The Council Hall of the Shadow Empire was carved into the heart of a mountain — a cathedral of obsidian and silence. Its spires rose through the mist, jagged and eternal, catching the faint pulse of crimson moonlight that bled through the veil. Within its walls, power gathered like a living storm.
Twelve seats encircled the center dais, each belonging to one of the elder bloodlines — ancient houses bound by oath, ambition, and centuries of mistrust. Tonight, all twelve were filled.
The air was heavy with unease.
"Valerian's disappearance cannot be dismissed as coincidence," rasped Elder Maeron, his voice sharp as stone. "Two veil crossings in a single night? He should've been dust. And yet, the former Lord shields him — as if the boy carries something too valuable to lose."
Across the table, Elder Saphine leaned forward, her silver eyes gleaming. "The whispers say he crossed into the mortal realm again. Unmarked. Unsanctioned. And the Veil's record shows a pulse — a resonance."
"Resonance?" someone muttered. "With what?"
"With someone," Saphine replied, her voice low. "Someone bearing the mark of the old blood."
The hall fell into murmurs. Even among the Council, the phrase carried weight — the old blood, Alexander's bloodline. The dynasty that once ruled before the Shadow Empire itself had risen. A name whispered only in prophecy and curse.
Elder Maeron slammed his cane against the stone. "Blasphemy. That line was extinguished ages ago."
"Are you certain?" Saphine countered. "Leo's last vision spoke otherwise."
The mention of Leo's name silenced the room. The prophet of the Council — their seer and curse — was rarely invoked aloud.
After a tense pause, the High Chancellor finally spoke. "If Leo's prophecy holds truth, then the blood of Alexander would rise again only to bind the fate of the next Lord of Shadows." His gaze sharpened. "And if Valerian has crossed paths with that mortal… we may already be too late."
Saphine's smile was thin as glass. "The former Lord hides too much. His son's collapse, the sealed reports, the falsified accounts of border patrol injuries — I've seen the marks. He bleeds veil energy, not steel."
"Then investigate," Maeron hissed. "If Valerian endangers the realm, we cannot allow sentiment to cloud our judgment."
The Chancellor raised a hand. "No direct action. Not yet. The former Lord's influence runs deep — to challenge him openly is to fracture the Empire."
"But we will watch," Saphine said softly. "Every move. Every shadow. Every whisper." Her eyes glowed faintly. "And if the prophecy dares to unfold beneath his roof, we will ensure it bends to the Council's will."
As the session adjourned, the torches dimmed, their light twisting like serpents against the black marble. One by one, the elders vanished into their private paths — except Saphine. She lingered, her fingers tracing the carved seal at the center of the dais.
The sigil flared briefly — the ancient mark of Alexander.
Her smile deepened. "So the blood still breathes…" she whispered. "And the heir bleeds for her."
Far across the empire, within the sealed chamber of the former Lord, Valerian stirred in his sleep — the bond between him and Shyla pulsing faintly, as if the prophecy itself had heard the Council's plotting and responded with quiet defiance.