The night settled thick over the encampment, an oppressive blanket of silence broken only by the occasional crackle of a distant torch. Elian drifted into uneasy sleep, but elsewhere in the fortress, shadows stirred.
In a forgotten corridor far from where Elian and Maren rested, a cloaked figure moved with silent precision. The torchlight barely caught the shimmer of silver along the edge of the figure's gloves — the unmistakable mark of a Shadow Courier, one of the Council's secret messengers.
The figure slipped into a hidden alcove, where another silhouette awaited. Unlike the courier, this second figure stood tall and regal, their face obscured by a heavy velvet hood trimmed with threads of gold.
"You're late," the hooded figure said, the voice low and commanding.
The courier dropped to one knee. "Forgive me, my lord. The resistance has moved faster than expected. Elian is gathering strength. They are not as fractured as we believed."
The hooded figure's gloved hand tightened into a fist. "He is more dangerous than the Council anticipated. More dangerous than you warned us."
"My lord, I bring new information," the courier said hastily, producing a small, intricate device from their sleeve — a crystal orb, swirling with dark mist. "One of our agents embedded in the northern outposts intercepted this. It's a communication fragment. Elian's next move."
The hooded figure snatched the orb, inspecting it under the dying torchlight. As they studied it, a thin smile spread beneath their hood.
"So," the figure murmured, "he plans to move the Relic before the next moonrise. Foolish. Bold... but foolish."
There was a long pause as the hooded figure contemplated. Then they spoke, each word a dagger in the quiet.
"Prepare the Black Vultures. Tell them to intercept him at Hollow's Pass. No survivors."
The courier hesitated, shifting uneasily. "My lord, the Black Vultures... they demand triple payment for such a high-risk operation."
The figure turned slowly, and even through the heavy veil of shadow, the courier could feel the icy gaze burning into him.
"Give them whatever they ask," the figure said, voice deadly. "Gold is cheap. What matters is the boy never reaches the eastern valleys. If he does... it will be the beginning of the end for us all."
The courier bowed low, then disappeared into the dark as silently as he had come.
The hooded figure remained still for a moment longer, the crystal orb pulsing faintly in their hand. Then, with a whispered incantation, they crushed the orb to dust.
"Sleep well, Elian," the figure murmured into the night. "For soon, your dreams will be all that remain of you."
Far across the fortress, Elian shifted in his sleep, a chill running down his spine as if he could feel the very fabric of fate tightening around him.
Unseen, unheard — the storm was no longer gathering.
It was already here.
And it had a name.
The Black Vultures.
---