Story 1129: Oath of the Masked Circle

The moon was a red coin in the sky—bleeding light across the old ruins of the Hollow Temple.

Beneath its gaze, thirteen figures stood in perfect formation. Cloaked in ash-grey robes, their faces hidden behind featureless white masks. Each bore a symbol carved into the mask’s forehead: a spiral, a flame, a fang, a fang in flame, and more—glyphs older than language.

This was the Masked Circle, and tonight, they were to swear the Oath of Binding.

Madame Grin watched from behind a cracked pillar, breath held like a coin in her throat. Her tavern walls had long whispered rumors of this night—a once-in-a-decade ritual where the cult renewed its covenant with the Hollow One. But no witness had ever lived to tell what truly happened.

She wasn’t here to watch.

She was here to kill one of them.