[ Council of The Order ]
While one violet fire holds the past, another carries the present.
FWOO!
This fire ignites above a raised stone platform in an otherwise alien darkness. It flutters, holding steady for a few seconds before exploding outward, showering embers in every direction as it roars.
Spitting and crackling, a dark outline emerges within its fiery depths. The flames peel back, soon clinging to the refined edges of a woman, highlighting her shoulder-caped dress that matches her ginger hair. Against the violet glow though, her pupils are unaffected, absorbing all light like the surroundings.
"Here we go again," Morgan mutters, folding her arms. Her gaze narrows as she scans the area, watching the other raised platforms that join her in a circle. Almost immediately, more purple flames flicker above the nearby stations, growing until robed figures flare into attendance.
Thwoom! Thwoom! Thwoom!
Eleven more figures complete the ring, spread across platforms that rise high above unknown depths.
"Good. Looks like everyone is here," one male opposite of Morgan declares, his voice trailing into the center pit. As with the others, shadows obscure his features within the cowl, but he places a hand to his chest in a slight bow to Morgan. "I realize this isn't your favorite stage, madam. Even so, please explain the situation."
[IMAGE]
The French woman's brows rise. She gestures dismissively. "The situation? For one, I find myself surrounded by people hiding themselves in this mental space. I didn't get the memo that we would be meeting like the old cultists."
A few cowls turn, hiding stifled chuckles.
"This is only because of you!" growls a person to the right of her. "After orchestrating the 'accident' but without any results, you find it acceptable to be so carefree? For all we know, you might be compromised!"
"Oh, please, monsieur." Morgan tuts, shaking her head. Silence weighs for a moment as she takes a breath, then her eyes lock onto the man. "Do you think you should be talking about time to me? Better to be carefree than a hasty bastard who thinks raising his voice makes him more important."
"You—!"
"Enough," the first voice cuts. "Morgan, there is no question you are the most experienced with the goddess' flames out of all of us. Knowing that, I expect you to realize the stakes here. Lecia's disappearance is unplanned, so we have to be more cautious, which is why we appear like this. Now, tell us, what do you know?"
Morgan stares flatly. "Lennard, you do realize projecting yourself cloaked in this space won't help you? Beyond that, it just makes us look more of a cult than we already are."
Lennard coughs into the awkward silence. "It wasn't my idea, but that's beyond the point."
The French woman suppresses a snort and shrugs instead. "Well, regardless, Lecia's obviously being protected somehow. Our search indicates it has something to do with our little friend, Victor."
The council holds a collective breath. Then, murmurs fill the void. Morgan closes her eyes, cutting any follow-ups before they can begin. "We looked into her possible movements. She visited the Keystone library the day before. The book she checked out was related to our former council member's studies as a professor in Egypt."
The murmurs swell into frantic, overlapping whispers.
"Then, is it possible he's still alive?"
"No, he must've planned this prior to his death just as Merlin had. This could be a trap!"
"Troubling, but if Victor has interfered somehow, the chances that the remnant exists is much higher."
"How can we not say this is within Merlin's foresight though? He must know something we don't!"
"Some order, please," Morgan calls, her voice cutting through the whispers. "Now, let's be realistic here. Did we think that through all our preparations, things would be easy? Rest assured, we're tracing steps of the group, looking for more of the people who worked with the archaeologist. We will find these answers soon."
"What about the main book we believe Lecia possesses?" A figure to her immediate left asks. "We've always suspected she found something during her excavation days at Stonehenge that might be related to Merlin's plans. If she truly was the one to perform the release as the sorcerer intended, surely she would have something?"
"Even if that was the case, she and her followers are far too smart to leave something that important. That said, I believe we may have a better lead within our ranks."
Every hooded head perks. The air crackles with unspoken questions, but Morgan snorts. "I will not say who. Not yet."
"Are you kidding me?!" roars a man above the others. "Baiting us... Do you think we're a joke?"
"Just because you're the oldest doesn't mean you can just leave us in the–"
FWOOO!
The flames around Morgan erupt into a pillar of light, snuffing further protest. Her glare, intensified by the violet fire, sweeps everyone into knots.
She snarls. "By all the pompous derrières that I've tolerated in the history of this Order, I do, in fact, find most of this body a joke."
Many flinch by the venom in her voice. They offer no rebuttal with the roaring crackle of her flames daring them to speak. Letting the silence and her disappointment hang in the air, her features reset into a new smile. With it, her flames lower to a simmer as she eases off the council's back.
"Now, then..." She claps her hands together. "It's been a while since we've gathered, but time has clearly dulled your minds. Let me remind you all, what is our purpose?"
"Ugh..."
"Oh, come on, not this again."
"My dear council, I am asking you a simple question, no?" Morgan presses, her gaze still.
Hooded figures shift, avoiding her direct stare until one female clears her throat. "To... to embrace what Merlin feared. To aid remnants in their part so they may flood the Earth and unify us all."
Morgan hums. "Yes. Granted, we don't know what that will look like. Only Merlin has ever seen such a conclusion in his visions. Despite this man's effort to control these flames, he is also the same one who constantly worked against our mission out of fear. These recent events should be a reminder that some possible influence remains."
She pauses, scanning the assembly. "So, you can forgive me for withholding some information this early, lest we make ourselves more known by premature decisions such as the ones ordered in Egypt."
Awkward shuffling ripples through the circle, but Lennard holds steady. "You've made your point, Morgan. While attacking the group in Egypt wasn't sanctioned by the council, what's done is done. I expect you'll give us more information on your lead when the time comes."
"Of course," Morgan answers, flashing a smirk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a search to conduct. I'd rather not waste my time being searched by you all."
Shifting, she waves a hand to others. "Although, feel free to talk behind my back. I wouldn't expect anything less for people who have it out for the French."
Some snort, but nobody raises any objection. They watch as Morgan's flames shrink, her projection fading until she becomes a mere flicker in the darkness. Once the tiny fire is snuffed out, a sigh passes through the remaining members.
"As they say in France, enfin!"
"Why is that woman even part of this council?" mutters another. "There's no telling if she might have another agenda that could..."
"Xavier."
Lennard's disapproval cuts off the man's suggestion. While he looks just like any other cowled member, his softer tone carries an authority that commands their respect.
"She's a pillar of this order, ever present," he reminds, then searches everyone that remains. "As I'm sure all of you are aware, Frederick II's creation of our brotherhood was to aid the coming of the remnant. We originally were meant to prevent the flood, but later down the line, it became apparent that it can't be prevented. Some aspects of previous followers to Isis were right, and Morgan is part of that shift, whether some of you like it or not."
Xavier scoffs, crossing his arms. "I've heard the stories. It would be great if her worth was better documented though."
A few hums in agreement.
"At this point, it is all by the will of the goddess," Lennard says and faces the void below. "With our goal so close, I just hope we will all live to see it."
══════════ ∴ ══════════
[ Mary's Studio — Lounge ]
Thirty seconds have passed since Viviane attached to Marlin's shiny head.
So far between Daniel, Mary, and Viviane, their exchange of memories had been extremely quick. That doesn't seem to be the case between the uncle and slime as the lounge sits at an awkward silence.
Marlin swallows. Aside from the uncomfortable gooey strands from Viviane's fingertips, he doesn't feel anything except the stares of the group in front of him.
"Uh, so... is this normal?" he asks.
Mary twists her lips, humming. "It's certainly taking longer than we experienced. Also, as far as I'm aware, you shouldn't even be responsive."
"I shouldn't be what?!"
Marlin would have jerked away, but Viviane's hold on his head is surprisingly firm. He shuts his eyes, cursing his luck.
"I'm getting worried now," Daniel says, his brow furrowing.
"Can we pull her off?" Rachel asks, her eyes narrowing.
"Hold on, let's be patient," Anne urges with a strained smile. "Maybe Marlin is a difficult person to sort through."
The uncle sighs, slumping. "I really don't know how to feel about that assessment."
"Hrm..."
"!"
All attention snaps to Viviane as she suddenly grumbles, her eyes tightening bitterly. For better or worse, her lips wiggle into the biggest frown anybody has seen.
"Huh..." Mary smiles rigidly. "Well, there's some movement. That's good, right?"
"That face does not scream 'good'," Daniel counters.
"W-what is it?" Marlin asks, sweating. He can't even turn to look at the connecting slime without worrying about breaking something, himself included.
"Ahem, just relax, uncle!" Mary reassures, forcing a beam. "There's... I don't know, probably something about you that she really doesn't like, that's all."
"That's not very relaxing!" Marlin cries.
Rachel squints. "As I thought, we can't trust you."
Marlin groans, weeping silently. "Can I please have some benefit of doubt?"
Bzz!
The front lobby buzzer interrupts the liveliness out of the lounge. Everyone holds themselves for a moment before Daniel turns to Mary, his lips thinning.
"Don't tell me there are more guests."
"Of course not!" Mary huffs, then waves. "Just ignore it. Some people just can't take a hint when the door says closed. If it was a client, they would've called."
Bzz! Bzz! Bzz!
Mary's eyes twitch. With a sigh, she pulls up her phone. "Good thing I installed cameras a year ago. Who the hell is ringing the door?"
"Secret admirer?" Daniel raises lightly.
"Love, this is not the time," Mary shuts down, swiping her phone. Upon receiving the feed, her hand tightens instinctively against her phone, watching a tall man in a navy coat, sporting sunglasses and a fedora hat.
"Who the..."
Before she can finish, the man removes his hat and tilts his head, meeting the camera with a polite smile lining his square frame.
"Salve, I presume it's Mary? I am Nico. Apologies for the disturbance, but your uncle and I are business partners. I missed him last night, but I saw that he has his car parked here. I hope you won't mind an impromptu visit for him and I to catch up."
Sweat drips from Marlin's neck to hear the familiar Italian voice leaking from the phone, full of static. With everything discussed of the cultist, stomachs twist at the table.
Mary is the first to open her mouth as she shuts down her phone quickly. She glances at everyone, noting Rachel's risk of exposure to the strange image of her uncle tied down by the silver-haired slime behind him.
She lifts her lips dryly.
"Fuck."