The stairs swallowed him whole.
Cold stone replaced warm wood. The air changed too - thinner, older, humming with a pulse that didn't belong to any living thing. Lucian descended with the calm certainty of someone who knew exactly how deep the shadows ran beneath his family's home.
At the bottom, the underhall stretched wide, carved into ancient bedrock. Blue runes pulsed along the walls like veins of dim lightning. Lanterns lit without flame, responding to his presence with a gentle, eerie glow.
This was the place the world pretended didn't exist.
The Silent Council.
One by one, shadows dissolved into shape as operatives arrived.
Ironhand materialized first, a broad silhouette with a steady presence.Scribe followed, scrolls circling her like tame spirits.Harrow emerged near the wall, coiled in contained danger.Wisp's projection flickered quietly, small and steady.Aegis and Bandit slipped in with opposite energies, one silent, one too casual.
And then -
A figure strolled into the light with the loose-limbed ease of someone who had never once bothered to fear anything.
Jester.
Mask smooth, posture lazy, one hand in his pocket like this secret chamber belonged to him.
Lucian didn't acknowledge any of them.He didn't have to.
The room stilled, waiting.
Ironhand began. "Unmarked mercenaries crossing borders. Five groups. Well-disciplined. No insignias."
"Purpose?" Lucian asked.
"Deliberately obscured. Their supplies suggest a long-term contract."
Scribe didn't look up as her scrolls unfurled themselves. "Two sets of ledgers vanished today. A new tax decree appeared without legal signature. Someone is moving funds beneath the surface."
Lucian's expression didn't shift, but the air cooled slightly.
Wisp spoke next. "The symbol found on the Veyra caravans appeared again. Same pattern: three points forming a circle. Still unidentified."
Harrow's tone was sharp, restless. "Someone is purging the underworld quietly. No bodies. No traces. The gangs are terrified."
Lucian nodded once, slow and thoughtful.
Then his gaze drifted to Jester.
Jester tilted his head just a fraction, voice smooth and dry. "Upper district is restless. Too many nobles whispering behind closed doors. More movement than the season warrants. And someone has been sniffing around places they shouldn't be."
No house names.No family affiliations.Nothing traceable.
Just information, clean, precise, valuable.
Lucian absorbed it all with the quiet gravity of someone used to holding burdens larger than the kingdom realized.
Then he issued his orders:
"Ironhand, intercept weapon shipments. Quietly.""Scribe, track the money trail until you find the hand behind it.""Harrow, identify who's clearing the underworld. Approach cautiously.""Wisp, continue monitoring the caravans. Alert me if the symbol changes.""Aegis, double coverage on my siblings. Do not let them notice.""Bandit, drown any lower-district rumors that lead toward Ashthorn."
And to Jester in a calm, unbothered voice:
"Keep doing what you do. Be visible. Distracting. Impossible to ignore."
Jester gave a lazy two-finger salute. "Naturally."
The projections flickered out.The physical operatives vanished into tunnels.Silence settled like dust.
Only Lucian remained.
A small steel insignia sat beside the table, bent from rough handling. He picked it up lightly between two fingers.
For anyone else, steel resisted.
For him, it flowed.
The metal softened, reshaping without heat, without glow, without any aura at all. It bent the way warm wax bends - smooth, obedient, wrong.
He rolled it once between his fingers, reshaping it again with casual precision.
"Power should never announce itself," he murmured, setting the insignia down.
The underhall seemed to hold its breath.
Lucian turned toward a deeper tunnel branching off from the main chamber.
"The Silent Council convenes," he whispered, the title sliding into the quiet like a blade into its sheath.
"And the embers begin to stir."
He stepped into the darkness, disappearing as though he had never stood there at all.