The mansion's air was thick, not with warmth. The sour stench of rot disguised by perfume and the smell of coin.
Inside, chandeliers flickered with arcane fire, casting long shadows on marble walls stained with mould. Velvet curtains veiled the windows, choking the light from the moon from entering. At the grand dining table, half a dozen men and women sat comfortably in fine robes, sipping wine far too expensive for the crimes it paid for.
At the head of the table lounged Rhett Maddox, known in the underworld as the Hollow King – the bastard son of a proud lineage, a long-lost cousin to the king, who'd turned pain into profit. His empire sprawled across the underbelly of the capital: drugs, trafficking, forced labour and worse.
He raised his glass.
"To expansion," Rhett grinned, gold teeth flashing in the low light. "Three new ports, two new supply routes. Not even the Celestial Watch can touch us now."
People around the table laughed with glee.
A man across the table chuckled. "Unstoppable, Rhett, aren't you."
Rhett leaned back in his chair, arms wide, basking in the illusion of security he had made up. "That's exactly what we are."
Then.
A voice.
Calm. Collected. Coles. Cutting through the room like a blade.
"... You are not."
Silence.
Chairs scraped. Faces turned to one another and then to their surroundings to find the voice that said that out loud.
"Who said that?!" one of the men exclaimed. Rhett's hand was already on his dagger since he didn't like firearms. "Show yourself!"
Then came the reply.
Soft and measured.
"We are the ones you chose to forget."
The room dimmed unnaturally. The candlelight flickered. Shadows stretched… And from the far corners of the room, figures began to emerge.
First one.
Then three.
Then eight.
Each stepped from the darkness as if moulded from it. All of them were cloaked and silent, their faces obscured by masks or hoods, their eyes glowing faintly with prana.
Gasps and screams from the woman. Men fumbling in their pockets for a firearm. One guard fumbled for his weapon, too slow. A flash of steel, and he dropped without a sound.
Men and women at the table dropped too, without resistance, since they were killed without them even knowing.
Rhett stumbled back, shouting at full capacity.
"Who the hell are you!?"
That's when it began.
As one, the eight spoke, voices overlapping like a single soul fractured across many throats;
"We are those who are shackled.
We are those who fight for others.
Who condemns the wrong and restores the stolen light from this world.
We are called – "
From behind Rhett, there were heavy footsteps echoing from the balcony, and two figures stepped forward from the staircase above, forming from the balcony, backlit by moonlight bleeding through the cracked stained glass. One wore a long dark coat with silver trimmings, his hood low, face shadowed, and moved with the silent dignity of a ghost.
And then, the second figure tilted his head as they walked down the spiralling staircase.
The mask glinted in the half-light, a sleek and obsidian black mask covering both his eyes, with a single polished dark crimson jewel hanging from the left side like a teardrop.
Roy, the air around him felt like it cracked.
Beside him, Kieran pulled back his hood slightly. Not enough to reveal his full face, but enough for the shadows beneath to curve with a grim smile.
His face hidden in the shadow, aura simmering with still danger.
Roy raised his head and finished the vow:
"We are Nova in Veil."
And Kieran followed, voice low yet laced with fire: "We've come to liberate."
Silence.
Then chaos.
But not for long.
Because the shadows had come not to speak; they had come to reclaim what was stolen, the light taken from others.
The light has been stolen from a lot of young men and women; they have returned their dignity and true justice, which is just blurred between the lines of what is right and wrong.