The circular chamber at the heart of the Guild Citadel was rarely
used—reserved only for moments when the world threatened to
change.
Twelve high-backed chairs, each etched with the sigil of a
founding Guild, formed a silent jury around a single obsidian table.
Above them, ceiling-embedded crystals pulsed with simulated
sunlight—but even their glow could not pierce the unnatural chill
that clung to the room like a phantom.
Councilor Verdan paced with
measured rage, his silver cloak trailing behind him like a war banner
left bloodstained on the battlefield. He rarely raised his voice—he
didn't need to.
His presence did the shouting.
"This," he growled, slamming a scroll
onto the table, "is not just a breach of Guild protocol. This is a
bad omen."
The other councilors stirred. These were not green mages
or bureaucrats—they were veterans, legends in their own right. And
yet even they looked uneasy.
"The masked rogue vanished after the final match," Verdan
continued. "No med bay. No quarters. Mana signature—gone. Wiped
clean, like a ghost swallowing its own shadow. And then—this."
He
jabbed a finger at the floating projection now shimmering above the
scroll:
Trial Completed: Hidden Path – Shadow Sovereign (True)
Class
Advancement Confirmed
Bloodline Activation Verified
A hush fell over the chamber—tense, brittle.
Councilor Idran, the
ageless elf whose voice once quieted entire armies, cleared his
throat. "Class evolutions often come cloaked in mystery, Verdan.
Especially among prodigies. I witnessed the awakening of a
Starcaller during what should've been a dreamless sleep."
Verdan
turned on him, eyes sharp."
And did that Starcaller vanish from reality? Did he return bearing
a class tied to extinct bloodlines and forgotten dominions?"
From
across the table, Councilor Vashti raised a hand. As head of
intelligence across four regions, she didn't speak without purpose.
"There is something else," she said.
The room tensed.
Vashti
gestured to her assistant, who placed a slender black crystal on the
table. It thrummed softly, then glowed.
A hazy image shimmered to
life: a rooftop, distant, blurred. A figure—the masked rogue—stood
silhouetted against the skyline, his body faintly crackling with
shadow.
"This was captured an hour after his match," Vashti said.
"The surveillance sprite lost signal seconds later. No confirmed
sightings since."
Idran leaned in. "So he returned. Briefly."
"Exactly. Whatever trial he underwent… it happened beyond the
dimensional grid."
A ripple of unease passed through the chamber.
"Beyond," Verdan echoed, as if the word itself left a foul taste.
"We have archives on Shadow classes. But this… this isn't one of
them. This is a Sovereign-level classification. Inheritance.
Succession. Possibly… negation of established law itself."
Councilor
Shen scoffed, drumming his fingers on the armrest.
"Do we even know what this 'Shadow Sovereign' means? Or are we
chasing ghosts and grim tales?"
Councilor Nyra, wrapped in deep blue
robes laced with enchantments, finally spoke. Her voice was low but
clear—like the sound of frost cracking underfoot.
"I do."
Every eye turned.
"The Sovereigns were not myths," Nyra
said. "They were rulers before the Guilds, in the Age Before.
Wielders of power unbound by elemental law. They didn't cast
shadows—they commanded them. They were the source."
Verdan's
expression curled with disdain.
"You expect us to govern by bedtime stories?"
Nyra's gaze
sharpened.
"Tell me, Verdan," she said, voice razor-thin, "where do
you think Shadow Rogues draw their power? Their Cloak? Their
Vanish? Their Backstep? You think it's just clever mana tricks?"
The
silence that followed was an answer in itself.
Nyra stood, tracing a
complex sigil into the air—an ancient glyph, jagged and foreign,
alien to Guild-sanctioned scripts.
"This is the crest of the original Sovereigns," she said.
"You can still find it, etched in stone beneath the ruins of the
southern continent. A place where even light seems denied—even at
high noon."
She let the symbol fade.
"So I ask again—what do we do
when a rogue wins a public tournament, vanishes, and returns
touched by a power meant to stay buried?"
A second silence fell—heavier, like the air had turned to iron.
Verdan's face hardened. "We contain it. He's a threat. To balance.
To order. To every bloodline and class that emerged from the Dark
Ages. If he turns rogue—truly rogue—"
"We don't know that," Idran interrupted, voice steel beneath calm.
"But we know this," Verdan pressed. "He's linked to the assassin
who killed three city lords last year. He's been seen in Forbidden
Zones. He follows no Guild. And now—he evolves? With power that
predates us?
"
His gaze swept the room. "How long before he stops obeying the
rules altogether?"
The chamber exploded into debate. Voices
clashed—contain him, watch him, recruit him, destroy him. Some
whispered. Others shouted.
Then—
"If he really is a Sovereign," said Vashti quietly, "then trying to
contain him… might be the final mistake we make."
Verdan laughed
once—short and sharp. "So what, we kneel?"
"No," Vashti said. "We observe. And we prepare. Because the
omen has already been cast."
Far from the Citadel, in the ruins of a
forgotten temple at the edge of the city, another meeting stirred
to life.
Here, shadows moved like living oil. A circle of seven
silhouettes stood around a man with no name—only masks and
whispers.
"He has awakened," one murmured.
"I felt the stir," another said.
"The bloodline pulses again. The last seed… blooms."
"He is raw," a
third muttered. "Untamed. Blind to what he carries."
"But the path
begins," said the first. "And the game moves forward."
The man at
the center raised his head.
"What would you have me do?"
The shadows replied as one:
"Test
him."
"And if he fails?"
A pause. Cold and absolute.
"Then we bury him—where the last Sovereign sleeps."
Meanwhile, in the inner city, Scarlet stood alone outside the arena
infirmary. She stared at the screen—where Zero's name should have
been—but it remained blank.
She had covered for him. Lied for him.
But the cracks were
spreading.
Whispers Bloomed like mold: some claimed he'd ascended.
Others said he'd been taken by a god. A few whispered darker
things.
Scarlet ignored them.
She knew the truth.
Zero wasn't running.
He
was becoming.
And when he returned…
The world would either bow—
Or burn.