The Covenus command pavilion was vast—larger than any war tent constructed in recent centuries. Reinforced with layered mana-threaded cloth and stabilized by enchanted anchors driven deep into the earth, it stood as the temporary heart of the united armies of the four great Houses.

  A long rectangular obsidian table dominated the center, polished to a reflective sheen. It was a relic of the Covenus vaults—reserved only for moments that shaped eras. And tonight, sixteen thousand hunters and four thousand holy knights waited outside for the outcome of the strategy set within these walls.

  Inside, the heads of each house entered in order.

  Mereth Covenus, the southern wind sweeping through the tent flap behind her, took her seat at the west end—the host position. Her presence filled the room even before she spoke, an aura balanced between composed lethality and the wisdom of countless campaigns.

  Elric Callus arrived next, steps heavy and deliberate. Sarville shadowed him, hands clasped behind his back, posture vigilant. Lucien moved with them, quieter than usual, eyes hooded—not with fear, but conflict.

  From the east, Kazane Hitoshi and Arame Hitoshi stepped in, accompanied by the seven mysterious black-robed guardians. The faint metallic whisper of their straw hats brushing the air echoed strangely, like a warning wind across bamboo forests.

  From the north, Lord Theoren Valencrest entered with Seraphine at his side. She carried herself with grace, but her eyes… her eyes had been sharp ever since the Vatican army marched in earlier that morning.

  And finally—

  The holy presence outside dimmed the chatter to silence before it even began.

  The Vatican generals approached.

  Slavik’s heavy steps were unmistakable. Emilia’s gentle staff taps clicked softly like wind chimes. Castiel’s silent glide barely made a sound.

  But it was the last who shifted the entire atmosphere.

  Zero.

  The thin, towering figure slipped past them, ring-chakram strapped along his back like a celestial eclipse. Masked, hooded, unreadable—the Vatican’s phantom.

  When he reached the table, the unexpected occurred:

  Zero took a seat.

  Not the heads of the houses.

  Not even the three generals who followed him.

  Only Zero sat.

  The room rippled with muted astonishment.

  Elric’s grip on his armrest tightened.

  Sarville angled his stance.

  Seraphine’s pupils narrowed a fraction, a familiar sense prickling at her skin.

  Mereth’s brow lifted ever so slightly.

  Only Theoren remained unflinching—watching without judgment.

  Zero placed one hand atop the table, fingers long and unusually steady.

  “On behalf of the Vatican,” he said, voice smooth, refined, not the eerie whisper many expected, “I will preside over this meeting as the representative commander. Our saint is… divinely uninterested in tactical discourse. I shall speak in her stead.”

  His tone bore the weight of decades of experience—level, deliberate, and disarmingly calm.

  Even the air seemed to still.

  Mereth was first to speak.

  “Then let this council commence. We face what may be the largest incursion of the Shadowrealm in recorded history. Information will determine survival.”

  Kazane nodded. “Agreed. Let us begin with what we know—and what remains unknown.”

  Sarville stepped forward. “If I may, Lady Mereth.” He bowed his head to the table. “The Callus hunters have had direct contact with the Shadow beast. Brief, but significant.”

  Zero’s masked face tilted ever so slightly. Listening.

  Sarville continued, voice steel-lined:

  “They move faster than recorded. Stronger. Intelligent—far more than the previous waves.”

  Lucien remained silent, jaw tight. He wrestled with whether to reveal Kevlar’s identity… but the thought of Elric’s rage stopped him cold.

  Sarville went on. “Their regeneration speed is troubling. Standard execution techniques barely slowed them.”

  Kazane folded his hands. “That only confirms the reports from our scouts. These Shadow beast are not the same as the ones from a hundred years past and are definitely different than the vampire.”

  Emilia, leaning on her staff, smirked softly. “Evolution is natural. Even for the damned.”

  A faint shiver threaded through the council.

  Elric leaned in. “The veil. What is your stance on crossing it, Zero? The hunters have always passed through in smaller parties. But this—” he gestured at the armies outside “—this scale is unprecedented.”

  Zero interlaced his long fingers.

  “There are two choices,” he began. “Cross the veil as tradition dictates… or remove it.”

  A cold stillness settled.

  Seraphine’s head jerked slightly, eyes flickering.

  Mereth’s gaze sharpened, and Theoren subtly straightened.

  “Remove it?” Arame asked, voice calm but edged. “The veil predates recorded civilization.”

  “Precisely,” Zero replied. “Which is why its dissolution is preferable. It limits our forces, it distorts magic, and its miasma weakens whomever crosses. The Vatican will handle its dispelling.”

  Both Seraphine and Mereth had the same thought:

  Why the insistence?

  And why now?

  Aloud, Lady Mereth voiced it gracefully.

  “The veil may exist for a purpose. To contain something. To separate something. To remove a barrier we do not understand risks tearing the balance.”

  Zero did not flinch.

  “We are prepared to bear that risk.”

  Kazane’s voice cut in, stern yet diplomatic:

  “Then if your Vatican insists on dispelling it, will you also assume responsibility if poisonous air, curses, or corruption pour out? If our men suffer?”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The atmosphere tightened.

  Zero answered without hesitation.

  “Of course. It is our sacred duty to keep all allies unharmed before even a single blade is drawn. Our clerics and spellmasters will counter any harmful effect immediately.”

  Kazane held Zero’s masked gaze for a long, unreadable moment…

  …then inclined his head.

  “Very well.”

  With tension still lingering, Mereth raised the final crucial point.

  “Then let us proceed to the most important matter,” she said. “Before any step is taken—Vatican, what crucial information must be shared with the rest of us? Anything withheld may cost thousands of lives.”

  All eyes turned to Zero.

  Even his generals seemed curious.

  For a breath, he said nothing.

  Then his mask shifted almost imperceptibly—

  a tiny, sharp smirk forming beneath it.

  Most could not see it.

  But Elric Callus, seated directly across, caught the exact curve of that hidden expression.

  Something cold curled in Elric’s chest.

  Zero finally spoke:

  “I will share everything…

  that is necessary.”

  The room seemed to exhale all at once.

  The council had begun—

  but trust had not.

  And outside, the combined armies of twenty thousand waited for a decision

  that could change the fate of the cycle itself.

  The silence following Zero’s vague promise stretched thin—like a thread pulled taut, one tug away from snapping.

  Mereth was the first to break it, her voice even, refined.

  “Commander Zero. If we are to march under one banner, vagueness is ill-advised. Tell us what we must be aware of.”

  Zero leaned back slightly—an oddly human gesture from one otherwise statuesque.

  “Then allow us to begin with battlefield parameters.”

  Slavik stepped forward, arms crossed like a living mountain.

  Zero lifted a hand and began outlining the shadows of the Shadowrealm on the obsidian table using a small enchanted quill. A crude but useful map of the border emerged—dense clusters of shadow growth, pits of miasma, and scattered zones of unstable ground.

  He spoke clearly:

  “The terrain shifts every seven hours. Land bridges form and dissolve. Miasmic geysers erupt without predictable rhythm. Step into one and you’ll be dissolved to bone.”

  Seraphine frowned at the map, her voice cool but firm.

  “That’s… unusual. Older records never mentioned geologic instability.”

  Zero nodded. “Because the instability was not present before. It began shortly after the last veil surge.”

  Theoren’s eyebrow arched. “A surge? There has been no report of such.”

  Zero didn’t answer immediately.

  Which itself was an answer.

  Mereth’s fingers drummed on the table once, softly.

  “So. The Vatican has been hiding something.”

  The air shifted. A hint of hostility. A hint of truth.

  Emilia stepped forward, placing one elegant hand on her hip.

  “The surge was contained. There was no need for unnecessary alarm.”

  Kazane let out a low breath. “Even so, withholding major shifts in the Shadowrealm’s behaviour puts us at risk.”

  Zero acknowledged the critique with a dip of his head.

  “Your point is noted, Lord Kazane. Which is why we share it now.”

  It was a polite reply.

  But far from apologetic.

  Castiel took the next part, unfolding parchment sketches pinned by silver needles.

  “These are the creatures observed at the border,” he said quietly.

  His voice was unexpectedly scholarly—soft, almost gentle.

  He revealed:

  ? Rift Stalker — common encounter. Thin, fast, hunting in packs of 20–30.

  ? Mire Hulks — tall, thick-skinned, nearly immune to physical strikes.

  ? Howlers — beasts whose shrieks warp perception and cause disorientation.

  ? Twin-Fanged Lurkers — previously unseen, capable of vanishing between micro-shadows.

  Sarville leaned in, eyes narrowing.

  “These… some weren’t present during our encounter.”

  Lucien swallowed as he stared at the sketches. One in particular—the Twin-Fanged—made the hair on his neck stand.

  He had seen something similar in that realm.

  A blur. A pair of glints. Exuding fear and aggression.

  Waiting and mocking.

  Lucien’s knuckles whitened.

  Should he speak?

  Should he finally tell them that Kevlar was the Shadowborn?

  But his father was seated just beside him…

  And Elric’s aura was razor-sharp tonight.

  Lucien kept silent.

  Then, Castiel unpinned the final parchment.

  A humanoid silhouette.

  Tall. Lithe. Blade-like limbs.

  Eyes glowing eerily bright.

  “The Shadowborn,” Castiel murmured.

  The room tensed.

  Lucien’s breath caught.

  Sarville’s jaw hardened.

  Zero folded his hands.

  “We believe there may be at least three active within this cycle.”

  Seraphine’s reaction was subtle, but noticeable—

  a tightening of her fingers around her cloak.

  Theoren immediately placed a hand on her shoulder.

  His tone was protective, commanding.

  “My daughter has nothing to do with the Shadowborn.”

  Zero tilted his head, mask reflecting torchlight.

  “I made no insinuation, Lord Theoren.”

  But Seraphine could feel it.

  The inquisitors had watched her before.

  She could sense their faint traces even now.

  Zero’s calm voice continued:

  “However, based on recent patterns, the Shadowborn appear more… coordinated. Their movements suggest a leader or focal entity.”

  Lucien’s pulse spiked.

  Kevlar.

  The name echoed in his skull like a tolling bell.

  He wanted to speak.

  He needed to speak.

  But again—Elric’s presence smothered him.

  Sarville leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

  Lucien stiffened sharply but forced himself to stay silent.

  Lady Mereth Covenus gently drummed her fingers on her sheathed katana, her gaze like a seasoned predator assessing prey.

  But Seraphine…

  Her heart jolted.

  Three? That’s some lie they insist on… but why lie when it so obviously known?

  Her father Theoren Valencrest immediately sensed her reaction, placing a firm, grounding hand on her forearm under the table. He gave her a subtle shake of the head—say nothing.

  Zero continued, unbothered by the ripple of tension.

  “The Vatican categorizes the Shadowborn into three distinct manifestations,” he said, sliding three parchment sketches across the table. “Past cycles indicate forms aligned with Dominion, Devourer, and Eclipse aspects.”

  Lucien stared at the drawings, his pulse spiking.

  None of these looked like Kevlar—deliberately so.

  And the lie left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Sarville broke the silence first.

  “Hmph. Big talk.” His scarred jaw tightened. “But what my young master and I fought wasn’t any of these drawings. It was humanoid. Focused. Intelligent.”

  Lucien inhaled sharply but nodded.

  Zero didn’t even turn.

  “That was likely a lesser manifestation,” he replied with unnerving certainty. “Shadow entities mimic the shape of their vessel to confuse.”

  Lucien clenched a fist under the table.

  No… it was him. I know what I saw.

  Zero brought his fingers together, tapping lightly on the table.

  “The critical decision… how do we enter?”

  The table’s tension sharpened.

  Kazane: “Normally, smaller teams pass through the veil individually.”

  Mereth: “But with the miasma thickening, casualties would be severe if we stagger our entry.”

  Elric: “Unit cohesion would collapse. We need a unified front.”

  Theoren: “But dispelling the veil risks unleashing whatever it contains.”

  Zero raised one long finger.

  “Which,” he said evenly, “is exactly why the Vatican should handle the veil. Our saint alone is capable of delivering the necessary purification force.”

  Sarville’s eyes narrowed.

  “Purification? Or destruction?”

  Zero didn’t blink. “One and the same, in this case.”

  Seraphine exchanged a glance with Mereth—quiet, concerned.

  Why was the Vatican so eager to remove a barrier older than recorded civilization?

  What truth were they dancing around?

  Kazane exhaled.

  “Very well. If the Vatican wishes to take full ownership of veil dispelling, then allow me to ask plainly.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “If something worse emerges the moment the veil vanishes—

  will your Vatican take responsibility?”

  Zero’s reply was immediate.

  “We will.”

  No hesitation.

  No fear.

  Almost as if they expected something to emerge.

  Something only they understood.

  Kazane leaned back.

  “Then so be it.”

  Elric was the next to speak.

  His voice was calm, but lined with steel.

  “One last matter before we conclude. Full disclosure is needed. Not partial truths. Not selective information.”

  He locked eyes with Zero.

  “If there is more the Vatican knows—speak now.”

  The entire tent held its breath.

  Zero’s masked face angled just slightly.

  And that same hidden smirk returned—small, knowing, dangerous.

  “I have shared everything…”

  His voice was soft, almost polite.

  “…that is necessary.”

  Elric’s heart stuttered with a cold, instinctual dread.

  Something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Zero stood.

  The three generals straightened behind him.

  “The veil will be dispelled at dawn,” he declared.

  “We recommend all forces brace for immediate advancement the moment the light breaks through the clouds.”

  His voice was final.

  Commanding.

  Impossible to argue against without starting a fight.

  Zero inclined his head.

  “Prepare your soldiers. Tomorrow… the true cycle begins.”

  As he and the generals exited, the air slowly loosened.

  But not the knot in anyone’s chest.

  Mereth exhaled quietly.

  Theoren rubbed his temples.

  Kazane stared at the map, brows furrowed.

  Sarville stepped beside Lucien.

  “Something troubles you.”

  Lucien’s voice barely formed.

  “…I saw someone.”

  Sarville blinked. “Who?”

  Lucien swallowed hard.

  “I… I’ll tell you later.”

  He glanced outside toward the horizon—toward the veil swirling faintly in the distance.

  Tomorrow, it would vanish.

  And with it… the last known boundary between realms.