"The world has tipped into chaos."
Mr. Dog leaned forward, his expression grim, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken catastrophes. "Think about it. Tools of unimaginable power, are no longer monitored or controlled. A single high-tier tool in the wrong hands could level a city. An Artifact could tip the balance of power between nations overnight. The Vanguard wasn't just tracking tools they were the dam holding back chaos."
He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle, then continued with a slow nod. "Exactly. Without their oversight, tools will flood black markets, governments will rearm, and rogue factions will rise. Wars won't be fought with armies anymore but with unchecked magical devastation. And when that happens..." He trailed off, his silence more ominous than any words could be.
Ithri's thoughts churned. Tools unbound, chaos unleashed. The fall of the throne doesn't just mark their defeat. It spells the world's unraveling.
Mr. Dog's voice broke through his reverie, steady yet piercing. "But you forget Akina and the Church don't depend solely on the Silver Vanguard or the throne of Horus. Even without that Artifact, they remain the most powerful force in the world."
Leaning back, he fixed Ithri with a pointed gaze. "From the dawn of time, they've been amassing tools. I can say with confidence that they control two-thirds of all tools in existence. And these aren't mere trinkets. We're talking high-tier tools and Artifacts powerful enough to shape futures or end them."
Ithri frowned, the weight of that claim settling on his chest. Two-thirds of the tools... enough to subjugate the world or forge an unassailable empire.
"But even with all that power," Ithri said, his tone cautious, "they still lost the throne of Horus. Doesn't that prove they're not invincible?"
Mr. Dog's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Not invincible, no. But don't mistake one failure for weakness. They've endured for centuries adapting, thriving, enforcing their dominance. Losing the throne is a blow, but it's far from the end of their reign."
Ithri nodded, though unease gnawed at him. Even with their strength, cracks are forming. If one Artifact could slip through their grasp, what else might follow?
He sat quietly for a minute, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of insight. The stakes were staggering, but one thing was clear he had to keep moving forward.
Finally, Ithri broke the stillness, his voice steady and deliberate. "My third question," he began, locking eyes with Mr. Dog, "what's the Church's next move? How do they plan to regain control after losing the throne of Horus?"
Mr. Dog's eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned back, his lips curling into an inscrutable smile. "I invoke my right," he said, his tone calm yet resolute. "I will not answer."
Ithri inclined his head, his expression carefully neutral. Inside, however, his thoughts churned. Interesting.
Two possibilities, he mused. First, he knows exactly what their next move is but doesn't want to tell me fair enough, considering the risks. Second... he's bluffing. He doesn't know and doesn't want to expose that weakness.
His gaze lingered on Mr. Dog, searching for subtle cracks in his facade. Either way, his refusal says more than silence ever could.
Breaking the tension, Mr. Dog rose from his seat, his tone brisk and dismissive. "Our contract ends here. See you next time."
Before he could leave, Ithri raised a hand. "Wait. One last thing about the next meeting. What's the agenda? I'm new to all this, and I'd prefer not to step on toes."
Mr. Dog paused, turning back with an arched brow. "The agenda? Simple. The club gathers once a week two days from now. But here's the twist: you can show up whenever you want. No set time, no expectations."
Ithri frowned. "So, it's just... random?"
"Pretty much," Mr. Dog replied with a casual shrug. "Like today. I dropped in for fun and found pirates and Phinx lounging around. It's always a gamble."
"Sounds... delightful," Ithri muttered, his voice laced with dry sarcasm.
"Anything else? Or can we wrap this up?" Mr. Dog's tone was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"That's all," Ithri said, his tone flat but his eyes sharp as they lingered on the enigmatic figure before him.
Without another word, Mr. Dog's form unraveled, dissolving into strands of shadow and flickering light. The faint scent of ozone lingered in the air where he had stood moments before.
For a long moment, Ithri remained motionless, staring at the now-empty space. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the back of his hand. There, the faint outline of a four-star shape shimmered softly, its lines pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
----
In a castle perched on the far side of the mountain, where the rich and powerful of New Atlantis resided, a girl stirred from sleep.
She was nineteen, with fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like molten copper. Her sharp features carried the unmistakable elegance of her lineage, a legacy etched into every graceful line of her face. Elira Izem, the oldest granddaughter of the formidable patriarch Izem himself, bore a name synonymous with power and reverence across the land.
The first light of dawn crept through arched windows, spilling soft hues of gold and pink over the cold stone walls. Outside, the sprawling gardens lay in shadow, their intricate hedges gilded by the morning sun, and beyond, the waters of New Atlantis shimmered faintly, reflecting the awakening sky.
Elira sat up slowly, sleep clinging to her limbs as her gaze drifted toward the horizon. The morning had arrived, bringing with it the relentless weight of expectation and the fleeting promise of opportunity.
A quiet creak broke the stillness. The chamber door opened, revealing a young maid with a neatly braided crown of brown hair. Her uniform, crisp and pristine, bore the Izem family crest. In her hands was a silver tray carrying a porcelain teacup and a folded letter sealed with wax.
"Good morning, Lady Elira," the maid greeted softly, her voice careful and deferent. She bowed low before approaching. "Your tea and today's correspondence."
Elira acknowledged her with a nod, her gaze lingering on the distant horizon. "Leave it by the window, Mara."
The maid obeyed, setting the tray on the polished table with measured precision. Her movements were steady, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity. She bowed once more and exited, leaving Elira to the quiet hum of the castle awakening around her.
Elira reached for the letter, her fingers brushing over the wax seal a mark of duty, responsibility, and expectation. She hesitated, the weight of her family's legacy pressing down on her as if it were embedded in the very stone of the castle.
Her thoughts darkened. The Succession War has begun.
As her grandfather Izem's years stretched thin, fractures within the family deepened. Queen Morina, her aunt, moved with the precision of a serpent, while her uncle Axel wielded his influence with the force of a sledgehammer. Each saw Elira not as an ally, but as an obstacle in their race for supremacy.
Elira set her jaw. I'm not ready. Not yet.
To secure her place, she needed more than the grace her lineage bestowed or the ambition she harbored. She needed an edge, something to make her indispensable in Izem's eyes.
Her thoughts wandered two nights prior, to the shadowy black market beneath the city. She had gone in search of a giant mercenary someone she believed could tip the scales in her favor. What she found instead had been far more extraordinary.
A book.
Not just any book, but one of the seven legendary tomes, written by an enigmatic figure shrouded in mystery. Each book was said to hold secrets capable of reshaping the world. The first laid the foundations of the modern Knights. The fifth had birthed the deadliest assassins in history. Now, the third was within her grasp a treasure that could grant her power, wealth, and influence beyond imagination.
With this book, she thought, I can forge something unparalleled. But I must tread carefully. This could be my chance to surpass them all.
Determined, she had sent word to the elusive author, requesting a meeting a bold move, considering the mythic nature of the man and his works. She had expected silence or refusal. Instead, the letter in her hand now held his reply.
Her breath caught as she broke the seal, her eyes scanning the elegant script:
Your request is granted. However, the meeting will take place under specific conditions.
Elira set the letter down, her heart racing. The prospect of meeting the man behind the books a figure who had shaped the destinies of empires filled her with equal parts exhilaration and dread. Yet she knew this was an opportunity she could not afford to squander.
Her gaze returned to the horizon, the rising sun casting its golden light over the land. Somewhere out there, the path to her future awaited if she dared to seize it.