Chapter 16: The Gathering Storm
Victor strode through the grand, antique hallways of the Duskbane estate, each step resonating with authority. The weight of history seemed to press down on him. This was no ordinary home; this was the seat of power for one of the most ancient and feared families in the known world. The air inside the estate was heavy, filled with the whispers of centuries-old triumphs and secrets. Every artifact, every portrait that adorned the walls told a story of dominance and resilience.
The Duskbanes had been one of the founding members of "The Order," a mercenary organization feared and respected in equal measure. To outsiders, The Order was merely a collection of sellswords for hire, providing services ranging from personal bodyguards to assassinations. But to those within the inner circle, The Order was something far more sinister and significant, with a purpose so enigmatic that even its most trusted members only understood fragments of its true nature.
Victor clenched his fists as he approached the grand hall. The news he carried weighed heavily on him. He knew what this meeting meant. The Duskbanes had not called the Ten Seats together in over a decade. Today's gathering was more than a strategy session—it could shape the future of The Order itself.
---
The hall was vast and imposing, dominated by a round table carved from a single piece of obsidian. At its head sat Louis Duskbane, the patriarch of the family. His presence was magnetic, his aura one of raw, unyielding power. His silver hair glinted under the light of the grand chandelier, and his pitch-black eyes studied the room with an intensity that made even the bravest tremble.
Rumors surrounded him like a storm. Some claimed he was over a century old, his youthful appearance maintained by forbidden magic. Others whispered that his scars were earned not in battle but in rituals that bound unspeakable power to his being. Whatever the truth, one thing was certain: Louis Duskbane was not a man to be trifled with.
Flanking the table were the Ten Seats, cloaked figures who represented the upper echelons of the Duskbane family's power. Their faces were obscured, their identities hidden even from one another. They were bound by duty, their loyalty to the family absolute.
Louis's deep voice broke the silence.
"Victor," he said, his tone calm yet commanding. "For you to summon me and the Ten Seats, the matter must be grave."
Victor bowed deeply, his expression stoic.
"It is, my lord. The matter I bring today threatens not just the Duskbane family but the very existence of The Order."
The atmosphere shifted, the weight of Victor's words settling over the room like a shroud. Louis's expression remained composed, but a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—crossed his face.
"Speak," he commanded.
Victor began his report, his voice steady but filled with urgency. He spoke of the assassination attempt on Elyra, the movements within The Order that suggested treachery, and the troubling possibility that other families were conspiring against the Duskbanes.
As he spoke, the room grew colder, the tension palpable. When he finished, silence reigned. Then, slowly, a crimson aura began to emanate from Louis. It was his mana, raw and unrestrained, a physical manifestation of his fury. The very air seemed to vibrate with power, and Victor felt his heart quicken.
Around the table, the Ten Seats reacted in kind. Their own mana flared, each color unique to its wielder. Orange, yellow, and shades of green danced in the dim light, a testament to the sheer strength gathered in the room.
Victor remained unfazed, his years of serving the Duskbanes giving him the fortitude to withstand the oppressive energy.
"My lord," he said, his voice unwavering, "what do you suggest?"
Louis closed his eyes for a moment, his aura receding as he regained control. The others followed his lead, the room slowly returning to a semblance of calm. Finally, Louis opened his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable.
"It seems the time for 'The Century's Champion' has come," he said, his voice heavy with resolve.
Gasps echoed around the table. The Ten Seats exchanged uneasy glances, though their expressions were hidden beneath their masks. The figure closest to Louis on his right finally spoke, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"But, my lord, invoking 'The Century's Champion' would mean..."
"I am well aware of what it means," Louis interrupted sharply. "But this is the only course of action. To root out the traitors within The Order, we must take drastic measures. The other pillars will not oppose this—they will see it as an opportunity to advance their own agendas. And that is precisely why they will agree."
The protest died on the speaker's lips. The room fell silent once more, the weight of Louis's words settling over them like a heavy fog.
After a long pause, Louis spoke again, his voice softer but no less authoritative.
"Have faith in me, as you always have."
The Ten Seats bowed their heads in unison.
"We have never doubted you, my lord," they intoned.
Louis's gaze softened, his anger replaced by determination. Turning to Victor, he asked, "And what of Elyra?"
Victor's stern demeanor softened for the first time.
"Miss Elyra has agreed to return, my lord," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.
Louis's expression brightened, a rare smile gracing his lips.
"Good," he said. Then, turning to the ninth seat, he commanded, "You are currently the least occupied. Go and ensure Elyra's safe return."
The ninth seat rose, bowing deeply.
"Understood, my lord."
Satisfied, Louis leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.
"This meeting is adjourned," he declared.
---
Present day
Florence Village
Meanwhile, in a small, dimly lit room far from the grandeur of the Duskbane estate, Sylas groaned as he finally regained consciousness. The pain from the shattered pearl had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced, leaving him trembling and weak. Slowly, he sat up, his head pounding.
His gaze fell on his wrist, where his ring glinted faintly in the dim light. Half of its violet hue had lightened, the new shade shimmering as though alive. Something about it felt... different.
Instinctively, Sylas reached out with his mana, channeling it toward the ring. The lighter half began to glow, and to his astonishment, mana surged into his palm. A sphere of energy formed, growing larger and larger until it was the size of a child's head.
Sylas stared at it, his breath caught in his throat. The sheer power was intoxicating, overwhelming even. But before he could react, the sphere flickered and dissipated, leaving him gasping for air.
He glanced at the ring again, the faint glow fading as his mana reserves depleted. Despite his exhaustion, a small smile tugged at his lips.
For the first time, he had wielded the power of his ring. He had tasted its potential.
And he wanted more.