut through, cloaked in feigned warmth but hiding disdain. "Azazel, you shall lead this mission. Despite your lack of magical talent, you possess a name—an asset that sets you apart from the others."
Azazel's lip curled in disdain. A name, something even a pet could possess, was heralded as his only worth. Still, he forced himself to bow, his gaze locked on the floor as he replied.
"Yes, esteemed elders. We shall complete this mission flawlessly."
The Grand Elder, seated at the center, raised a hand to silence the room.
"You are dismissed," he commanded.
Azazel felt a wave of relief wash over him. Leaving the suffocating presence of these self-appointed gods was a reprieve. In his heart, he held an unshakable truth: no god ruled this world.
.......
After the boys departed, the elders began their private deliberations.
"Have all arrangements been made to pin this on the Flameworth family?" the Raven Elder inquired, his tone sharp and expectant.
"Yes," the Snake Elder hissed. "The client will be most pleased with the results of this… unfortunate accident."
"Good," growled the Crocodile Elder. "Not only will we fulfill the contract, but we'll rid ourselves of the waste polluting the Order's ranks."
As the elders conversed, the Wolf Elder turned his attention to the shadows behind him, where a figure loomed silently.
"Actaeon," the Wolf began, his voice low and filled with menace, "ensure there are no… complications with this mission. You know the consequences if anything goes awry."
The figure in the shadows stepped forward, a cocky smile playing on his lips. He nodded confidently.
"Yes, Master," Actaeon replied.