Chapter 25 - "The Crescent Table II"
The gravity of that handshake still hung in the air.
Raven and Mavran—two storms that walked without the need for thunder to precede them—had just sized one another up. No swords bared. No shouting. Yet every soul within the chamber experienced the collision like a quiet bomb going off.
Now, silence wasn't absence.
It was aftermath.
The chamber did not echo.
It watched.
Obsidian glass and mirrored crystal walls reflected the seated figures around the crescent table, warping light like truth under examination. The dome above was black as coal, except for thin slices of sunlight refracting off the glossy black.
No one moved.
Not even the air.
Julius Treign, dressed in robes woven with arcane symbols and precision, sat at his assigned seat—fingers clasped, face unreadable, eyes razor-sharp.
To his right, Thalassa Wynne settled a golden cuff with regal elegance, each strike of her fingers against the obsidian as deliberate as a metronome before a symphony of choice.
Opposite them, Rovan Dusk sat like a monolith—arms folded, face chiseled from discipline, every blink a surveillance procedure.
Sorin Veltre lounged in his chair like a man reading three parallel timelines simultaneously. Behind his glasses, something sparkled—amusement, perhaps. Or anticipation.
Phantom stood stock-still, standing just behind him, posture military-straight, hands clasped behind his back. Watching. Calculating.
And at the head of the table—Mavran Valchev.
One elbow lay carelessly on the armrest. Fingers stroked his lower lip as if he were still tasting the flavor of Raven's aura, still playing an orchestra that only he could hear.
He hadn't said a word since that line—"Shall we begin the meeting now?"
But that line still lingered.
It was Thalassa who finally broke the silence.
"I believe we're all here for one reason."
A flick of her wrist, and the table lit up with a hovering hologram—bright, crisp, and lethal.
The auction.
A hologram bloomed above—a record of the auction. Not the entire thing. Just the moment Aspen bid on the relic—and the ceiling erupted.
The ceiling caving in.
Aspen reaching for the relic.
The forms of the intruders descended from the darkness like choreographed chaos, their gold wiring glinting off black.
Controlled chaos.
Phantom remained still.
But Sorin inched closer, ever so.
"Let's not play games," Julius spoke, his voice smooth as velvet laced with venom. "That was no accident."
Rovan grunted. "The entire auction was sealed tighter than a war bunker. For them to break in at that exact moment?"
His gaze flicked toward Sorin.
"Your people were bidding too."
Sorin didn't lose his smile. "Yes. And we lost. Quite gracefully, might I add."
"But you were still standing. So were the others." Julius folded his hands. "Yet… none reacted. Almost as if you knew it would happen."
Another silence.
Then Mavran finally spoke, his tone as still as a mountain and just as unshakeable.
"Let's talk about the thief."
It was as if they'd changed topics.
But Phantom noted how all those eyes strayed fractionally.
It wasn't a change.
It was a restart.
"I assume none of you believe this was an impromptu robbery," Mavran continued. "Not with that timing. Not when it providentially diverted Aspen's moment of triumph."
Thalassa snorted softly. "A 300 billion credit relic. And it vanished into thin air."
"No." Julius cut in, voice low. "It was never about the relic."
He leaned back, voice heavy with implication.
"It was about Aspen."
Slow murmurs of agreement swept around the table.
The eyes of Mavran narrowed, though not in shock.
Phantom, still with folded arms, finally moved—forward, as quiet as a ghost.
Sorin didn't stop him.
Didn't even glance.
"You're saying someone wanted Aspen to bleed."
"Not just bleed," Thalassa corrected. "To be humiliated."
"Or exposed," Phantom finally spoke. His voice, smooth yet cold, made Rovan blink—not from fear, but alertness. "Whoever did this knew the auction was just a mask. The real bid wasn't for the artifact."
"It was for reputation," Sorin added, tipping his glasses. "And Aspen was forced to pay full price."
Mavran leaned in, fingers steepled now.
"Then the real question remains… Who would benefit most from that?"
No one answered.
Because in that room, each and every one of them already had someone in mind.
And each of them suspected the others.
The lights dimmed a little as the main council hologram faltered out, to be followed by a private directive screen.
Mavran glanced toward the two figures standing side by side—Phantom, the wolf-masked enigma shrouded in measured silence… and Raven, arms folded, cloak rustling slightly as she leaned into the light.
"Two agents. One objective," Mavran said, tapping the table twice. "Aspen."
A virtual projection of Aspen Technology's main headquarters lay out before them—a great citadel of reflective glass and living metal, soaring monorails, and level upon level of biometric security systems.
The kind of place that shouldn't be touched.
And here they were.
Mavran addressed Phantom first. "You'll do the lead on infiltration. Ghost it—deep scans, data taps, personnel mapping. We want dirt. Real dirt. Everything they've covered up."
Phantom's voice was almost casual. "No alarms. No footprints. No suspicion."
"Exactly," Mavran nodded. "We're not attacking them. We're exposing them."
He then looked at Raven.
"And you'll be shadowing the operation from the outside. No unnecessary interference, but…"
He trailed off.
Raven cracked her knuckles softly. "If anyone bites, I bite back. Got it."
"No," Sorin interrupted smoothly, his tone laced with amusement. "If anyone bites, you break their jaw and hand them their teeth in a velvet bag."
A few quiet laughs passed around the room. But Raven just tilted her head.
"Classy."
Mavran folded his arms behind his back, voice crisp. "Your mission begins at dawn. A GMA sub-vessel will drop you off near Haven's Edge. From there, you proceed solo. No further contact unless necessary."
"And if I find something worse than we expect?" Phantom asked.
"Bring it back. Quietly."
Raven smirked. "And if it's not quiet?"
"Then make sure it's beautiful."
The council fell silent once more.
Two predators. One hunting in silence.The other watching from the dark, waiting to strike.
Mavran's eyes glinted under the overhead light as he stepped back.
"Dismissed."
The corridor outside the council chamber was empty—silent except for the faint hiss of hydraulic doors closing behind them.
Phantom walked ahead, his presence calm yet heavy, each step measured.Raven followed, her pace slower, as if letting the tension settle between them like dust in moonlight.
They stopped.
A single shaft of cool light from above caught the gleam of their masks—wolf and raven—two apex hunters standing on different ends of the same battlefield.
Phantom turned his head slightly. Just enough.
Raven mirrored the gesture. Neither said a word.
For a moment, it almost looked like the masks were staring each other down.But beneath them… it was just a man looking at his own reflection—split, compartmentalized.
Both broken.
Both whole.
Raven gave a small nod, and Phantom turned away.
They walked in opposite directions.
Silently.
Cleanly.
Like ghosts going home.
Meanwhile…
Interior – Mavran's Car
Rain tapped against the black window of a sleek diplomatic car parked beneath the steel towers of Zyphorion's government sector. Mavran sat alone in the back seat, staring blankly at his gloved hands.
He exhaled.
Then slowly reached up—his fingers curled under his chin—and peeled away something thin.
A face mask. Hyper-realistic. Biometric.
The illusion slid off with a soft hiss, revealing a more tired, lined face underneath—one with sharper eyes, older… wiser… and quieter.
Mavran stared out the window, watching droplets trail down glass like thoughts he couldn't hold onto anymore.
"Tch…"
He tapped his temple once.
"My senses… they're dulling. I'm getting too old for this."
A soft chuckle.
"I almost believed they were two people…"
He leaned his head back and muttered under his breath with a wry smile.
"Well played… Phantom."