The surface of the sea appeared calm, a serene facade that concealed the chaos brewing beneath.
Somewhere hidden away, beneath an artificial island that has never been marked on any map, a secret gathering is taking place.
As the elevator glided downward through sleek metal and dark stone, it felt as if time itself was elongating, five minutes stretching out until it finally halted with a soft hiss.
The doors slid open to reveal a vast chamber, a space shaped by historical hands and refined by advanced technology.
In the center of this expansive room floated a circular table crafted from black glass, its surface lined with delicate golden veins that pulsed like lifeblood.
Eleven chairs encircled the table,each uniquely designed, each emblazoned with the crest of families that had operated from the shadows for centuries. The Whitmore chair sparkled subtly under the lights, carved from obsidian.
