Chapter 15: A Gathering of Shadows
"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places."
— Ephesians 6:12, The Holy Bible
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A void without shape, depth, or light.
Here, existence itself was uncertain.
The gathered figures did not sit, did not stand—such concepts did not apply to them. They were not bound by form, nor by time. They simply were, flickering between the edges of reality, manifesting in ways the mortal mind could not comprehend.
And yet, despite their immense power, none of them spoke freely.
Not now.
Not when the discussion was about her.
"A Nascent Eridian."
The words were uttered, weighty and cold. No embellishments. No dramatics. Just fact.
Even among them, the name Eridian was spoken carefully. They were not gods. They were not demons. They were something other, something that should not exist and yet did.
"She is incomplete."
"She is unstable."
"She is dangerous."
That was the crux of their concern. Not what she was, but what she could become.
And that terrified them.
The discussion continued in whispers, each voice layered with centuries of knowledge, calculations, and fear. They spoke of previous disturbances, of ancient calamities barely contained, of entities that had emerged and unraveled reality simply by being.
Then the void trembled.
Something else was here.
The figures fell silent.
It was neither seen nor heard. It simply was, pressing into the gathering with an unspoken authority. A force beyond them, beyond understanding. It was not one of them.
It was one of her kind.
A fully formed Eridian.
None dared move. None dared speak.
The command resonated through them, not in words, but in something deeper—an understanding carved into the very foundation of their being.
"Do not interfere in their matters."
And then it was gone.
Silence.
When it left, the tension in the void loosened, but only slightly. Some flickered violently, their agitation almost tangible. Others remained eerily still, their silence carrying more weight than words.
Finally, someone exhaled.
"Arrogant creature."
The bitterness was sharp.
"One day, they will overstep," another murmured.
And when they did—when an Eridian finally crossed a line too far—what then?
No one answered.
Instead, the discussion shifted.
A secondary disturbance.
"The boy."
A pause.
"Zane."
A mortal. And yet, despite his insignificance, he had drawn their attention.
Why?
Because he had been investigating her.
He had been circling too closely, asking too many questions, prying where he had no place to. That alone was enough to concern them. But what was worse—what truly unsettled them—was that he was not acting on behalf of any faction, any authority.
He was doing this on his own.
No orders. No directives.
Just curiosity.
And curiosity in the wrong places had consequences.
"He is not normal."
That statement settled heavily over them.
Mortals were insignificant, fragile things. But occasionally—very rarely—one of them became a problem.
And Zane was becoming a problem.
Too persistent. Too perceptive. Too close.
"Shall we remove him?" one voice asked.
"A clean execution."
"No."
The voice that cut through the gathering was like a blade, sharp and final.
It came from one of them.
But unlike the others, this one was still. Unmoving.
Unshaken.
The shadows rippled.
"He is of my bloodline."
The weight behind those words was absolute.
Not because of sentiment. Not because of attachment.
Because of pride.
Among beings like them, bloodlines held little value. Mortals obsessed over lineage, over inheritance, over legacy. But for them, what mattered was face. Honor.
To allow a descendant of their own to be discarded like a common pest was unacceptable.
"You may teach him a lesson."
A pause.
"You may maim him."
A longer pause.
"But you will not kill him."
Finality. Unchallenged. Absolute.
Because to kill Zane would not simply be an execution.
It would be an insult.