Chapter 32: Fires of the Old Guard

In Hidden Syndicate Bunker – Vienna, Austria

The underground chamber was deep beneath Vienna's old town, carved out decades ago by the Syndicate's original architects. Walls lined with steel and obsidian hummed faintly with power, and at the center stood a vast circular table where twelve shadowed figures sat.

A digital projection hovered mid-air: Tavara's capital skyline, marked with red zones and satellite feeds.

"He knows," one voice growled—cold, clipped, European. "Damien Blackwood has seen the files. Our window is shrinking."

Another leaned forward. Her silver-blonde hair glinted beneath the dim lighting. "Let him see. Let him scramble. The trap has been laid for years. One desperate man can't stop a global handover."

A third voice, deeper and more composed, spoke. "What of Nora Vale? Our intelligence confirms she is closer to Blackwood than anyone. She's not just a surgeon—her history is... incomplete."

"Because it's fabricated," replied the blonde. "Her digital trail was planted. The truth buried behind layers even the Syndicate couldn't breach. She's dangerous."

A hush followed.

Then came the voice that froze the room.

From a private dark alcove, distorted by voice-masking tech: "She's mine to handle."

The others went silent.

The Architect had spoken.

---

In Damien's Private Jet – En Route to Chicago

Damien leaned back in the leather seat, eyes narrowed, watching the encrypted footage Nora had extracted. Onscreen: blueprints of Tavara's satellite defense grid and a list of targeted installations. All matched facilities critical to national infrastructure.

"I'm meeting with Caden Vaughn," he said, snapping the tablet shut.

Nora glanced up. "Chicago?"

"Caden runs Vaughn Aerospace now. His family's company owns half the drone production rights in North America. He hates Blackridge. But he's also unpredictable."

She raised a brow. "And a womanizer."

Damien smirked faintly. "Good thing he's into chaos more than charm."

A steward brought drinks, and as the jet coasted above the Atlantic, Nora shifted closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Have you noticed the emblem on the dart?" she asked. "I ran a second scan. There was a faint sigil beneath Blackridge's crest. One we haven't seen in a long time."

Damien's eyes sharpened. "The Old Guard."

Nora nodded. "Archer Grey didn't just rise again—he's uniting remnants from factions that died decades ago. Groups buried in forgotten coups and proxy wars. They're calling it the Second Ascendancy."

Damien exhaled slowly. "He's building an empire in the shadows."

Their eyes met—silent understanding flashing between them.

And in that moment, neither said it aloud—but they both knew.

This wasn't just about Tavara anymore.

It was about the world.