The fog clung to London like a shroud the next evening. It was thicker than the night before, almost sentient—swirling around streetlamps, muffling sound, turning every alley into a throat ready to swallow them whole. Lilith, Seraphina, and Irina moved through it on foot, coats buttoned high, hoods up, boots silent on wet cobblestones.
The visions had sharpened overnight.
Lilith had seen it clearly in the half-sleep after the ritual: an ancient library—not in some distant ruin, but beneath the city. Stone vaults. Shelves carved into bedrock. Books bound in skin and iron. A central chamber with a mosaic floor depicting coiled serpents and crowned figures. And at the heart of it, a pedestal holding a single, cracked obsidian mirror.
The mirror had called to her—silent, patient. When she'd looked into it in the dream, her reflection hadn't stared back. Instead, she'd seen Elena from the Mirror Order—younger, weeping over a body, silver veins just beginning to form. Then the reflection shifted: a crowned silhouette, eyes like dying stars, reaching through the glass.
She'd woken gasping, silver lines burning hot across her chest.
"We go tonight," she'd told the others. "Before the Sovereign sends something to stop us."
They followed the pull.
It led them to the edge of the old Roman city walls—remnants buried under modern streets near the Barbican. A forgotten maintenance hatch, rusted shut, half-hidden behind graffiti and overflowing bins. Seraphina pried it open with a crowbar she'd "borrowed" from a construction site. The hinges screamed like dying metal.
Inside: a narrow shaft dropping twenty feet into darkness. Iron rungs slick with condensation. They descended one by one—Irina first, gun drawn; Seraphina next, knife ready; Lilith last, the visions guiding her like a compass in her blood.
At the bottom: a tunnel. Brick arched ceiling, damp stone walls, the smell of centuries—mold, old paper, faint iron tang of blood long dried. Dim emergency strips flickered every fifty meters, courtesy of some forgotten utility company.
They walked for twenty minutes—downward sloping, twisting through forgotten maintenance corridors—until the bricks gave way to quarried stone. The air grew colder. The visions grew louder.
The tunnel ended at a sealed iron door—massive, etched with faded symbols: serpents eating their tails, crowned figures holding orbs of light. No handle. No lock.
Lilith placed her palm on the metal.
The silver veins on her hand flared. The door groaned—ancient mechanisms grinding—and swung inward on silent hinges.
Beyond: the library.
Vaulted ceilings lost in shadow. Shelves carved directly into the bedrock, stretching into darkness. Books—thousands—bound in leather, vellum, what might have been human skin. Scrolls sealed with wax and lead. Stone tablets inscribed with languages older than Latin. Candelabras of black iron held unlit candles that flickered to life as they stepped inside—flames blue-white, cold.
Irina whistled low. "This place shouldn't exist."
"It shouldn't," Seraphina agreed, voice hushed. "And yet."
Lilith walked forward—drawn to the center. The mosaic floor matched the vision: serpents coiling around a throne, crowned figures kneeling before it. At the far end: the pedestal. The obsidian mirror.
It was taller than she'd dreamed—six feet high, framed in blackened bone. Surface smooth, flawless, reflecting nothing yet.
She approached.
The others flanked her—Irina gun raised, Seraphina knife out.
Lilith reached out.
Her fingers brushed the glass.
The mirror rippled like water.
And the room changed.
Shadows peeled away from the walls—figures forming. Not demons. Women. Dozens. Silver-veined, eyes glowing crimson. Some in ancient robes, some in modern clothes. All staring at them.
One stepped forward—tall, dark-haired, features eerily like Lilith's own but older. She wore a tattered gown that might have been white once.
"You've come," the woman said. Voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "The first in centuries to reach this place without being summoned."
Lilith didn't flinch. "Who are you?"
"We are the First Circle," the woman answered. "The original daughters. The ones who broke the Sovereign's chains. We built this archive to preserve the truth—and to wait for those strong enough to finish what we began."
Seraphina glanced at the shelves. "Truth about what?"
The woman's gaze shifted to her. "The Sovereign was once one of us. A goddess of souls. She grew greedy. Began devouring her sisters' essence to grow stronger. She corrupted the gift—turned harvest into domination. Those who resisted were bound. Those who submitted became her lieutenants. The demons you fight are her children—born from stolen souls."
Irina's grip tightened on the gun. "And you?"
"We hid. We watched. We waited. The Mirror Order is our echo—cautious, surviving. But you…" The woman's eyes returned to Lilith. "You burn. You refuse to hide. That is why the Sovereign sees you clearest."
Lilith felt the pull again—stronger. "What do we need?"
The woman gestured to the shelves. "Knowledge. Rituals. Names of power. Weapons forged from harvested souls. But be warned: every page you read, every secret you take, draws his gaze closer. He will send more than scouts soon."
Seraphina stepped to a shelf—pulled a slim volume bound in black leather. Symbols glowed faintly on the cover. "This one… it feels like the ritual we did. Binding."
The woman nodded. "The Circle's first gift. Use it wisely. It can link more than three. It can make a true army."
Irina looked at the mirror. "And this?"
"The Obsidian Reflection," the woman said. "It shows truth. But look too long, and he looks back."
Lilith stared into the glass.
Her reflection stared back—but behind it, the crowned figure loomed. Closer now. Almost touching the glass from the other side.
She pulled away.
"We take what we can carry," she said. "Then we leave."
They moved fast—Seraphina grabbing the binding ritual book, Irina selecting a scroll marked with serpent symbols, Lilith taking a small iron dagger etched with runes that hummed when she touched it.
The First Circle watched—silent, fading.
As they turned to leave, the woman spoke one last time.
"Find Vesper," she said. "The scholar who guards the surface echo of this place. She has the map to the Sovereign's weak point. She waits in the British Library's restricted archives. Tell her the First Circle sends you."
The door sealed behind them as they exited.
The tunnel felt shorter on the way out—visions guiding them upward.
They emerged into fog-shrouded London just before dawn.
Irina tucked the scroll into her coat. "Vesper. British Library. Tonight?"
Lilith nodded. "Tonight. We need her knowledge. And if the Mirror Order won't join us… we'll take what they won't give."
Seraphina smiled—sharp, eager. "Then let's go wake a scholar."
Behind them, the hatch closed with a final, ancient click.
Above, the city woke—unaware.
Below, something ancient stirred—closer now.
The hunt had a new target.
And the Sovereign was watching.
End Chapter 10
Vesper introduced as the next recruitment target—mystic scholar guarding surface-level knowledge of the archive. The library hunt delivered visions, lore drop, artifacts, and a direct tie to the Sovereign's origins.
For Chapter 11: Shall we head straight to the British Library infiltration/recruitment of Vesper (with a tense heist-style scene and perhaps a Mirror Order ambush), or have a quick hunt/power-up interlude first to prepare? Let me know! 😈