A few days had passed.
In Munich, as evening fell, a man of about twenty-eight walked through a lively, colorful district. The lights of the restaurants were beginning to glow, bars opened their doors letting music and laughter spill into the streets, and the gaming halls were already crowded. Despite the cold weather, the atmosphere felt festive and carefree.
He was dressed casually: a dark sweatshirt, a thick jacket for the cold, and a cap that partially shadowed his face. He walked unhurriedly, smoking, blending into the crowd like any ordinary passerby. No one would have imagined that this area was territory controlled by the Meyern mafia.
The man turned into a narrower, dimly lit alley. The noise of the district gradually faded behind him. At the far end, a metal door marked the entrance to the place where the Meyerns held their meetings.
A large man stood guard outside. When he saw him approach, he asked no questions. He simply opened the door.
Before entering, the young man tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his shoe. Then he crossed the threshold without a word.
He walked down a long corridor illuminated by white ceiling lights. His footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor. He stopped at Abraham's office door and knocked twice.
"Come in," a voice called from inside.
He opened it.
Inside were Florian, Bernhard, and Stephanie — the second-in-command figures of the mafia — along with Abraham. The atmosphere was serious, heavy with authority.
Florian rose impatiently from the sofa the moment he saw him.
"How long are we supposed to wait for you?"
The newcomer smiled faintly and scratched the back of his neck.
"Sorry. I had two meetings at the same time and couldn't decide which one to attend."
Abraham intervened calmly.
"Relax, Florian. He's a busy man."
The young man stepped forward until he stood before them. Florian sat back down, still slightly frowning. Now everyone was present.
Abraham looked at him directly.
"So… are you ready for tomorrow's job, Noah?"
This time Noah's smile changed — more playful, almost amused.
He gave a small nod.
Far from Munich, in Berlin, the other meeting Noah was supposed to attend — and didn't — was taking place.
At the Dominion palace, that same afternoon, the final meeting to formalize the division of the organization was being held.
Almost all members were present.
Except Kevin.
And Noah.
The main hall had been arranged symbolically and decisively: two clearly separated sides. On the right stood those who would continue under Sigmund's leadership; on the left, those who would remain with Rudolf.
Lars stood beside Klein, Amelia, William, Marcus, and Viktor. Frank and Amaya were also there — two members Lars did not yet know well, both observing everything in attentive silence. This would be the new Dominion under Sigmund's command.
On the opposite side stood Lauren and three other members Lars didn't recognize: one man and two women. They waited in silence for Rudolf, as though their decision had been sealed long before entering the hall.
The atmosphere was tense.
There were no raised voices.
No arguments.
Only a cold, conscious separation.
Rudolf stood before a long table, several meters away from Sigmund, respecting the mandatory distance between them. The document formalizing the division lay between them.
Rudolf signed first.
"It's done, Sigmund. My part is complete."
Seated at the opposite end, Sigmund lifted his gaze toward the members who would follow him. His eyes moved from face to face. He sighed softly, then took the pen.
"The decision has been made," he said before signing.
The sound of the pen sliding across the paper seemed louder than it should have.
Rudolf smiled.
There was something in his expression beyond satisfaction — it was liberation. As if he had shed a burden. As if he were finally free of restraint.
"Believe it or not," Rudolf said, "I want everything to remain peaceful."
He glanced at the distance between them and added with faint irony,
"I'd shake your hand… but considering your power, I'd rather not."
"Relax," Sigmund replied calmly.
Rudolf turned to leave. As he passed in front of Lars and the others, he looked at them one by one.
"Goodbye, boys," he said with a crooked smile. "Enjoy your stay."
Sigmund heard the remark. He sensed the hidden intention behind it.
Rudolf walked toward the members who would follow him. They were ready to depart.
Before he reached the exit, Sigmund's voice stopped him.
"Rudolf."
He turned slowly.
"I forgot to mention something," Sigmund continued. "You'll need to find another name for your organization. And make sure you… or your subordinates… don't try anything clever with us."
His tone didn't change, but the firmness was unmistakable.
"We are no longer the same organization. The rules apply only to members of Dominion."
Rudolf smiled again, this time with a sharper edge.
"Is that a threat?"
Sigmund held his gaze.
"No."
A brief pause.
"It's a warning."
Rudolf remained still, staring at Sigmund.
He hadn't shouted.
He hadn't argued.
He simply looked at him.
Something dark stirred behind his eyes.
If you didn't have that damn impenetrable barrier… I would have killed you a long time ago.
The thought was brief, venomous.
Then he felt it.
A faint, invisible pressure. A nearly imperceptible discomfort.
Rudolf shifted his gaze slightly.
Klein.
Seated beside Lars, watching him in absolute stillness. No expression. No judgment. Just… watching.
Rudolf understood immediately.
Klein had read his mind.
For a second that felt endless, they held that silent connection. No threats. No gestures. But the message was clear.
Nothing in Dominion was ever truly hidden.
Rudolf looked away first.
He said nothing.
He simply turned and walked toward the exit. Lauren and the others followed without a word.
Their footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
They crossed the great palace doors.
And when the last silhouette disappeared beyond the threshold, something in the atmosphere shifted.
It was official.
Only those who remained inside the Dominion palace would continue as recognized members of the organization.
The rest… had chosen another path.
The silence that followed was heavy, but not chaotic.
Sigmund rose calmly and walked toward the group that remained. He stopped in front of them, maintaining his usual distance.
His voice was steady.
"Those of us who remain… I expect loyalty. No matter what happens."
It wasn't an order.
It was a statement.
One by one, they nodded.
No one spoke.
There was no need.
Sigmund turned slightly toward Frank.
"Very well, Frank. We need to discuss the book you sent me. I'll be waiting in my office."
Frank shook his head gently.
"I think everyone should hear this."
Several glances were exchanged.
Sigmund studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Alright. Tell us what happened on your expedition."
Frank stepped into the center of the hall. For a moment, he seemed to gather his thoughts. The usual lightness in his expression was gone.
"What I found… isn't recorded in any of our archives."
Silence fell again.
And this time, it wasn't because of the division.
It was because of what was about to be revealed.
Frank inhaled slowly.
"Do you remember the conversation we had five years ago… with Seck, Sigmund?"
The name lingered in the air.
Sigmund nodded slightly, his gaze sharpening.
"To summarize for everyone," Frank continued, "we questioned something simple. Where does the Book of Demonic Pacts truly come from? How did Sigmund's great-great-grandfather find it? And more importantly… why did no one investigate further?"
The book was almost sacred within Dominion. Its existence was accepted. Its knowledge was used. But its origin was never discussed.
"Those questions came back to me after a conversation I had with Noah not long after," Frank went on. "When he was still here, he spent most of his time reading Dominion's books. He was curious. Too curious."
Lars raised his eyes slightly.
"One day he was found reading the Book of Demonic Pacts. For the first time in history, someone had taken it out of the underground vault."
A murmur passed through the hall.
"I questioned him personally. I wanted to know why he took it… and what he had read."
Frank paused.
"He said he couldn't understand anything. It was written entirely in Ancient Greek."
No one moved.
"But he told me he examined it carefully. Page by page. And he noticed something."
The silence deepened.
"Five pages are missing."
No one spoke.
"The book looked complete. It always did. But when we checked it together — Noah, Sigmund, and I — it was true. Five pages had been removed with almost perfect precision."
Klein narrowed his eyes slightly.
"That book contains everything we know about demonic pacts. Rituals. Symbols. And no one truly examined it except Sigmund's great-great-grandfather. After his death, Sigmund's great-grandfather locked it in the underground vault… and no one touched it again."
Frank lowered his voice.
"But that wasn't all."
Tension tightened across the room.
"He showed me the inside of the back cover. There was a sentence written in English."
Now every eye was on him.
"It said: 'If you can understand Ancient Greek… do not read beyond seven pages.'"
Absolute silence.
If five pages were missing…
And only seven were meant to be read…
Then the true content of the book had never been fully revealed.
Klein spoke quietly.
"The knowledge we have comes only from what Sigmund's great-great-grandfather discovered. No one has uncovered the full contents."
"That's correct," Sigmund said. "After his death, the book was stored away. It has remained there ever since."
Frank continued.
"That's when I told Sigmund I would learn Ancient Greek and travel to Palmyra, in Syria… the place where his great-great-grandfather found the book. I wanted to discover something more. Something not recorded in our archives."
Sigmund did not interrupt.
"I thought I might find historical references. Similar inscriptions. Some trace of the manuscript's origin."
Frank took a slow step forward.
"But from the moment I arrived in Palmyra… and began investigating the ruins…"
His expression shifted.
Not fear.
Unease.
"That's when everything became… very strange."
No one spoke.
Not even Lars.
The name Palmyra evoked ancient empires, fallen civilizations, history swallowed by time.
But in Frank's voice…
There was something more than history.