The chamber beneath the estate had no windows. The people seated around the circular table preferred it that way.
No sunlight. No distractions. No reminders of the world above. Only stone walls, dim lighting, and silence.
The room itself was older than most governments. Older than several nations. Hidden beneath layers of history, it had survived wars, revolutions, economic collapses, and political assassinations.
Empires had risen and fallen while this room remained.
And tonight, all twelve seats were occupied.
The Council of Twelve had gathered.
At the center of the table rested a single photograph.
Sebastian Ravenscroft.
Nobody spoke for several moments.
The oldest member simply stared at the picture. His name was Lucien Voss.
At least that was the name he currently used.
The truth was that nobody in the room knew exactly how old Lucien was anymore.
Not really. The files said seventy-eight.
The rumors suggested older.
