Epilogue

"Commander..."

A formless mass of darkness coalesced, twisting until a figure emerged—a man, draped in black-red garment. The dimly lit chamber around him exuded an air of refined elegance, its gothic splendor marked by towering obsidian pillars and flickering ethereal lanterns.

"Any news?"

The voice came from a figure lying within a grand coffin, its polished ebony surface adorned with intricate silver engravings. He did not stir, his eyes remaining closed even as the figure approached with measured steps.

"Silver has fallen..." the man responded, bowing deeply in reverence.

"I see..." The voice from the coffin remained detached, utterly indifferent. "And what of… 'It'?"

"We have its location," the man answered, his tone carrying the weight of significance.

"Good. Assemble a small unit—a single High Blood should suffice."

"Understood."

"...The Gyrods?"

"They have decided to grant us the final say in the matter."