On the twentieth day of the eighth month of 2035, the Dome of Pantheora awaited once again the meeting of the gods.
The immense hall was sustained by black columns that seemed to devour the light.Above, a circular skylight let in only a pale beam, as if the very sun hesitated to illuminate that place.
It was in this oppressive silence that a voice emerged, soft, but loaded with authority:"Moroz… it will fall to you to organize the assembly once again."
The eyes of the demigod, white as eternal frost, narrowed.He remained motionless, but his voice sounded like a frozen blade."Sincerely, spare me your sarcasm. Wasn't it you who demanded this?My loyalty does not belong to you… but to his heirs. Do not forget that."
The voice answered with irony that echoed through the columns:"Ah, Moroz… always so cold. I did not call you here to measure loyalties.Just tell me… did you show yourself a faithful servant of my husband?"
Moroz kept his serene gaze, cold and unshakable."I did what was necessary."
A low laugh resounded, almost a whisper slithering through the hall."Tell me… until when will you manage to remain distant?Your ice is strong, but even the hardest of winters yields to time."
Moroz kept his face expressionless, but his white eyes burned."Do you think Tupã will ignore my intervention in the search for the Nordic priestess?How far does your plan extend?The events that followed… the way even Odin was incapable of finding her… What do you intend?If you are scheming a war against the twenty-three Empires, know this: I will not be at your disposal."
The voice answered, dragged and heavy with sarcasm:"Well, well… Moroz. What exemplary fidelity.Perhaps that is still your greatest virtue… or your greatest weakness."
For an instant, silence grew heavy.Then the voice murmured, with a tone of restrained laughter:"Go. The other gods are on the way… and you will not want them to find you here with me."
Moroz closed his eyes for a brief second, as if freezing his very thoughts, and then turned.His firm steps echoed through the empty hall, until they disappeared into the stone corridors of the Dome.
When he crossed the doors of the great hall of the assembly, Moroz expected to find the place still deserted.But it was not.Tupã already awaited him.
The Twenty-Fourth Emperor remained standing before the thrones, a young man of imposing stature, well-defined muscles, and an aura of power that seemed to vibrate in the air.His green eyes were penetrating and intense, almost as if they shone with a vital energy of their own.
His hair, long and black, fell loose to the wind, adorned with white feathers that highlighted even more his magnificence.Upon his body, strips of fabric with tribal geometric patterns in red, blue and white crossed in ritual details.Necklaces of turquoise stones, teeth and feathers overlapped on his chest, while bracelets and armbands of leather, marked by sacred symbols, wrapped his arms.
On the shoulder, a circular white mark — the solar symbol — shone under the light descending from the ceiling, and red streaks painted on his face gave him the presence of a divine warrior, at once ancestral and eternal.
Before that figure, even silence seemed to bow.
As soon as Moroz entered, Tupã turned to him, letting escape an almost imperceptible smile.His deep voice, heavy with sarcasm, broke the stillness of the hall:"I see you arrived early, son of eternal ice. Tell me… whom did you come to serve today?"
Moroz raised his chin, the white eyes fixed on Tupã, cold and impassive."My loyalty does not belong to anyone in this Dome."
Tupã let escape an enigmatic smile, his green eyes shining with intensity."Then tell me… a year ago, what were you doing in my territory?" he continued, the voice heavy with sarcasm."And, since we are in a climate of sincerity, I also want to know the reason for having wounded the archduke of my Empire.
Depending on your answer, son of ice, I may decide whether you live to enter this assembly… or die right here."
Moroz kept his gaze fixed, cold as the eternal winter, without showing any reaction to the threatening tone of the Emperor."I am not here to justify past actions," he answered with a firm voice, cutting."I do what is necessary, nothing more."
Tupã laughed low, a sound that seemed to echo through the columns of the hall."So that is your answer?" he provoked, raising an eyebrow, the green shine of the eyes cutting the air like lightning ready to fall.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the assembly began to shift.A cutting cold spread across the stone floor, while the air seemed to vibrate with an invisible energy.The thrones trembled lightly, and a sensation of almost palpable tension took hold of the space.
"Epipháneia: Era of Storms!" shouted Tupã, releasing a wave of energy that made the air buzz, as if invisible thunders reverberated through the walls.
Moroz remained motionless, but his white eyes began to shine with glacial intensity."Since we have come to this… it seems I will not be able to retreat."His cold voice cut the space."Epipháneia: Glacial Stasis!"
A wave of ice and freezing wind began to expand from him.The hall quickly divided: on one side, the floor trembled under the stormy force of Tupã, invisible thunders tearing the air; on the other, everything began to freeze, the vapor transforming into ice crystals, forming intricate patterns on the floor and columns.
The clash of energy created a thin line between them, as if the hall were divided into two opposite elements:• The hemisphere of Tupã: cutting winds, lightning and invisible thunders, the sensation of storm ready to explode.• The hemisphere of Moroz: absolute cold, crystals of ice forming in seconds, the very light of the hall refracting in the ice, turning everything silver and silent.
The air between the two seemed charged with electricity and extreme cold at the same time.The tension between the powers made each step risky.Neither of them retreated.Each movement was measured, each breath carried the weight of the force that emanated from their bodies.
Vishnu and the Fourth Throne walked slowly through the corridors of the Dome, their steps echoing over the stone floor.As they approached the hall of the assembly, they could feel the tension that emanated from there — Tupã and Moroz dominating the space, each maintaining his energy in contrast, like storm against ice.
Vishnu spoke, the voice serene and pondered, loaded with reflection:"This was the best way he found to make him speak.Tupã has already forgotten that Moroz did not bow to any god, and his ability to freeze divine power must never be underestimated."
He paused, letting the importance of that settle in the air of the corridors."If both decide to fully manifest their territories now, Pantheora will not withstand.The balance that sustains this place is delicate; force without control knows no limits, and even the most ancient gods learn this too late."
The Fourth Throne inclined his head, observing the corridors with almost absolute calm, each step measured, each gesture loaded with authority."Enough." The voice sounded firm, but serene, as if each word weighed as much as a wall."I suggest you retreat now. The assembly has not yet begun, and if we allow this demonstration to continue, no hall will be able to contain your forces."
The silence and the tension inside the hall of the assembly were finally contained.Tupã and Moroz retreated, still powerful, but now controlled, under the attentive gaze of Vishnu and the Fourth Throne.The two gods exchanged calm looks, pondering the next steps, while the world beyond the Dome followed its inexorable course.
While the tension in the Dome reached its peak, another conflict formed silently in Caetvár, far from the eyes of the gods.
In the mercenary guild, Brianna, Kael, Karna, Telvaris and Ereon were gathered before the guild master.Each had received his mercenary mark, engraved with an ancient rune that intertwined in complex patterns, taking the form of a stylized black raven, with open wings, at the center of a perfect geometric composition.The symbol certified not only their loyalty and skill, but also represented the union of the group and their presence in the shadows that approached.
"With this," said the master, raising his hand over the five, "you are no longer individuals.Now you are a group. A name will represent you, and each of your actions will carry the weight of that identity."
After a few moments of discussion, they agreed to name their group "Ravens of the Shadows," a symbol of determination, union and vigilance in the darkness that approached with the territorial war.
With the events of the previous night, the Count had given orders to his servant to inspect and eliminate anyone who seemed suspicious.For this reason, the guards were sent to the lower district, gathering all the candidates in the central square.
The smell of damp stone and old wood hung in the air, while each construction seemed to whisper stories of abandonment and danger.Guards, dressed in simple armor and worn cloaks, evaluated each gesture, posture and sign of training.
A mistake, a suspicious movement, could mean immediate death.The square seemed to weigh upon everyone.The violence of the previous night, as well as the traces left by the Golden Breeze, still impregnated the lower district, spreading chaos and fear.
The group of Ereon advanced, steps echoing on the uneven ground, each gaze attentive to the silent vigilance of the guards.
Some mercenaries murmured, nervous.Each word reinforced the silent pressure that hovered over the square, reminding that any wrong gesture could cost life.The tension of the previous night and the traces left by the Golden Breeze still weighed upon all.
One of the guards interrupted the murmur, his firm voice cutting the air:"Silence! The inspector sent by the Count has arrived."
A chill ran through the square, and all understood that each gesture would be decisive.