Call

The tavern once called The Thorned Belt hadn't served cheap beer in a long time. It had changed—not on the outside. The brick walls were still stained with soot and carved with names etched by knives.

But now, those seated at the tables were used to feathers on their cuffs, not blood on their hands.

The glossy crowd had descended into the depths—and brought with them the stench of perfume and lies.

Music drifted down from the balcony on the second floor, where a half-drunk violinist played just on the edge of being off-key.

Whether on purpose or out of habit, it was hard to say.

No mask in the hall was alike: there were masks shaped like animals, masks made of glass, even carved wooden ones—grotesque and strange.

Behind each was someone hoping not to be noticed.

Nathan had chosen the simplest mask—a piece of black cloth with two eyeholes. On either side, a single white feather was pinned.

He entered without a word. Behind him came Vell, in a plague doctor mask. No greetings. Guests glanced their way, but quickly turned their heads. People like him didn't ask questions—and didn't answer them either.

Nathan moved between the tables like smoke. He didn't brush against shoulders, didn't stumble—as if he already knew where everyone would be. Of course, he was noticed. But no one dared to approach. Not at first.

—You seem new here, came a voice from behind. A woman's voice. Soft, but sure.

He turned. A girl stood in front of him, wearing a crimson mask adorned with feathers.

— There's a first time for everything, he replied.

— True. But you don't look like a tourist, her gaze slid toward the sword at his side. "I'm guessing you didn't come here just for a drink. I could show you around, if you'd like.

Nathan reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He flicked a silver coin right into her palm. She caught it with surprising ease.

— Completely at your service, she smiled, slipping the coin away. Her voice softened. — What exactly are you looking for?

— I need a place where I can make a call.

Her pupils narrowed. She froze for a heartbeat. That word—call—she hadn't heard in a long time.

A call? That was something only the elite could access. Who was this man? A joker? Or someone truly dangerous?

—Do you have an invitation? she asked, more cautiously now.

— Whether I do or not—that's not your concern. Just take us there.

— As you wish, she said, a little quieter than before. Not because she was afraid—more because she sensed her words no longer carried weight.

She turned and walked ahead without asking anything more. A narrow waist, a crisp stride, and a nearly confident path through the maze of tables. Nathan followed, Vell behind him. The violin above shrieked a sour note, as if it sensed something alien.

—This way, she said, stopping in front of an unmarked door with a worn brass handle. —Usually… only people known to the Council—or the Ledger—use the call.

Nathan didn't answer. He just looked at Vell—and Vell, without a word, stepped in front of the door, blocking it with his broad frame.

—Should I wait here for you? she whispered, looking at Nathan as if seeing him clearly for the first time.

— Wait here, he said. — Most important—watch every person who comes this way. Don't miss a single one.

— Understood, she replied, raising her hand in a gesture like a knight's vow.

Vell pushed the door open. Behind it was a staircase leading down—not dim, but blinding. White light burned the eyes, but offered no warmth. Stone steps descended into the earth—into a place where silence felt almost sacred.

They went down immediately and saw a long hallway ending in a door.

In that door was a small slot—an open recess, like a mail drop. Nathan knew at once what it was for.

They needed blood to enter.

His knight didn't hesitate—he pressed his bloodied finger to the panel. But the door didn't even twitch.

With a sigh, Nathan pulled out his knife and carefully drew the blade across his skin. A crimson line instantly welled up on his finger.

He held it over the device and let the blood drip inside.

With a heavy click, the locks came to life, and the door slowly creaked open, releasing waves of unnatural energy.

Nathan and Vell both felt it—raw power surging out from the threshold. Tangible, like heat or a low, vibrating hum.

Beyond the door flowed a blue, sparking light—crackling like lightning, pulsing with an eerie glow.

The knight stepped forward without a word. Without waiting for an order, he extended his hand and pressed his finger into the recess.

The moment he did, something snapped loose.

A flash of blue light burst from within. His finger jerked back violently—he nearly fell. Metal shrieked. Skin tore down to the bone. The knight growled, clenching his fist as blood dripped to the floor.

The door didn't move.

Every attempt had failed.

The reason was obvious.

— Just wait here, Nathan said.

Vell didn't object. He didn't care. He nodded silently.

Nathan placed his own finger into the recess. It didn't push him away. Carefully, step by step, he walked through the door—and at once, hundreds, thousands of voices flooded his mind. Screaming. Wailing souls filled his head, drowning out all thought.

He couldn't open his eyes. His body locked up.

But it didn't last long.

Slowly, he began to feel his fingers again, then his arm. With effort, he opened his eyes—and froze.

Before him stretched a blinding darkness—strange, beautiful, like a starless sky. It felt as though he stood atop a tower, surrounded by endless, beckoning void.

He was on the tower's third floor. He was sure of it. Just turning his head slightly revealed the familiar outlines of brick in the dim light—rough, like forgotten memories.

But it wasn't the stone that held his gaze.

At the center of the chamber stood a large, round table. Around it sat six masked figures. One chair remained empty—waiting, it seemed, for him.

They all sat in silence, and beside each chair a thin violet candle burned low. Their flames flickered gently, as if breathing with the room itself.

Nathan looked at them for only a few seconds. That was enough.

—At last, we're all here, said the one wearing the lion mask. His voice was hoarse, like it hadn't spoken in years. Heavy, like stone scraping metal.

Nathan took his seat. Slowly. Confidently. But without a word.

The masks turned to face him. Silence stretched on—not threatening, but charged, like smoke before a storm.

— Hah, a short laugh. So he finally shows up. The voice was young, barely breaking—like a sixteen-year-old boy. — Told you. Just had to wait, said the one in the Crab mask.

— That mask suits you, said a soft voice from the far end of the table. It was almost silky. At first I didn't recognize you... She wore the mask of a Snake.

Of course she didn't. A different mask. A different posture. A different man. But roughly the same height. Almost like his brother.

— You're late, said a fourth. His voice was muffled, like he was speaking through a mouth sewn shut. — You never used to be late. The Turtle mask.

— I don't care, muttered the one in the Sea Dragon mask. He didn't even look at Nathan. — Just get on with it. Time isn't endless.

— Then let's begin, said the Lion, slowly, like tasting the words. — Time is tightening.

— As is the shore, whispered the Snake. Her voice barely audible, but laced with shadow.

— Our fifteenth meeting is now in session. The main topic for today: the Dark Isle.

— I thought the main topic was our new king—who still hasn't learned how to take a piss without help, Nathan scoffed, mimicking his brother's voice with deliberate exaggeration. Though praise the Dark Isle at least for ending his damn banquet.

Four of them smiled. Someone let out a faint snort. But none of them laughed—laughter here felt out of place.

— The Dark Isle is rot, a trap, a pit for the suicidal. So why bother discussing it at all? Nathan said, leaning back lazily in his chair.

He wasn't expecting an answer. Pointless. He didn't like this game, but it might lead him to the truth. Pretend to be his brother. Learn everything, little by little. Then wait for someone to realize—

He wasn't who they thought he was.

Nonsense. He was going to expose the whole truth right here, right now.

— This time is different, said the Turtle, his voice raspy.

— You say that every year. I've heard the same thing since I was born, Nathan shot back.

— But this time things have changed. Almost all the keys have been found. Only the final Great Door in the dungeon remains. And it will be opened. The Turtle's voice quivered with barely contained excitement.

Nathan went quiet. That part he truly didn't know. He thought only three of the seven keys had been found. Where had the other four come from? That was useful. But what did it matter?

— This is the fifteenth cycle of the Dark Isle's appearance, — said the woman in the white fox mask, seated nearby. Her voice was light and calm, but charged with a quiet thrill. "Over a hundred years, our ancestors gathered enough knowledge. I believe this will be the cycle when it finally ends. Whoever claims the artifact will win the hundred-year war between the three main isles.

— You're wrong, the Snake interrupted gently. The artifact is powerful, yes. But it won't grant total dominance. It will only shift the balance—for a time. A temporary advantage.

— I'm glad you're all so excited—drawing maps, talking strategy, planning politics. — Nathan leaned back, his tone sharp. — But it's the same as always. Three major islands. One artifact. You'll just get in each other's way again. That's why nothing ever changes. History repeats itself.

— You never used to speak so bluntly, the Turtle noted.

— You're right... but maybe that can be turned to our advantage, whispered the Fox, leaning forward slightly.

— As for the Dark Isle— the Crab began, but was quickly cut off.

— Enough stalling. Let's get to it. — The Sea Dragon's voice rang out like a crack of thunder. — Let the real meeting begin. I assume we're all going?

Nathan silently looked at each of them. He was already memorizing their roles.

The Lion — the leader, the one who guided them, possibly the head.

The Turtle — the analyst, sharp-eyed, notices everything.

The Snake — quiet, possibly dangerous.

The Fox — cunning, adaptable.

The Crab — too young, likely someone's apprentice.

The Sea Dragon — hot-headed, a risk-taker.

And they really were planning to go. To the Dark Isle. If they died too quickly, he'd never learn what his brother truly meant to them.

Though getting into the Dark Isle expedition was nearly impossible. Even Nathan would've had to work for it.

— A few years ago, we all agreed: if the Dark Isle appeared—we'd go, — said the Lion. — Anyone changed their mind?

Silence. Eyes turned toward Nathan.

If that agreement was real, then what he had said earlier might have sounded suspicious.

But he said nothing. And silence always meant assent.

— Then let's start from the beginning, the Lion continued. — The Dark Isle orbits all eleven. It's considered the twelfth—disputed. Dead. No grass. No beasts. No sound. Only ash and stone.

Nathan almost scoffed. Why would anyone care about a graveyard like that?

— At its heart lies the artifact. That's why people go. But the path is a crumbling maze of ruins, collapsing as you step.

— Twelve initial stages. Then eight cities. Beyond them—four trials. And two spatial nodes. No one's ever made it through.

— And at the end—the Tomb. And the Great Door.

— Maybe there's nothing behind it, the Snake whispered.

— The Dark Isle... His voice came low, as if even the air resisted carrying the words. It's a dead piece of land drifting in eternal shadow.

Nothing grows on it. No birds sing. No wind stirs. It absorbs energy. Devours it—like a sponge soaking up water.

And the stronger the source, the more it feeds.

— That's why it's never hard to find, another added, clenching his fist. It always sticks close. Like a parasite, clinging to whatever's full of life. And now, it's attached itself to the disputed island.

Silence. Someone shifted their weight. Another fingered an amulet.

— I called you all here today, the Lion said, sweeping his dull gaze across them, to discuss how we can use this.

Yes—use. Because this coincidence isn't a coincidence. It's an opportunity.