The world had turned uneasy. Word of the Vatican’s “revelation” swept across the continent like a storm breaking from still skies — a decree announcing the impending invasion from the Shadowrealm, greater than any recorded in living memory.

  Messengers bearing the seal of the Holy Order arrived at every great hunting house — North, South, East, and West — delivering the chilling summons. The world’s hunters, bound by blood and duty, were being called once more to the Holy City.

  The halls of House Valencrest were carved into froststone cliffs, where the cold air whispered secrets older than time. Seraphine Valencrest stood before the great window of her father’s study, her silver hair catching the pale light like woven moonfire. Outside, the banners of her house rippled in the bitter wind.

  Her father, Lord Theoren Valencrest, finished reading the Vatican’s decree, the parchment trembling faintly in his aged hands.

  “So… it begins again,” he murmured, voice grave.

  Seraphine’s eyes narrowed. “It reeks of orchestration, Father. The Vatican moves too conveniently — the timing too perfect. A month ago, their expedition failed. Now, they claim the Shadowrealm prepares to invade?”

  Theoren turned his piercing grey eyes toward her. “You think it false?”

  “I think,” she said quietly, “that it is a truth painted by liars.” She set a stack of old documents on his desk — photographs, sealed reports, forbidden records smuggled from her informants. “They have been conducting inhuman experiments beneath the Holy City. Merging relics, binding souls, weaponizing fragments of the Realm’s essence itself.”

  Theoren’s face hardened. “If this is true… then we are already pawns in a game larger than we can see.”

  He rose, crossing to the fire. “Still — a summons cannot be ignored. The heads must attend. The Vatican demands unity, and we must not appear defiant.”

  Seraphine bowed slightly, her tone colder now. “Then I will go with you, Father. I wish to see the face of the serpent behind the holy mask.”

  Theoren’s lips curved with faint pride. “Then sharpen your fangs, my daughter. You may need them.”

  The wind carried the scent of wild iron and ancient stone through the Covenus fortress, built upon the cliffs where the sea roared in eternal defiance. The Matriarch Mereth Covenus stood before the war-table, her crimson eyes reflecting the flicker of candlelight. Her daughter Eslene stood beside her, still in her combat garb, and across from them, her brother Varain leaned casually on his sword.

  “The Vatican calls for war,” one of the officers reported, bowing deeply.

  Mereth’s expression did not falter. “They call for control,” she corrected, her tone like tempered steel. “Their words are the same, but the intent — always hidden.”

  Eslene’s gaze sharpened. “Then what will we do, Mother?”

  Mereth turned to her daughter, eyes softening briefly. “We will prepare. Strengthen the border outposts, double the patrols, and watch the sea for any movement from the veil. But we will also attend this council. If war truly comes, I will not allow the Vatican to dictate our fate.”

  She looked between her two children. “You and Varain will accompany me to the Holy City.”

  Varain smirked faintly. “Another political gathering of pompous relics. How exciting.”

  Eslene shot him a sharp look. “Show some respect. This concerns all of us.”

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  Mereth smiled faintly. “Let him jest, Eslene. A warrior who laughs before battle often fights the fiercest.” Her tone turned colder, her gaze piercing the sea beyond the cliffs. “But make no mistake — if the Shadowrealm truly stirs, then history may soon repeat itself.”

  Eslene’s hands clenched at her sides, her thoughts drifting briefly to the name that kept whispering in her dreams — Lucien.

  To the East, in the misty highlands of the Hitoshirezu Clan, dawn filtered through bamboo forests and silent temples. The news of the Vatican decree had reached the clan’s leader, Kazane Hitoshi, a man whose age had not dulled the lethal precision in his movements. He stood upon the dojo’s platform, his robes fluttering as he looked toward his gathered warriors.

  “The Vatican calls,” he said, his tone measured. “An invasion from the Shadowrealm, they claim.”

  Murmurs rippled through the hunters — but most remained impassive. They were the unseen ones, ghosts among mortals, untouched by the politics of the world.

  At his side stood his son, Arame Hitoshi, the clan’s heir. His expression was calm, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Father, do we answer their call?”

  Kazane’s lips curved slightly — not in amusement, but resolve. “We may live in silence, but silence does not mean blindness. If the Shadowrealm expands unchecked, it will devour not only the West or North — it will consume all. Balance must be maintained.”

  He turned to Arame and the gathered hunters. “Prepare the fastest mounts. We leave in three days. The unseen will be seen once more.”

  The declaration carried through the mist like thunder. Even the bamboo seemed to bend in reverence.

  The halls of House Callus, gilded with sunstone and lined with relics of ancient victories, echoed with tension as Elric Callus, the patriarch, received the Vatican emissary’s decree.

  Lucien and Sarville, knelt before him as the messenger finished his grim recital.

  A heavy silence followed — until murmurs of panic erupted among the gathered elders.

  “Could it be true?”

  “The Shadowrealm… invading again?”

  “What of our borders—”

  Elric’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

  “SILENCE!”

  The command shook the hall. His aura flared — regal, suffocating — a reminder of why he was Patriarch.

  Even Lucien, though accustomed to it, felt a chill crawl down his spine.

  Sarville folded his arms, faintly impressed. “Still got it, old man.”

  Elric ignored him, stepping down from the dais. “If the Shadowrealm expands, the first to meet it will be the Covenus. They have ever been our closest allies — and we will not stand idle while they bleed.”

  He turned his gaze toward Lucien, smirking slightly. “You’ll lead the legion to the Holy City, alongside Sarville. Show them the Callus have not dulled their fangs.”

  Lucien bowed, heart hammering. “Yes, Father.”

  Sarville gave a sharp salute. “The blades of Callus stand ready.”

  As the council dispersed, Lucien caught his reflection in the marble — and for the first time since his return from the failed expedition, his eyes no longer carried defeat. Somewhere deep down, he hoped… Eslene would be there.

  The cobbled streets outside the Cathedral of Dawn thrummed with power and tension as the four great families arrived one by one.

  The Valencrests came first — solemn and clad in silver. Then the Covenus banners, dark crimson and storm-grey, fluttered in the rising wind. The Hitoshirezu arrived silently, their presence like moving shadows, while the Callus banners gleamed gold under the morning sun.

  Lucien spotted Eslene across the square. She stood beside her mother and brother, composed and regal, but the faint pink dusting her cheeks betrayed her calm when she met his eyes.

  Varain leaned close to his sister with a sly grin. “So, that’s the boy you’ve been pretending not to think about?”

  Eslene shot him a glare sharp enough to kill. “Say one more word, and I’ll demonstrate how quiet a corpse can be.”

  Varain just chuckled, stepping back with his hands raised.

  Nearby, Seraphine Valencrest exchanged polite greetings with Arame Hitoshi, their words laced with cautious curiosity — the heirs of frost and mist meeting for the first time in generations.

  Above them, the bells of the Cathedral tolled — deep and resonant — as the heads of the four families entered the grand hall. It had been centuries since they had stood together like this.

  Lord Theoren Valencrest glanced toward Elric Callus, offering a knowing nod. “It has been too long, old friend.”

  Elric’s grin was wry. “Last time was during the Battle of the Starved Legion’s, wasn’t it? When Sarville here carved a Vampire Lord’s head clean off.”

  Sarville smirked. “Ah, memories. Messy ones.”

  Mereth Covenus’ voice cut through the nostalgia, cold and composed. “Let’s hope the next memory we forge does not end in ashes.”

  And as the heavy doors of the Cathedral closed behind them, the light dimmed — the beginning of a council that would decide not only the fate of hunters… but the world itself.