Beneath the ancient catacombs of the forgotten Shrine, lit only by the blood-hued glow of cursed lanterns, nine shadows sat in silence.
These were no ordinary men and women.
They were The Hollow Nine—
Traitors to the Shinrei Law.
Masters of manipulation.
The forgotten puppeteers of history.
A soft drip of water echoed through the cavernous dark as the council sat in a perfect circle—
Each throne carved from obsidian, each presence stained with blood.
Then, a voice sliced through the silence like a blade through silk.
A man leaned forward—
Orange hair falling like fire across his brow, fingers laced as if in prayer.
"Vernara Village," he said, voice cold as steel.
"So it failed."
A chuckle answered him.
A white-haired young man, his slicked-back strands gleaming under torchlight, spun a knife on his finger. His smirk was wide, amused, cruel.
"Tsk. I even puppeteered dear Raiquen just right," he muttered.
