The chamber was dimly lit, the golden glow of enchanted torches flickering against the ancient stone walls. Persini, a seasoned cleanser with over a century and a half of experience, stood by the arched window, staring into the vast darkness beyond the fortress. His fingers traced the hilt of his blade absentmindedly as he turned to Osini, his long-time companion and fellow elder.
"Have you heard what the witches are doing?" Persini asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and concern.
Osini exhaled deeply before responding. "I have. They now hide behind closed doors, whispering Lilith's name in reverence, chanting the names of the Four." He shook his head. "They must be mad if they think they can drag us back to the days of terror."
Persini nodded grimly. "Anything is possible, Osini. We've seen stranger things." He folded his arms. "I think it's time we gather the boys and begin the work. There's a prophecy about one who will come."
Osini scoffed, crossing the chamber and pouring himself a goblet of aged wine. "Same old tales, Persini. You still hold onto those bedtime stories?" He took a sip. "I'd rather take matters into my own hands than wait for some unseen savior."
Persini smiled knowingly. "That's unlike you. You used to have faith." He tilted his head. "What changed?"
Osini let out a dry chuckle. "Nothing changed. I grew up." He downed the rest of his drink. "Fairy tales don't keep men alive."
Persini laughed, shaking his head. "Change is constant, my friend, but we must remember that not all change is for the better. Some change seeks to destroy what we stand for." His expression turned serious. "If the myths of Lilly are true, then we need all the help we can get."
Osini sighed. "Even if the myth is true, how do we know who the chosen one is?"
Persini walked toward the center of the room, where a large, dust-covered tome lay open on the wooden table. He placed his hand on the brittle pages. "It is written in the Octet of Witches that the one to come will be from a strange fold."
Osini furrowed his brow. "A strange fold? What does that even mean?"
Persini shrugged. "I believe it means they will be from an unusual bloodline. Perhaps a different breed entirely. There's a fragment of the Octet stored in the Perches Dome. Manoa can help us decipher it."
Osini hesitated before nodding. "Fine. We split the boys into two groups—one joins us in the hunt, the other assists Manoa in retrieving the details from the Octet book." He clasped Persini's forearm. "The earlier, the better."
Persini returned the gesture. "As of old."
Osini smirked. "As of old."
---
Deep within the Perches Dome, Manoa, the esteemed keeper of knowledge, sat upon the ancient oak chair. The chair itself, carved from the sacred tree that symbolized unity among Warlocks, Vampires, and Werewolves, had been passed down from Spearhead to Spearhead for centuries. Only the leader of the Dome had the right to sit upon it, and Manoa bore that title with pride.
A young Perche hurried into the hall, bowing before Manoa and presenting him with a silver-plated communication crystal.
"Master, a message for you."
Manoa took the crystal and activated it, his deep voice echoing through the chamber. "Who seeks the voice of the Spearhead?"
A familiar voice crackled through. "It's Persini."
Manoa leaned forward, intrigued. "Ah, Persini! It has been some time since we last spoke. To what do I owe this call?"
"I need you to open the Octet of Witches," Persini stated firmly.
Manoa arched an eyebrow. "What exactly do you seek?"
"Not just what I seek—what we all seek," Persini corrected.
Manoa sighed, rubbing his temples. "What are you playing at, old man? You know better than to stir the embers of forgotten prophecies."
Persini's tone hardened. "The witches are worshipping Lilly again, preparing for the Half-Sun Day, the eclipse. They believe she will return, and they are searching for the Promised One. If we don't act first, they will."
A low chuckle rumbled from Manoa's throat. "So, you finally believe in those old tales? You sound like a child." He leaned back. "Weren't you there when Saul came back to life? Didn't you witness the resurrection?"
"I was," Persini admitted. "And I know you are not one of those who deny the power of resurrection."
Manoa's voice lowered. "No, I do not deny it. But it has been seventeen years. Why now?"
"I don't know," Persini confessed. "But the sooner you search the book, the better."
A long silence stretched between them. Then, Manoa exhaled. "Very well. I will put the boys to work."
He ended the call and turned to the apprentices standing at attention. "We have much to do."
The group moved swiftly through the Dome, entering the enchanted locker room where all ancient knowledge was stored. The moment they stepped inside, the space shifted, illusion magic distorting their perception. The room appeared to be a simple tavern, shelves lined with ordinary books and bottles of ale.
But Manoa knew better. He placed a hand on his forehead, closing his eyes to see beyond the illusion. When he opened them again, the true form of the locker room was revealed—endless rows of enchanted tomes, floating scrolls, and relics humming with power.
"Begin the search," Manoa commanded. "The Octet of Witches is bound in blackened leather, marked with silver runes. Find it before the witches do."
The young Perches scattered, their hands moving swiftly as they sifted through the magical archives.
---
Meanwhile, Osini stood outside the fortress, overseeing the warriors. His gaze fell on Radmart, a seasoned combat leader.
"Radmart, prepare the boys. We hunt at dawn."
Radmart nodded. "And the witches?"
"We hunt them, too," Osini said darkly. "Before it's too late."
As the night deepened, the fires of war burned once more.