Chapter 04

  The double doors of the sanctuary eased open at a snail’s pace, revealing Ruppert’s dimly lit form under the soft glow of the crystalline walls. The chamber exhaled in a gasp after years of being sealed, its breath old and stagnant. A sharper, brighter hue brushed against Ruppert’s face, and as he inhaled. The air carried an ancient aftertaste, metallic, timeworn, unnatural.

  At the heart of the sanctuary, a grand table awaited, familiar and imposing. How many times had he schemed at this very table? How many fists had struck its surface in heated debates? Too many to count. Too few to remember. Yet tonight, something felt different. Maybe it was the weight of uncertainty gnawing at him. His gaze lingered on the intricate carvings, the smooth, quarkon-like crystal pulsing faintly beneath his fingers. He never truly paid much heed to its craftmanship, but now, for the first time in years, he saw it. A thought pressed into his mind, who were the ancients that built this place? What forgotten methods had breathed such life into stone? Beyond the table, at the far end of the room, the altar stood in silent judgment.

  Ruppert swallowed, feeling its presence bear down on him, vindicating him for sins too numerous to count. Nestled at its center lay the Codex of the Creator, its gilded bindings pulsing with faint energy that made the air around it hummed. It did not matter how often he had laid eyes upon it. The sight always stole his breath. A figure approached the Codex. Edward Tayt. His hand rested upon the sacred book, fingers ghosting across its cover as if in apology. Ruppert’s lips twitched, his unspoken guilt hanging on the edge of his breath. He exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away. But as his gaze lifted once more, his breath caught again.

  The rod. Suspended above the Codex, unmoving yet impossibly present, the long, unassuming rod hovered in an eerie stillness. Ruppert could have sworn it had called to him. A faint pulse rippled in his vision; his eyes locked onto its flawless surface. It was the same crystalline material, yet purer, brighter, alive. His chest tightened. His mind swayed. The world around him blurred at the edges. His lungs burned. He had forgotten to breathe

  “You’re still not accustomed to its pull, Ruppert? Even after all these years?”

  The voice lashed through the haze, smooth yet laced with condescension. Ruppert growled at the unfazed Edward.

  “Thanks to its pull, we can convene here, beyond the world’s eyes and ears.”

  He glanced at the rod again, its glow unwavering, untouchable, the most sacred artifact of the Order of the Weave. Behind him, footsteps echoed crisply against the crystalline floor as the other religious leaders entered the sanctum. Low murmurs rippled through the chamber, but Ruppert barely heard them. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his temples to clear the lingering haze the rod had left in his mind. This meeting was about to begin. And it would change everything.

  #

  The sanctuary seemed to swallow Ruppert after every passing second. The leaders had taken their seats, yet the magnitude of the discussion ahead loomed over him like an unspoken curse. Ruppert could feel their apprehension, skepticism, and simmering distrust sneaking into the silence. Yusuf Al-Hakim, the Holy One, snuffed the silence by speaking first.

  "Well then, Ruppert,"

  He scoffed; his fingers tapped on the table impatiently.

  "Would you care to explain why we’ve been dragged from our domains to this forsaken place again? I do believe our government is running its programs as intended. There is no need to depose anyone just yet."

  The words carried a bite, but what irritated Ruppert most was the dismissive smirk tugging at the corner of Yusuf’s lips. Some of the others, though silent, did not entirely disagree. They were uneasy in this place. Were it not for the chamber’s dampening effect, the guarantee that their words could not be spied upon, most of them would never have agreed to meet here.

  Edward Tayt stiffened at the insult. Ruppert saw the way his fingers twitched against the table, his jaw tightening. The High Priest of the Weave would not tolerate such blatant disregard for their sacred ground.

  "You tread dangerously, Yusuf,"

  Edward warned coldly.

  "I tolerate your presence, but I will not hear heresy from you tonight."

  Cohen, ever the shadow at Edward’s side, nodded sharply in agreement and was about to open his mouth. Ruppert raised a hand; he had no time to entertain petty dispute between religious leaders.

  "Enough,"

  He barked, cutting through the chamber. His usual sharp wit was dulled by urgency. Ordinarily, he might have engaged in verbal sparring, but not tonight. Tonight was not about egos.

  "We all know that most of us share no love for each other,"

  Ruppert announced, matter of fact.

  "Even so. Thank you for making time to come here on such short notice."

  His diplomatic skills were well-honed. A quality that earned him respect even among those who despised him. Yet even now, his words were met with exasperated sighs and impatient glances. Wei Chen, the Peacekeeper, leaned back in his chair, arms folded, watching him with an amused smirk. Yuan Rinpoche, the Silent One, offered only the faintest hint of a smile. She said nothing. She never did unless necessary, nevertheless, her silence often spoke louder than words. Ruppert pressed on.

  "For decades, we have worked to build a government that upholds strong moral values and protects the future of Westland,"

  His measured voiced echoed in the sanctuary.

  "It is true, we are waging a war, and we are losing lives at an alarming rate. A solution must be found to counter our dwindling numbers."

  His gaze swept the room.

  "But tonight, I must tell you that our government has finally lost its mind."

  The words hit empty air; his audience unfazed. Yusuf let out a crisp laugh.

  "Hah! Yes, Ruppert, that is what happens when you play puppeteer with politicians. Sometimes they develop minds of their own. What, pray tell, is your point?"

  The few chuckles that rippled in agreement irritated him, fortunately Cohen remained silent, his eyes fixed on the table. Ruppert let the laughter die down before he spoke again searching for an impact.

  "Our dear ‘puppets,’ as you so eloquently put it, have come up with a solution to our dwindling numbers,"

  "They propose the merging of a biological body with an AI."

  Silence. At first, the words seemed to hang like a firework that did not explode. Then, a shift. A flicker of understanding passed through Amir Bharat’s eyes. However The Watcher of Flow, was ever a sceptic, and scoffed.

  "So what?"

  Amir leaned forward.

  "They’ve made biological droids? Slapped an AI into some corpses and sent them to war? How is this any different from the machines we already use?"

  Ruppert’s jaw tightened.

  "That is precisely the problem,"

  He admitted, his voice low.

  "Creating a biological body is far more costly than building a mechanical one. So, ask yourself, where do you think they are acquiring these bodies?"

  Amir’s expression darkened, his posture shifting as realization set in his initial suspicion confirmed. The memory resurfaced, Julian Markov, two decades ago, offering a ‘service’ of cryogenic preservation to the wealthy and devout.

  "No…"

  Amir whispered, his voice barely audible.

  "You can’t be serious."

  Ruppert nodded, confirming the doubt.

  "As of tonight, the government has passed a bill allowing the project to proceed. They presented their first working unit, an AI operating the corpse of a dead woman,"

  He paused, allowing the magnitude of the revelation to gravitate their attention toward him,

  "The project is called the Recycled Human Unit. RHU. And the two men responsible for this atrocity are none other than Julian Markov and Dr. Aldric Harrow."

  He paused before hammering the final nail into the coffin. A silence swallowed the room. Even Yusuf, for all his arrogance, was rendered speechless, the relief that washed over him as Ruppert had caught the leader in his grasp felt bitter. He watched them shift uncomfortably and continued.

  "This is the future our government is proposing. To desecrate our dead, to twist them into biological machines for war."

  Finally, he paused and looked up toward the ceiling, beyond the layers of rock and toward the city above, as though he could see Prima moving about Westland. The monstrosity spreading its sacrilege through his beloved nation. He peered back at the leaders and spoke resolutely.

  "I will not stand for it."

  The words rang through the chamber like a verdict. Yusuf was the first to bite, slamming his fist against the table.

  "No! The dead must rest!"

  He bellowed; his voice raw with fury.

  "This is blasphemy, an affront to the very foundation of our beliefs!"

  Cohen, usually more reserved, spoke next. His voice was lower but no less resolute.

  "The dead are meant to rest,"

  He echoed.

  "The church shall not allow such blasphemy to continue."

  Ruppert watched as the room fractured, the divide forming as leaders wrestled with their reactions. But one figure, silent and unmoving, seemed oddly thrilled. Wei Chen.

  The Peacekeeper’s lips warped into something between a smirk and a grin, his fingers tapping idly against the table.

  Ruppert’s fingers curled into a fist. Wei Chen’s smirk lingered like a promise. Ruppert swallowed the irritation burning at the back of his throat. He could not read the man’.

  #

  "Our government's desperation leads us to a grim future. Desecrating our dead into war fodder. Desperate though we may be, I shall not allow our nation to descend into this path of heresy."

  Ruppert added salt to the open wound of their faith, vilifying the government’s decision with the intent to rally the leaders to his side.

  Ruppert swept the room, his gaze pausing briefly on the other figures present. He scrutinized their individual reactions and body language. There were none, if anything, they seemed impassive. He lingered on Edward Tayt who was uncharacteristically silent. His initial uproar at Yusuf’s insults seemed dimmed by a cloud of pensiveness that took him hostage.

  The man rose briskly, eyes wide as though the world burned before him. He suddenly scrambled toward the Codex.

  "Edward?"

  Ruppert asked tentatively. The man was rumored to have suffered bouts of senility since losing his son. It would be unfortunate if one of his episodes happened now.

  Edward’s hands trembled as he gripped the Codex. He barely turned a page before his breath hitched, a sharp, strangled sound. His fingers locked onto a passage, and he froze.

  "No… No!"

  Edward stammered, his hand anchoring itself to the altar to support his shivering body. An unusual chill crept through the sanctuary, raising the hairs on Ruppert’s arms. Edward turned to face him, to face the assembly. The man was drenched in sweat, his breath shallow.

  "This…",

  the unsteady voice began,

  "A prophecy… Eons forgotten. Older than the Codex itself…"

  His voice trailed off into ragged breaths. The sanctuary's attention funneled in like a vortex toward Edward. Even Ruppert, despite himself, was pulled into the weight of the moment.

  Edward gathered himself with a deep inhale before turning back to the Codex, gripping it like a lifeline. Then, he read.

  "An age will come when the dead walk among the living, breaking the balance, extinguishing the light of mankind."

  Ruppert tasted a foreign silence. A cold sweat crept down his spine, chilling his veins. He shrugged it off, shaking the grip of dread. He swept the room again. The indifference on the leaders' faces remained but it had evolved. A flicker of fear skittered behind those impassive eyes, seeping through subtle twitches and tense posture.

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  The prophecy had hit harder than the news of Prima.

  Yet, irritation itched at Ruppert when he saw a wolfish grin spreading across Wei Chen’s lips. The leader of the Xhanlai Xuezhai thrived on such apocalyptic implications. War was their lifeblood, and the man was almost salivating. Ruppert clenched his fist. These are my potential allies, pious, self-serving fools.

  He exhaled, unclenching his fingers. The prophecy served his purpose. He placed his palm firmly on the table, grounding himself as he leaned in, his voice lowering.

  "This prophecy, old as it is, must not be overlooked."

  Wei Chen’s stare burned into him, eager for the conflict Ruppert was about to declare.

  "This further heightens the importance of the second purpose of this gathering. We must form a resistance against our government’s madness. We must snip the bud before it blooms. Westland must not fall to the lunacy and sacrilege of its leaders. We must not allow our nation to be the downfall of mankind."

  Ruppert sat back, observing the stew he was brewing, ready to see who would leap aboard his ship. He was glad, in truth, for the prophecy, it allowed him to push his agenda and raise the stake. He folded his hand triumphantly. Two figures cracked first. Yusuf stood, slamming his palm onto the table.

  "This sacrilege must end! The Bayt Al-Mutawakilin will not stand idle! We shall form this resistance!"

  Fury, or was it fear? It boiled over, stiffening Yusuf's frame like a taut bowstring.

  "The Eternal rest of the dead is their right. We shall not allow this privilege to be taken from them."

  Cohen, his voice calmer but no less firm, added to the rallying tension with a passionate affirmation.

  "The Church of the Creator shall not condone this sacrilege. By the Creator’s name, we must stop this transgression."

  Ruppert studied his old friend. Was he spurred on by Yusuf, or by the creeping dread of the prophecy? Did it even matter? Ruppert was relieved albeit momentarily, His resistance was forming. Voss and Markov would not have their way with Westland. Tapping his fingers against his armrest, Ruppert studied the other, ever-silent leaders. The silence no longer felt indifferent. It grasped the room like a predator, expectant. Ruppert poised himself, watching as the magnitude of the revelation settled upon the leaders. Now, they had to choose.

  #

  The unlikely sight unfolded before Ruppert. Two men who had been at each other’s throats now spoke as allies, bound by a shared enemy. Yet he had no time to entertain the comical notion, he focused on the other leaders. Yun Lee, Amir Bharat, and Yuan Rinpoche sat stiffly in their seats, their faces somber, tethering on an edged silence. He expected their hesitation. For years, they had endorsed Markov’s programs. To refute his program now would undermine their credibility as spiritual leaders. Ruppert could feel their distance, the restrained disdain in their gazes whenever their eyes met his.

  Fools. People needed to be stirred. Even those at the top, the so-called voices of faith, required a guiding hand. Left to their own devices, they would hesitate, waver, and let morality cloud their strategy. Like a chasm slowly widening, the divide was forming.

  And then, of course, Yusuf had to speak.

  The fanatic stood sharply, smothering the moment of quiet. His voice, laced with disdain, cut across the chamber.

  "Does your teachings encourage hesitation in the face of impending danger?"

  His voice remained measured at first, but it did not last.

  "An apocalyptic threat looms over us, threatening to condemn our faithful into eternal torment. Yet you hesitate?"

  Ruppert did not miss the way Yun Lee’s fingers tensed against the armrest of her chair, the brief flicker of a scowl crossing Amir’s face. Good. Let him push them further into indecision. But Yusuf wasn’t finished. He leaned over the table, saliva spraying as he slammed his palm against its sacred surface.

  "How can you allow the government to defile what is sacred? To push forward with this abomination, desecrating our people in ways they do not deserve?"

  Ruppert’s patience snapped. His irritation flared as he shot Yusuf a sharp, silencing glare.

  "That is enough."

  His voice carved through the tension, stopping Yusuf's mid-breath, as the later was about to spew more indignations.

  "The resistance needs allies, not enemies."

  He let his words settle, ensuring Yusuf grasped their importance before continuing.

  "We stand a better chance united in protecting Westland from its downfall. Naturally, I understand the need for reflection before committing to action. But we must decide on the path forward."

  A subtle movement caught Ruppert’s attention. Wei Chen had shifted his weight as he leaned his head on his fist, the smirk edging his lips widening. The man had read through his every move. He was amused. Ruppert exhaled slowly, suppressing the flicker of irritation. It wasn’t unexpected. Then, movement. A rustle of fabric. A chair scraped softly. Yuan Rinpoche rose from her seat.

  She did not speak. She merely bowed once, curtly, then turned her gaze to Amir Bharat and Wei Chen. A silent understanding passed between them, a fraternity of sorts before she met Ruppert’s gaze. There was regret in her eyes. Ruppert did not know how he understood it. She turned and strode out, vanishing without a whisper. The sanctuary swallowed her absence whole. Her stance was clear. Her faction would remain silent. A deep sigh escaped Amir’s lips as he slowly stood, his gaze lingering on the space Yuan had left behind. Then, with a nod toward Yun Lee, he spoke.

  "Mahakala will endure. Time spins on, no matter the storm it faces. Though unfortunate, time’s followers serve in their own ways as the will of Mahakala dictates. I shall retire to study the flow. I wish you all good fortune and the blessing to face the storm."

  His voice, as always, was unsettlingly serene. Timeless. It put Ruppert on edge.

  Amir Bharat, is a man detached from the world, like an hourglass indifferent to the sands within it. Unmoved by the ebb and flow of war or peace, he followed only what he perceived as the natural progression of time. Ruppert exhaled as Amir left, his departure just as final as Yuan’s. And then, another voice, a soft one, echoed in the sanctuary. It was Yun Lee.

  Her dark eyes locked onto his, unreadable and impassive.

  "The great consciousness has been shattered for many eons. Its fragments remain fragile. Each life lived and yet to be lived enriches the whole upon its return. I will not lead my followers into a conflict that threatens this sacred process. There is much to consider."

  Ruppert held back the scoff clawing at his throat. In short, you will not commit, why can’t these fools speak human language? Be more straight forward. Her words were wrapped in sophistry, her faith woven with abstractions he would never respect. The great consciousness. Bah. There was the Creator, and nothing else. Still, he knew better than to argue. She turned and walked away, her footsteps fading down the crystalline halls. And now, only one man remained. Wei Chen. He had said nothing. Not one word. His only sign of reaction was that ever-growing obnoxious smirk.

  This man, with his nondescript features and unassuming build, was a snake. His faction, the Xhanlai Xuezhai, was one of the most powerful in the world despite their numbers only counting in the few dozen. Still, he had only sat there, watching. Ruppert met his gaze, studying him carefully. The man had no qualms about what was coming. That much was clear. But whether he was here to join the resistance or simply watch it unfold, that, Ruppert could not tell. He exhaled, turning to those who remained. Yusuf’s eyes burned with fanatic zeal. Cohen’s shoulders stood firm, his conviction an iron pillar. And Edward, still lost in the Codex, shuffled through its pages as though salvation hid between its ink and parchment.

  He could not trust Yusuf. It was like grasping a handful of eels, each one waiting for the moment to slip away. Ruppert clenched his teeth. No matter. He leaned forward; voice edged with purpose.

  "We need a plan. How do we stop our mad government before their madness consumes us all?"

  #

  "Leave it to me. I shall have protesters flooding the streets of Westland, marching and demanding the project’s cessation. The government will cave under pressure, shutting it down before tomorrow’s sunset."

  Ruppert studied Yusuf, frowning. He had expected the fanatic to resort to anarchy, but this soon? Did the man not realize the havoc his reckless scheme would unleash? If anything, such chaos would only strengthen the project's legitimacy, giving the government an excuse to tighten its grip.

  A dull pressure throbbed behind Ruppert’s temples. He shook his head and fixed Yusuf with a cold glare.

  "So, your solution is to create mayhem and hope for the best? Do you not see the consequences? Wounded civilians, panic spreading like wildfire. The government will crush us before we even begin, and when the dust settles, Westland will be weaker than ever, vulnerable to the Eastern Federation."

  Yusuf’s nostrils flared. His eyes burned with defiance; his whole body taut with restrained fury. But then, his shoulders sagged. He slumped back into his seat. Ruppert remained unconvinced. Could Yusuf be controlled, or had he just set loose a disaster waiting to happen? He turned his attention to Cohen, who sat with his head bowed, deep in thought. Was his resolve enough to endure what lay ahead? As if answering an unspoken cue, Cohen lifted his gaze.

  "Ruppert is right. We must move in the shadows. Our priority should be gathering intelligence on those involved in the project. Our followers come from all walks of life. Some are already entangled in this, perhaps even working under Markov or Harrow. We must find these individuals and ensure they provide the information we need. That information will be our greatest weapon."

  A flicker of relief settled in Ruppert’s chest. Cohen was a man of faith, but more importantly, he was pragmatic. Unlike Yusuf, he understood patience. A low chuckle curled through the air. Wei Chen. The man lounged in his chair, a glint of amusement in his eyes as if the brewing conflict was a delicious dish prepared for his enjoyment. A vein pulsed at Ruppert’s temple. Wei Chen was as unpredictable as his motives. He was called the Peacekeeper, but anyone versed in politics knew him by another name. The Warmaker. His faction thrived on conflict, orchestrating both sides to ensure an endless cycle of war. Despite Ruppert’s distaste for him, he could not ignore his influence. Suppressing his irritation, Ruppert exhaled, forcing his shoulder to relax.

  "What do you make of Cohen’s plan, Peacekeeper?"

  The title stung like poison on his tongue. Wei Chen straightened slightly, his gaze sharpening as he leaned forward. For the first time, Ruppert felt the man’s full attention settle on him like a predator sizing up its prey.

  "A marvelous tapestry unfolds before me. Can you blame an amateur for observing? Conflict teaches many lessons, wouldn't you agree?"

  Ruppert clenched his jaw. Sophistry. Wei Chen rose to his feet, his expression unreadable.

  "Yusuf wishes to yank the lion’s tail like a foolish sheep. Cohen seeks to stroke the wolf while offering his arm. A wiser move would be to feed the predator poisoned meat."

  His words slithered through the room, deliberate and precise.

  "A ship riddled with a thousand holes sinks just as surely as one split in half. The difference is confusion. A captain will sail on, unaware, until his feet grow wet. By then, it will be too late to stop the inevitable."

  Ruppert inhaled slowly, his fingers pressing against the table, as though feeling the table surface would provide clarity on the words Wei Chen was spouting. It was logical. A covert assault would cripple the government’s efforts far more effectively than open rebellion. But what did Wei Chen stand to gain? The man never played a game without holding all the pieces. Perhaps sensing his doubt, Wei Chen smiled.

  "Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak. Tell me, Minister, do you truly believe you are losing?"

  Ruppert frowned. Was he? The government had a clear course of action. The resistance had only just formed, fragile and uncertain. At a glance, the power balance seemed unquestionable. Or was it? He knew their plan. They did not know his. Though, in truth, he had none. Could that alone shift the scales?

  "Our alliance is new, while the government moves with certainty," Ruppert admitted. "But they are blind to us. That is an advantage I intend to use."

  Wei Chen chuckled, rubbing his chin.

  "Minister, you see it now, don’t you? Knowledge is power. You hold the board, and they do not even know they are playing. That, Minister, is the greatest advantage of all."

  He turned toward the exit, inhaling as if savoring the moment.

  "Remember, Minister. The Peacekeeper takes no sides. We simply watch the tapestry unfold."

  His laughter trailed behind him, his footsteps a quiet, mocking rhythm fading into the corridor. Ruppert sat back in biter agreement with Wei Chen reasoning.

  #

  A sharp huff snapped Ruppert’s attention to his allies as the echoes of Wei Chen’s parting words grated at him. Yusuf had his fist pressed against the table; his body taut with barely restrained fury. The man had been humiliated. His eyes darted between Ruppert and the exit, torn between lashing out or swallowing his rage. Ruppert ignored it. He did not need Yusuf to soothe his ego. He needed him as a weapon. Judging by how easily he could be provoked, it would take only the right push for Yusuf to pounce on the project without hesitation.

  "We cannot trust him, Ruppert,"

  Cohen stated, unease threading through his voice. Ruppert did not argue. Wei Chen’s cryptic behavior had woven yet another strand of doubt into his thoughts. Yet he could not refute the fact that no faction entered a conflict without a strategist. Those who did were always the first to fall.

  "Damn those scholars and their love for war,"

  Ruppert muttered, rubbing his temple. Cohen placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a silent reminder that he was not alone.

  "This prophecy,"

  Edward's soft muttering drew Ruppert’s gaze. The old weaver was hunched over the Codex like a parched man, desperately flipping through the scripture to quench his need for answers.

  "The ancients must not have written it without purpose. Yet, nothing predates it in the records. I must scour our archives. Surely, the Weave has recorded further insight over the eons. I will muster the Order to unearth whatever knowledge remains."

  Ruppert studied the man’s fumbling hands. Edward would not directly involve himself in the conflict. However, his fixation on the prophecy could still serve a purpose. If his research uncovered anything useful, then letting him sift through ancient texts was contribution enough.

  "It seems your senile mind has recovered somewhat, old man,"

  Ruppert said before catching himself. Damn it. That had come out harsher than intended. Edward had lost his son. If madness had taken root in him, it was not without reason. Still, he inclined his head slightly in gratitude.

  "Nonetheless, I appreciate your dedication to unveiling more information regarding that prophecy. Something tells me none of this is a coincidence."

  Edward gave no response, already lost in the Codex’s pages. Ruppert shook his head and turned back to Yusuf and Cohen.

  "Begin mobilizing your networks. We must identify everyone tied to the project, including Doctor Aldric Harrow and Julian Markov. Proceed with caution. The public is still unaware of what is happening."

  He rose from his seat, exhaling slowly as if to convince himself that manipulation was not a sin, but a necessity.

  "Start sowing seeds of doubt in your followers’ minds. Undermine the credibility of merging AI with human corpses. Demonize it."

  His gaze locked onto Yusuf. If there existed a man who could turn a saint into a demon, it was him.

  "You and your faction are prohibited from acting publicly unless given direct orders. If you move on your own, you will be on your own. We will not protect you from government retaliation."

  Yusuf’s lips curled into a snarl, resentment flashing in his eyes. The fool still did not understand that caution was the only way to ensure victory. No matter. He would obey. For now. With that, the meeting came to an end. The four men exchanged farewells, and the plan set itself into motion. Ruppert hurried back to his car. Matthew, his assistant, stood waiting, posture rigid with expectation.

  "Did the Creator grant you guidance, sir?"

  Ruppert barely registered the words. His gaze locked onto the digital clock on the passenger seat.

  "Ten thirty."

  Muttering to himself, he gazed beyond the car, toward the city, where the skyline gleamed like a distant galaxy. His eyes narrowed on a grand, glass-wrapped structure on the horizon. It was the venue of the Economic Forum’s late-night cocktail event. He turned and barked at his aide.

  "Matthew."

  Flinching, Matthew yelped.

  "Sir?"

  Ruppert coughed, adjusting his voice.

  "Are we too late for the Economic Forum's late-night cocktail event?"

  Matthew blinked at him, scrambling through his digital planner.

  "The... cocktail, sir? Yes... uh... it is still underway, but it is quite late. Even if we rush, we may only catch the last attendees leaving."

  Ruppert sank into the car seat. The exhaustion clawing at him deepened, the comfort of his seat exerting gravity on his eyelids. He clenched his fist in a futile attempt to ward off weariness. Rest was far and distant. He had work to do. He focused to Matthew, ordering him in a tone softer than he intended.

  "It will do. Move the detail."

  Matthew gave a sharp nod, relaying the orders.

  The city lights blurred past, streaking like stars in the night sky. On any other night, Ruppert might have allowed himself to admire it. The organized chaos of Westland, the endless rhythm of movement. A nation that thrived despite the looming threat of the Eastern Federation. But tonight was not like other nights. His hand hovered over his communication device. Hesitation gripped him, his fingers hovering over the screen as if resisting their fate.

  This was different. This was dangerous. It was one thing to manipulate spiritual leaders, to move pawns across the board. It was another to invite the devil to the table. His fingers twitched above the screen. He needed resources. He needed power. But damn it, this was not the kind of man he wanted to owe favors to. Urgency overcame his turmoil. He exhaled and let gravity pull his finger down onto the dial button. The dial tone rang, stretching for what felt like a deliberate eternity before a voice oozed through the earpiece, amused as if dripping with mockery.

  "My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure? Minister Ruppert himself."

  A chill scraped at his spine. The taunt forced his grip to tighten against the armrest, resisting the urge to cut the call short.

  "Luciano…"

  Ruppert spat, gritting his teeth. The name felt ashen on his tongue. Don Luciano Del Tenebre.

  On the surface, he was the President of Tenebre Weaponry, a struggling arms company that had somehow endured the test of time. No one truly knew when the company began.

  But Ruppert knew the truth. Luciano was more than a businessman. He was the King of the Underworld. He is the head of the Tenebre crime family, the true rulers of Westland’s shadows. And now, Ruppert was reaching out to him. Forcing words out of his throat felt like swallowing glass.

  "What a displeasure it is to have to call you."

  #