[L.O.D. Stronghold, Orcanian Sphere]
"This knowledge doesn't mean that it is us that caused it again, and it most certainly doesn't mean we should be less trusted than we already are."
Sirion's voice reverberated through the grand council hall. The echo lingered long after her fists had collided with the obsidian round table at the center of the chamber.
The council chamber itself was large and wide, with a high ceiling and a glassy marble floor. Torches burning with spectral flames lit the chamber.
"Elders of the Dead… my lords of the Dead, my lady, if I may," Echedon requested softly. His thin moustache trembled beneath his long, angular elven face, quivering in tandem with his pointed ears as he spoke to four black, hooded, shadowy figures seated on a raised podium.
"With utter reverence and sincere respect," he continued, bowing slightly, "I believe Elder Mousack speaks with reason. The humans should no longer be involved. Now that history dares to repeat itself, we must sever the root of what birthed such devastation in the first place."
"Nonsense!" Otto barked, slamming his massive fist into the obsidian table as well, its loud bang ricocheting through the pillars.
"The humans have been our allies," he said, his oversized tusks seeming to crack with the same anger flowing through the green blood in his veins.
His jet-green, smooth orcanian skin caught the candlelight slightly as he stood up.
"As much as the Elven Sphere," he gestured sharply toward Echedon.
"And the Dwarken Sphere," he pointed toward Mousack.
"And our sphere, the Orcanian Sphere," his fist struck his chest with pride.
"And of course, the Earth Sphere," he inclined his head toward Sirion.
"is facing the same danger, it is unadvisable to consider mutiny now. We should stand together. History be damned."
The words rolled through the chamber like thunder.
Mousack the dwarf, with a shaggy beard that almost buried his face and a brown leather jacket that swallowed his whole structure, frowned.
"I beg to differ," his voice came, deeper and coarser than his size.
"My lords of the Dead, my lady," he said with a solemn gesture toward the raised podium, where four figures sat majestically. The aura exuding from them was highly palpable.
"What is the need of knowledge, if not to harness the power within it? Of course, knowledge is the most formidable power that brings destruction and salvation, for..."
"Make your point, Elder Mousack," came a very piercing female voice among the four seated on the podium.
"Yes, my lady," Mousack replied with a slight bow.
"My point is simple. The revealed knowledge proves that humans were responsible for the catastrophe three centuries ago, a catastrophe that annihilated an entire sphere. Its revelation through our most honored High-Elven Mage, Cyril..."
He gestured toward the mid-aged elf standing near the entrance, dressed in a long emerald cloak that kissed the floor. As he pointed at her, she made a light bow.
"...is a sign. A sign that we must locate the source of this recurring corruption... and extinguish it."
"Extinguish it?" Sirion scoffed angrily. "You, whoreso..."
"You shall know your place, Elder Sirion," one of the four barked, this time a male voice.
"Remember, you are not permitted to speak while another elder addresses this council. Decorum is not optional."
"My apologies, my lord of the Dead," Sirion muttered with an apologetic bow as she restrained the bubbling anger in her chest.
Mousack's lips curved evilly as he threw Sirion a malicious glance. "Thank you, my lord of the Dead," he said, then continued. "As I was saying. Yes. Extinguish it. Only then shall our problems flee."
Echedon nodded apprehensively, fully in support of Mousack's idea, but Otto only grew more frustrated. He couldn't believe that his colleagues and fellow elders would think in such a way.
"Utter balderdash!" his voice rose, thick and filled with an orc's strength that seemed to come naturally from within him.
"Our lords and lady of the Dead, Sirion has been a very loyal woman. She has been nothing but faithful to you, to us, to every sphere. Don't listen to this."
He threw his thick, long-dreaded black hair from his face to behind his shoulders.
"Knowledge, if treated wrongly, can be catastrophic as well. If interpreted wrongly, it can cause death and loss. I, in fact, believe this knowledge to be a guide, not an excuse or justification to split up now that we need each other the most."
Otto's eyes cut through Mousack and Echedon after his speech, his face stern, disappointment clear in his pale eyes.
"My lords and lady of the Dead," Sirion voiced as she gently stood from the round table the elders sat at and went to stand below the podium in front of them.
The long white cloak with silver etchings that draped over the armor she wore was a stark contrast to the serenity of the hall.
"I know deep down in me that you are not considering cutting the humans from joining the Legion. I, for one, have been loyal to our cause, and thanks to Otto, for seeing that."
She turned and, with a smile, nodded at Otto, her jet-white long hair flaying with the motion. Otto nodded back at her, returning the smile.
"I bet they are fucking," Echedon whispered inaudibly to Mousack, who nodded with a quiet chuckle.
"I beg you, my lords, my lady," Sirion pleaded, "whatever happened centuries ago shouldn't and mustn't determine the fate of our sphere. And the deeds of one man who lost his way should not be used to judge me and my kind."
She placed one knee on the floor and bowed her head, then slowly placed a hand over her chest.
Otto gasped and looked away. Goosebumps rose on Echedon's skin, and Mousack... well, Mousack remained indifferent, or perhaps pretended to be.
"Please, my most honored lady of the Dead, my lords of the Dead... don't... don't do this."
Silence filled the hall. The emotion in her voice did not just linger, it weighed heavily upon them.
"Rise, Elder Sirione," another male voice among the four lords and lady said, his voice echoing through the hall.
"We are Death," he said to her, "and our minds interconnect and commune together. Thus, the four of us, as Death's representatives in our Four Spheres respectively, and as the lords and lady of the Legion of the Dead, we have communed and have reached a verdict."
The tension between the elders thickened as they listened for the final decision.
"We hereby deny the plea to reject humans from joining the Legion."
A low rumble went through the hall.
Mousack and Echedon grumbled in their seats, but it was more than that, their jaws tightened, their eyes darkened, and their fingers curled against the table as though restraining something far more violent than mere disagreement. The decision left a bitter taste, sharp and unforgiving, settling deep within them.
Sirion released a sigh of huge relief as she held her already pounding, about-to-explode heart.
"Thank you, my lords, my lady. I am honored."
However, the other three were still arguing.
But Mousack rose abruptly. His chair scraped violently across the stone.
"This is reckless!" he spat, the bitterness now unmistakable. "Reckless beyond measure!"
Echedon joined him, his voice elevated in sharp, anxious protest. The two spoke over Otto, their anger overlapping into a chaotic storm of dissent.
Their voices, though only three, clashed and rose in such disorder that the chamber itself seemed to vibrate with their argument, and even when one of the lords attempted to speak, the noise swallowed all authority, leaving no room for order.
"Silence!" screamed the voice of one of the lords, Lord Orc, the Orcanian Lord of the Dead and Bringer of Death to the orc sphere. His voice, powerful, echoed through the council hall and crushed the uproar instantly.
"Thank you, Lord Orc," the human Lord of the Dead said with a small genuflect of respect to his fellow, his unnatural hooded figure turning toward Lord Orc thankfully. He then turned and began to speak.
"It has come to my knowledge that another Empowered is about to begin his manifestation. In my sphere, to be precise."
Silence followed his words. The lords of the Dead, however, did not seem surprised at the news, they already knew. But the elders all stared at each other, wide-eyed.
Even Sirione, the human elder in their midst, looked uncharacteristically introspective at this point, all thanks to this revelation.
Even their argument about the verdict seemed to settle automatically.
"This is uncalled for," muttered Mousack.
If being astounded could destroy a world, his shock alone would have flattened the universe.
"Manifestation only occurs during the season of vitality and happiness," Echedon said, his eyes bouncing from the elders to the lords and lady, baffled.
"And that is during summer, right? Giving the masters time enough to prepare these manifested novices for the journey ahead?" He paused. "Or am I wrong?"
The weight of the information... weighed so heavily that it made Echedon question the most common system he had known so well.
"...And not to talk about how dark this winter time is, how could someone manifest in these times? How will he even cope? I mean... the solstice is twelve hours from now."
"I believe we have lords who are in charge of nature and life, and lords who are in charge of system affairs, Elder Echedon," Lady Elf, the Bringer of Death for the Elven Sphere, said, her melodic voice calm.
"We have our own cause, which is to maintain balance in our respective spheres by bringing death, maintaining the Dead, and overseeing the Forbidden Sphere."
Elder Echedon bowed. He was the only one who seemed to have been truly shaken by that breathtaking announcement from the human lord.
When everything subsided once more, the human Lord of the Dead, the Bringer of Death to the humans, took over again.
"However," he said, "it falls under my duty to bring him to... our stronghold for proper judgment."
He stood up.
His shadowy, hooded figure warped and contorted, twisting upon itself until it transformed into a man, one with long, silky, smooth black hair, a defined jawline, dark eyes, and a striking, well-built frame.
He was dressed in a long overcoat that draped down to his knees.
He stared at the elders, then turned to the other lords and gave a slight nod.
In the next instant, he vanished.