The next day.
The skies above Astralis, capital of the Hidden Dominion, were the color of ash and bruised steel. Stormlight glimmered weakly through the clouds, casting the city in an eternal twilight that made even the angels look haunted.
From her seat in the back of an obsidian-black Lamborghini, Lumira Duskbane watched the gothic towers pass by like spines of sleeping beasts. The streets of Astralis pulsed faintly with leyfire — veins of magic running through the marble, silver-blue and restless.
Her reflection ghosted across the tinted glass: pale skin, white hair, hollowed eyes.
The Witch of the West had returned from death.
And today, she was being summoned to answer for it.
Beside her sat Lady Evelyne Duskbane, her grandmother — regal and terrible in violet velvet and a crown-shaped comb of black diamonds. The woman's every breath reeked of control. Even the air around her seemed to obey her posture.
Across from Lumira, Seraphina Angelis fidgeted in her white dress, small hands clutching her knees, lips moving in nervous prayer. Her blue eyes darted constantly toward Lumira, as though afraid the witch might fade into mist again.
At the wheel sat the Shadow Emissary, a creature of absolute silence. His hooded form was made of smoke and shadow, his hands gloved in black steel. Power shimmered faintly in the air around him — the unmistakable weight of something not entirely mortal.
The car slid through the city like a black omen. Pedestrians and nobles alike stopped to stare, their expressions veiled behind jeweled masks. Lumira could almost hear the whispers trailing behind her as the car passed.
"Ghost."
"Revenant."
"Cursed one."
The words pressed against her chest like phantom hands. She looked down at her own pale fingers and swallowed hard. Hold it together, Rina. You're not the prey today. You can't afford to be.
When the car finally stopped, Lumira lifted her eyes — and her breath caught.
Before her stood the Council Hall, The Chamber of Aethelred.
It was the most sacred and feared structure in the Dominion. It rose like a cathedral sculpted from the remains of a god — spires twisting into the storm, the black stone veined with molten silver. Runes crawled across the walls like living serpents, whispering in forgotten tongues.
"Stay close," Lady Evelyn said. Her voice was silk drawn over steel.
Lumira took her grandmother's gloved hand and together, they crossed the marble bridge toward the towering obsidian doors that marked the entrance to the Council of Shadows and Fire.
The air grew heavier with each step. Inside, the corridors were a labyrinth of black stone and floating light. The torches burned with cold blue flame, their fire unmoving, trapped in a perfect stillness. Each wall shimmered faintly with protective sigils and ancient wards.
The Shadow Emissary moved ahead, his cloak rippling like liquid night. Behind him came Lady Evelyn — her heels clicking like the ticking of a clock — and little Sera, clutching her skirt in terror.
The vast doors of the Council Chamber loomed ahead, sealed by seven silver bands etched with celestial glyphs. Two armored sentinels stood before them, faceless and immovable.
The Emissary raised one hand and reality wavered. The bands broke open with a hiss of ancient magic. The doors parted — and silence swallowed everything, as only Lumira stepped into the chamber.
It was vast, circular, and suffocatingly magnificent. Black marble stretched endlessly beneath her feet, veined with veins of crimson light. High above, a domed ceiling swirled with storm clouds trapped in enchantment. From its center hung a chandelier forged from the bones of fallen stars.
Ten thrones — carved from onyx and fireglass — formed a crescent dais. Upon them sat the Council of Ten, each radiating a power so distinct it felt like ten worlds colliding.
The Decemvirate of Shadows and Fire stood like gods carved from the bones of creation — the Council of Ten, guardians of dominion and ruin just as discribed in the novel.
In the first throne sat Lord Dexter Valerius, High Vampire Chancellor, sat first among them. His hair spilled like molten silver over a face hewn from moonlight. Eyes the red of aged wine flickered with patient cruelty. When he spoke, his voice was silk over steel — a soft kind of eternal malice.
Selena Moondrake, Witch High Regent, glimmered beside him in robes of midnight sewn with living runes. A crown of thorns and crescent moons rested upon her brow, beauty and venom in divine accord. Her smile was prayer and curse entwined.
Kaelen Ironfang, Alpha Marshal of the Werewolves, towered like a siege engine wrought in flesh. Scars latticed his frame, each a chapter of conquest. His amber eyes burned low, like a forge long used to shaping destiny.
Cassiel the Unyielding, Archangel Arbiter, gleamed with judgment incarnate. Wings of gold folded tight behind him, each feather humming with celestial restraint. His very presence seared the air — and Lumira's mortal skin recoiled beneath the holiness of him.
Asmodan Veythar, Demon Minister of Pacts, lounged with elegance too precise to be mortal. His smile was perfect, his words perfumed in brimstone and honey. Every syllable promised paradise — at a price he never needed to name.
Tharion Embervault, the Dragon Treasurer, coiled within robes that could not quite hide his gilded scales. Smoke curled from his lips when he breathed; his eyes were twin furnaces of greed and wisdom, both impossible to separate.
Lady Elaris Thornveil, Fae Emissary, shimmered like a blade beneath frost. Her beauty was glass and danger, her gestures precise enough to wound. When she spoke, her voice could seduce kingdoms — or shatter them.
Morthos Gravemind, Necromancer Overseer, was half decay, half persistence. Bone merged with flesh, and his skeletal hand never ceased its writing. The scratching of his bone quill echoed softly, as if the dead themselves took dictation.
Aeris Stormrend, Elemental Warden, refused a single shape. His body shimmered between flame and water, wind and stone, his voice carrying the echo of distant thunder. He was the storm that obeyed no season.
And presiding over all was Nymera of the Veil, Oracle of Time. Her veil shimmered with galaxies; constellations drifted across her gown like a slow-turning sky. Though she was blind, she did not look at Lumira, but looked through her — into the threads of past and future, where all fates unravel.
Lumira stepped into the center of the chamber — the circle of judgment — where light from a single star-shaped window fell upon her like a celestial blade.
All eyes were upon her, as every whisper, every breath, stilled.
Then, at last, Valerius rose.
"Lady Lumira Duskbane," he said softly, and his voice echoed across the chamber like the turning of a page in a forbidden book.
"The revenant witch who sealed the Demon King of the South and defied death itself. Do you know why you stand before us?"
Lumira bowed low, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it.
"No, my lord. I can only beg for the Council's wisdom to illuminate me."
A murmur swept the balconies — nobles whispering, senators hissing. The old language of politics was alive here: submission, performance, and survival.
"Then hear it." Valerius nodded slowly, obviously pleased with her diction. "The Council acknowledges your deeds — and the salvation of the Hidden Realms."
Selena Moondrake rose next. Her every motion was poetry edged with poison.
"Come forward, child. Receive the mark of your new title as a reward for sealing the Demon King."
Lumira moved toward her. The ground beneath her feet thrummed like a heartbeat.
When Selena's hand descended, pain seared through Lumira's wrist — white-hot, pure, absolute. She gasped, falling to one knee as silver light carved a crescent sigil into her flesh. The scent of ozone and blood mingled in the air.
"Rise," Selena said coldly. "You are now the High Arcanist of the Moon Seal. So long as you breathe, your power will answer the tides and the moon's command. So long as you stand, the Council will watch your every step."
The room trembled with restrained power. Lumira rose, clutching her burning wrist, the silver glow pulsing with her heartbeat.
Then Cassiel stood — his wings unfurling like dawn breaking over ruins.
"What reward shall you claim, revenant?" His voice was deep as thunder. "Choose wisely. The Council does not offer twice."
Lumira exhaled slowly. Every nerve screamed to stay silent. Every instinct warned her to kneel again.
But instead, she lifted her chin.
"Honored Council of Shadows and Fire," she began, her tone calm, precise, and razor-sharp. "I am humbled beyond words to stand before the Ten. To be recognized as High Arcanist of the Moon Seal is a grace I scarcely deserve. Your wisdom has preserved our realms through countless ages, and today, I kneel in awe of that majesty."
Valerius's lips curved faintly with the shadow of approval.
Selena's gaze glimmered with amusement.
Asmodan leaned forward, interested now.
Then Lumira spoke the words that silenced the hall.
"If it pleases the Council," she said softly, "I have but one request."
Upon hearing this Lady Evelyn, seated in the gallery, went still. Even Sera stopped breathing.
"I want the Wastelands of Nespresso returned to me."
The words cracked through the silence like a whip.
The silence that followed was a terrifying lack of sound as everyone in the room widened thier eyes in shock.