Chapter 9

Three days later, deep within his private estate, the leader sat alone in his chamber, the weight of impending confrontation pressing against him. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and candle wax, the glow of a single lantern flickering against the polished wood of his desk. He ran a gloved hand across the surface, his fingers tracing the jagged edge of a letter opener—an unconscious habit formed in moments of deep thought.

The room was silent, yet his mind roared with unrelenting calculations. This meeting was unlike any before. He had summoned the most powerful figures across the known world, each with their own interests, suspicions, and buried agendas. To them, he was nothing more than a village leader, a minor force in a game of empires. That would change. It had to.

His grip tightened around the small metallic container before him. It was cold against his palm, a reminder of the force that had wiped Abatus from existence. The sight of it had unsettled even him. A death with no body, no remains—just an absence, as if the man had never existed at all. He exhaled sharply, steadying himself. They would mock him. Dismiss him. He would not let them.

His eyes flicked to the clock on the far wall. Almost time.

Rising to his feet, he crossed the room to the far end, where a wall of ancient doors stood, each one leading to a place few had the privilege of knowing. He selected the third door on the right, pausing for just a moment before hurling the blue substance from the container onto its surface. The liquid shimmered unnaturally, devouring the wood like a living thing.

He stepped through.

On the other side, he emerged into a vast chamber bathed in dim light. The room, carved from black stone, had no natural entrances—only the dozen portals lining the walls, shimmering as figures stepped through one by one. Leaders from across the world, each arriving through their own means. Each passageway remained open behind them, waiting. It was a meeting of power, of strategy, and, often, of concealed hostility.

In the center of the room stood a young woman. She had long blonde hair cascading down her back in intricate braids, her green eyes scanning the arrivals. She wore a high-collared white coat adorned with silver threads, and despite her delicate features, there was something cold about her presence. Her fingers drummed idly against her wrist as she waited for the last few leaders to step through.

A faint hum filled the air as the portals stabilized. A few leaders exchanged glances but said nothing. The woman in white, however, frowned.

"The meeting will last ten minutes," she announced, her voice smooth but unwavering. She scanned the room before narrowing her eyes. "We are missing attendees."

Her gaze flicked from one leader to the next. "As always, we will confirm attendance. When I call your name and title, state your presence."

One by one, they responded.

"Ikaris, Sovereign of Ironclad." The man who spoke was a towering figure clad in dark gray armor, the edges decorated with golden etchings. His face was partially hidden behind a metal mask, but his piercing blue eyes gleamed beneath it. "Present."

"Veyla, Matriarch of Draswen Village." A woman dressed in thick furs and leather, her silver hair cut short, her expression unreadable. "Present."

"Rudrek, Lord of Crimson Citadel." Silence followed. No answer. The woman in white clicked her tongue in irritation. "Absent."

"Cenric, Governor of Hollowmere." A wiry man with sunken cheeks, his long brown coat swaying as he adjusted his gloves. He nodded toward the others. "Present."

The roll call continued, each name bringing a different face. There was Zareth, the laughing ruler of the coastal town of Hadris, always leaning too casually on his cane. Myria, the queen of the secluded kingdom of Eldenmere, her black-and-gold robes flowing like liquid.

Finally, the woman's gaze landed on him.

"Tace, leader of Ravengarde Village," she paused, tilting her head slightly, as if examining him anew. "State your presence."

He exhaled. "Present."

Five seats remained empty. The absence of the leaders of Solmere, Solrune, Black Hollow, Veylan, and Crimson Citadel was noted. The room felt heavier for it.

The blonde woman's expression tightened. "Now, explain why you summoned this meeting."

Tace took a breath, his voice firm. "Two critical events have occurred. The yearly competition in my village was held as scheduled. The winner was Abatus. He is now dead."

Some leaders barely reacted, but a few exchanged glances.

"He was killed by a black explosion. It did not simply harm him. It consumed him. His body disappeared within minutes, leaving nothing but an outline of where he had been."

Myria narrowed her eyes. "A weapon?"

"We don't know."

Tace let the words settle before continuing. "That's not all. Silas, the demon, has escaped. And he is responsible for Abatus's death."

The room stirred at that. Some leaders frowned. Others smirked. And one, Zareth, burst into laughter.

"Don't tell me you're scared of a random rogue," he chuckled. "You villages always did have weak stomachs."

Tace's jaw tightened. "Do not underestimate Silas."

Ikaris of Ironclad scoffed. "A village leader warning us? That's rich." A few others snickered, but before the taunts could escalate, a voice cut through the noise.

"This isn't a joke." The speaker was Cenric, the governor of Hollowmere. His voice was quiet but carried weight. "If a man can kill without leaving a trace, if a force like this exists, then we should be concerned."

Tace stepped forward, raising his voice. "This isn't something we can ignore. Silas isn't just another rogue. He orchestrated Abatus's death, and his power is growing. We must act now. Close our borders, restrict unknown visitors—if we don't, we'll be dealing with a catastrophe."

The gathered leaders exchanged glances. Ikaris scoffed, folding his arms. "You expect us to lock down entire kingdoms over a single death? The affairs of a village are not my concern."

Myria, however, seemed thoughtful. "Tace, if what you say is true, Silas may be dangerous. But widespread border closures would cause chaos. Our people rely on trade, travel—panic could do more harm than good."

Zareth snickered. "Let him run scared. His village can barricade itself in if it wants. My town thrives on commerce. I won't suffocate it over this."

Tace gritted his teeth. "This isn't paranoia. The black explosion that killed Abatus is unlike anything we've seen. If it spreads—if Silas uses it again—"

The blonde woman raised a hand, silencing him. Her green eyes held no warmth. "Enough. I see no reason to waste my time on this. Silas is an irritation, not a crisis."

Tace's fingers clenched, his nails digging into his palm. She refuses to see the danger. Arrogance, or calculated dismissal? His voice was razor-edged. "You think he's just a rogue. But if you don't act now, when he strikes next, it won't be in some village—it'll be in your kingdoms."

The blonde woman's lips curled slightly, amusement flickering across her face. "You speak as if you understand the weight of governance, Tace. But a village leader knows nothing of ruling nations."

Tace stepped forward, his pulse hammering. "And you speak as if you know what it's like to watch a man dissolve into nothing—erased like he was never there! How many more will vanish before you listen?"

For the first time, the blonde woman hesitated. Her eyes flickered—only for a second—but it was enough. A crack in the impenetrable ice of her demeanor. She wasn't expecting that. Good.

She straightened, recovering quickly. "Fear does not dictate governance, Tace. We do not make policies based on emotion."

Tace's hands curled into fists. "Emotion? I watched a man disappear! Not die. Not bleed. Disappear. His very existence wiped away, and you call that emotion? You talk of governance, but tell me, what good is your rule if your people start vanishing before your eyes?"

A murmur spread through the room. Some leaders nodded subtly, others shifted uncomfortably. Zareth, who had been lounging in amusement, sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. Damn. Maybe this fool actually has a point.

The blonde woman's jaw tightened. She inhaled slowly, her expression cool but rigid, as though she were forcing herself to remain unbothered. "Then tell me, Tace, what do you suggest? That we burn our borders, lock our cities, and panic? You demand a reaction, but you offer no solution."

Tace's voice was a low growl. "You're dismissing the truth because it is inconvenient. Because it does not fit your perfect little structure of control."

Her green eyes locked onto his, sharp as a blade. "And you are grasping at chaos, hoping it will make you feel powerful."

Tace scoffed, stepping even closer. "Powerful? No. I grasp at survival, at reason—something you're choosing to ignore. What happens when this chaos reaches your doorstep? Will you still dismiss it so easily?"

Her jaw tightened, but she did not step back. He's pushing too hard. He doesn't understand the bigger picture. "You assume I am ignoring it, when in reality, I am controlling the situation before it escalates further. Rash decisions breed instability. You expect us to act without strategy, based solely on fear. That is not how rulers govern."

Tace's laugh was humorless. "Strategy? What strategy? Waiting for more to die before you lift a finger? You stand there, so sure, so untouchable, but you're gambling with forces none of us understand."

A ripple of tension spread through the room. Several leaders exchanged uneasy glances. Cenric, who had remained neutral, frowned slightly. He's not wrong. We know too little to be this dismissive.

A heavy silence settled over the room. Zareth, who had been enjoying himself, now leaned forward, expression unreadable. Tace has never looked this unhinged before. Does he actually know something?

The blonde woman exhaled, tapping a manicured finger against her wrist. "I think we've indulged this long enough. This meeting is over."

Tace took a sharp step forward, his voice laced with barely restrained fury. "You're making a mistake. One that will cost you more than you realize."

She turned, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Does he really believe this, or is he simply trying to provoke me? "I am ensuring stability. That is what true leadership demands."

"Stability at the cost of lives?" Tace's voice thundered through the chamber, sending a ripple of unease through the gathered leaders. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving with the weight of his frustration. "You sit here behind polished words and calculated dismissals, but when your people start vanishing, what excuse will you give them then?"

A murmur spread through the room. Some leaders, previously indifferent, exchanged uncertain glances. He's not just angry. He's desperate.

The girl's fingers twitched at her side, a fleeting sign of agitation. Damn him. He's making them question. "You overestimate your own importance, Tace. One disappearance does not justify upheaval."

"One?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "That's what you tell yourself to sleep at night? One? You think it stops here? You think this is the end?"

Her expression flickered, just for a moment. What if he's right? But she hardened, straightening her posture. "Enough. You let fear guide you, and that makes you reckless."

"And you let pride blind you!" Tace's voice cut through the chamber, sharp as a blade. "That will be your downfall."

The air was thick with tension. Some leaders opened their mouths, as if to speak, but none dared intervene.

The blonde woman exhaled, controlling her irritation. "This conversation is over." She turned away, flicking her wrist as if to brush him aside. "We'll see who was right soon enough."

Tace's breath was uneven, his vision narrowing. She's making a mistake. One that will cost them all. But he saw it—the hesitation in their eyes, the shift in their expressions. He planted the first seeds of doubt, and doubt had a way of growing.