Chapter 14– Whispers of Power
The Adventurers' Organization had been created for one purpose—
to monitor and eliminate the beasts that sometimes wandered out of the Forbidden Forest.
And the beasts there were no joke.
Every day, hunters marched out past the gates, and every day some returned injured… or not at all. Death had become a common occurrence in the trade. But recently, something had shifted. The forest stirred in a way it hadn't in decades. More hunters were dying. The ones who came back carried wounds and stories that weighed heavier than their gear. It was as though the forest itself was awakening after a long slumber.
Inside the bustling hall of the Organization, Felix's squad pushed their way to the counter. With practiced ease they joined one of the shorter queues, though somewhere along the way Roland was maneuvered forward by his companions.
And soon, it was their turn.
"Oh! Hey, Roland!"
Roland froze. The cheerful voice belonged to Liora—the receptionist. And more importantly, his sister.
"Hey, Liora… it's been a while." He forced a smile, awkwardness leaking through.
"Is that so? Strange, I could've sworn it felt like someone was avoiding me." She puffed her cheeks in mock pout, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Roland waved his hands in protest. "N-no, nothing like that! I was just… busy. Yes, busy!"
"Hmph! You and Lily are in the same squad. You hunt together and she still finds time to visit me. Yet my own brother is too busy? Haaa… what a wicked world."
Roland could only stammer helplessly while the rest of the squad failed to contain their laughter. Even Liora joined in, her melodramatic act finally crumbling, leaving Roland to glare accusingly at Dax. The axe-wielder grinned innocently, but everyone knew he'd chosen this queue on purpose.
After the laughter subsided, Felix stepped forward, serious once again. He laid their collected loot on the counter and gave the required report of their hunt. Liora's teasing expression shifted to professionalism as she tallied their gains.
Though they'd been forced to abandon the centipede's body, they still carried spoils from earlier fights. When the calculations were done, the squad had earned nearly four hundred thousand credits—an impressive amount when a mere five thousand could feed a family of four for a month.
Most of their kills were low-ranked beasts, but two had been of intermediate rank, equal to their own strength. The credits would sustain the team, but the true prize lay in the cores, which they chose to keep.
With a last playful jab at Roland, Liora handed them their payment. The squad took their leave, exhausted but satisfied. They would return to their team house, divide the earnings, and rest until the next hunt. Such was the cycle of a hunter's life.
Yet as they walked out into the night, none of them knew that their struggles at the forest's edge were only ripples of a far greater storm.
Far from the city of machines and steel, another city slumbered under the half-moon—
a city of greenery and quiet song.
Moonvail.
Unlike Teradel, where glowing billboards and hover-cars filled the streets, Moonvail's beauty lay in its harmony with nature. Trees stretched into the sky, their canopies interwoven into a living roof. Houses were carved into trunks or woven from branches, glowing faintly with natural light. It was less a city and more a fairy-tale utopia.
At the city's heart stood an ancient tree, vast as a mountain. Within its hollowed trunk was a hall carved by both hand and magic. Silver moonlight streamed through a circular window, bathing the chamber in pale radiance. A semicircle of seats waited around a polished table of living wood.
The first to arrive was an elf—tall, graceful, her long ears revealed only for those quick enough to notice before her azure hair shifted to cover them. She wore flowing blue robes that shimmered like the night sky, her steps quiet as starlight. Aurora, high elf and keeper of Moonvail.
Moments later came the second: a man with black hair and the build of a predator. His shoulders rippled with muscle, his gaze sharp, his eyes burning with a primal hunger that could never be hidden. Though he looked human, one glance into his feral gaze revealed his truth. Silas, alpha of the werewolves.
The third arrived in a burst of wind, golden hair catching the moonlight. His face was already set in a frown, one that seemed carved deeper with every passing day. Carl—the Administrator of Teradel. Representative of the humans.
The fourth and fifth arrived nearly together. One moved with steps like flowing water, scales shimmering faintly along her arms and neck. Even seated, her beauty was mesmerizing, laced with danger. Somali, envoy of the merfolk.
The other radiated a different kind of allure. Crimson hair spilled down her back, eyes glinting like pools of blood. She smiled as if amused by the very air, every gesture elegant, predatory. Serena, noble vampire and the voice of her kin.
Silence weighed on the chamber as they each took their seats, the five forming a half-circle beneath the moonlight. No words were exchanged; the air itself seemed to wait for the meeting to begin.
"Since everyone is here, let's—" Aurora, the elf began, her voice soft yet commanding.
But she was interrupted.
"How rude. You weren't planning to begin without me, were you, Aurora?"
A tear in space split open in the center of the hall. From the void stepped a tall figure, skin sickly green, grin sharp and mocking. His presence tainted the air, cold and wrong.
The other five instantly tensed. Aurora's expression hardened. Silas's claws flexed. Serena's smile sharpened. Somali's gaze narrowed.
Carl's aura exploded outright, the wind howling in the chamber as his fury roared free.
"What are you doing here… zombie?" His words dripped venom.
The intruder spread his arms, feigning innocence. "Relax, Carl. I've not come to slaughter anyone. I merely came for the same reason as you all… the Forbidden City." His chuckle reverberated against the chamber walls.
The implication struck deep. The meeting was not about the forest at all. It was about something far greater.
The zombie clapped his hands, and a throne-like chair formed from nothing. He dropped into it with a smirk. "Now then… since everyone is here, shall we begin?"
Carl surged to his feet, ready to strike, but Silas's hand clamped onto his shoulder. Somali raised her hand, droplets of conjured water falling over Carl, cooling his rage.
He took a deep breath and sat back down, though his glare never left the intruder.
The green-skinned man smiled wider, unconcerned by the hostility of the other five gathered leaders.
"Well then," Micheal said, his voice smooth and poisonous. "Shall we discuss the issue of the Forbidden City?"
The hall sank into silence, the weight of his words falling like a blade.