"The world remembers thrones. But shadows remember the ruined."
Virellan—the unseen empire beneath the skin of the world.
Once thought to be a myth whispered by the paranoid and the damned, Virellan is an empire forged in shadows. To the world above, it never existed. But down here, beneath steel and ash, it rules the world without ever being seen.
Long believed to be no more than a tale whispered in the taverns of drunk old men, Virellan had always existed. Beneath cities of light and law, beneath countries run by puppets in suits, Virellan had ruled. An empire without borders, currency, or courts—but with absolute power. They called it an "underworld empire," a shadow that slithered through governments, corporations, and monarchies alike.
Those who tried to uncover it ended up in unmarked graves. Those who spoke of it publicly vanished with no blood left behind.
Because Virellan doesn't exist.
Not on maps. Not in records. Not in history.
And yet, it rules everything.
Hidden beneath centuries of illusion, Virellan is a subterranean dominion of power and chaos — a vast labyrinth of gothic halls, silent fortresses, and neon-bathed districts that operate in perfect, enforced balance. While nations shift and fall above, Virellan endures, eternal, invisible, invincible.
Long before kings crowned themselves gods, before nations fell to dust and time forgot their names, there was Virellan —whispered of in the breathless hush of those who knew to fear it. Nestled in the shadows of the world, beyond borders and beneath empires, Virellan was no mere place. It was power incarnate. A blood-stained dominion where thrones were carved from betrayal and loyalty was a currency rarely earned, often stolen.
For centuries, it was ruled by fractured syndicates and greedy tyrants. That changed when four men — bound by ambition and betrayal — rose from the ash. Friends once, legends now. Together, they dismantled the decaying order and forged four iron-clad clans in its place:
The Phoenix King of Aetherion Kronos-Zeus. His clan became the heart of Virellan, pulsing with influence, elegance, and a terrifying stillness that warned of the fire beneath. Their symbol — the immortal phoenix — a reminder that Zeus never dies… he rebirths.
Aurek Skalvarn, master of fire and fury, helmed Dracoryn Vanta, the dragon clan. Their territories blaze with wealth and weaponry, a haven of technological dominance and brutal innovation. The dragon isn't just a symbol — it's a warning. Never wake what sleeps beneath the ash.
Caelon Stravok, fierce and cunning, led Vahnera Claws, a feral empire marked by stealth, infiltration, and merciless strikes. The tiger they bear is more than pride — it is patience and pounce, calculated chaos with claws soaked in gold.
Nerik Virelock, the most enigmatic of the four, reigned over Dreadfin Fang — Virellan's unseen tide. His sharks swim where others drown, and his clan controls the smuggling, oceans, and information rivers that feed every dark corner of the world. They see everything. And they speak nothing.
Together, they formed the Obsidian Concord, overthrowing the fractured past and uniting Virellan beneath a silent rule. But unity bred resentment.
For among them, Zeus reigned highest.
His wealth rivaled empires, his dominion untouched. He had something the others did not — an invisible army. A force no one had seen, but all feared. The Silver Serpents. An elite shadow legion, loyal only to him.
Worse… he had Lucifer, whom the Silver Serpents worshipped.
A name spoken only in terrified whispers — a phantom, a myth, a monster cloaked in night. No one knew his face. But the few who crossed Zeus and survived all said the same thing:
"It wasn't Zeus that punished us. It washim."
Zeus's most powerful weapons were those three men.
They speak of those three names only in whispers —Azazel, the heir born of fire and silence. Lucifer, the shadow who walks unseen, the right hand of the throne, feared more than death itself. And Leviathan, the commander of the Silver Serpents — a phantom drenched in myth and vengeance.
No one has seen their faces. No one dares say if they're real. But when blood stains the wind…you'll know they've arrived.
Virellan Now...
— Expanded Secret Meeting —Location: The Hollow Chamber, Virellan's most concealed sanctum
The Hollow Chamber was buried deep beneath the Obsidian Ravines, a forsaken sector of Virellan untouched by even its own citizens. Its ceiling loomed like a mouth ready to swallow secrets, lit only by the dim flicker of pyre stone torches—flames that glowed a sickly violet and never needed fuel.
The walls whispered. Not metaphorically—literally. Ancient blood runes etched into the blackened stone murmured in long-dead languages, echoing the oaths of traitors, murderers, kings.
The circular table in the center looked like it had been carved out of a meteorite. Smooth obsidian, veined with crimson, resembling veins throbbing beneath skin. Atop it sat two figures—each exuding presence, legacy, and ambition.. Aurek was missing. As always.
A slow drip from a leaking pipe echoed like a ticking clock.
Caelon Stravok, draped in armor-like attire patterned with tiger stripes, fingers covered in gold rings shaped like claws. Eyes glinted with predator's cunning. Nerik Virelock, cold, aquiline features sharp as a dagger, clad in tailored sharkskin-gray silks, with silver trim shaped like teeth. A vacant third throne—reserved for Aurek Skalvarn—stood untouched, its dragon crest casting a long shadow.
"Where's Aurek?" Nerik Virelock asked, his voice sharp and measured. "This is no ordinary gathering."
Caelon sneered. "Of course he didn't come. Dragons like to watch from the mountain while others bleed."
Nerik's lips curled. "Or maybe he sees what we won't admit. That Zeus cannot be touched."
Silence. Even the flames seemed to flicker quieter.
The tension was thick, heavy with unsaid betrayals.
"We can't touch Zeus while he has them," Nerik finally said. "The Silver Serpents."
A shiver ran through the room at the mention.
"They're ghosts," Caelon muttered. "No faces. No tracks. Not even death can stop them. And no one has ever seen their commander."
A pause.
"He's crumbling," Caelon said. "His son is dead. His ghost-weapon Lucifer—gone. The Silver Serpents may be deadly, but without their head... even serpents coil in confusion."
"You assume Lucifer is gone," Nerik countered. "That's a dangerous gamble."
Caelon's eyes narrowed. "Then maybe it's time we raised the stakes."
"I have… a proposition," he added, leaning forward.
The silence sharpened like a blade.
"What kind?" asked Nerik, suspicious.
"We bring in a new player. One that even the Silver Serpents won't dare touch."
He gestured to the hooded figure beside him, who placed a sealed envelope on the table. The wax seal bore an unfamiliar symbol—neither tiger, shark, nor phoenix. A crooked smile carved into bone-white wax.
Nerik paled.
"You didn't…" His voice lowered, incredulous. "You actually reached out to him?"
Caelon leaned back, smirking like a gambler about to win the final hand.
"He replied."
The shadows recoiled.
"You know what they call him in the West?" Caelon continued. "The Man Without a Face. In Italy, Il Fantasma. In Russia, Demonov Khlad—the Cold Demon. No one knows what he looks like. No one has seen him fight. Yet whole crime syndicates collapse when he smiles at them."
He looked up, a smirk playing on his lips.
"The Joker."
The room turned still. No one spoke. Even in the heart of Virellan — a city built on sin — there were names better left unspoken.
And Joker was one of them.
"You think The Joker can be controlled?" Nerik asked, voice now a hiss. "He plays games for power, for chaos. He has no allegiance."
"We won't control him," Caelon replied. "We'll bargain with him."
Nerik stared hard at him. "And what will you offer in return? What price do you think chaos asks for?"
Caelon's smirk faded just slightly.
"I'll give him the only thing he wants," he said. "A throne."
Nerik stood. "You fool. If you give him Virellan, there will be nothing left to rule."
Caelon rose to meet his height. "And if we wait, Zeus's hidden army will wake again. He'll rise. And we'll all be swept beneath his fire."
The flames flickered violently, casting tiger, shark, and serpentine shadows across the walls.
For a long moment, they simply stood in that uneasy quiet.
Nerik finally muttered, "Aurek should've been here."
Caelon didn't respond.
Because perhaps Aurek already was.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
Meanwhile... on the surface-
In a quiet street café far from the darkness of Virellan-the sun poured golden light through the window, quiet except for the gentle hiss of steaming milk.
Slumped on a corner couch, Kyrell jolted awake, chest heaving. The nightmare still clung to his skin.
Flashes of sapphire eyes. Screams. Blood. A falling figure.
He rubbed his temples.
"Rough morning?" came a cheerful voice.
Kyrell didn't respond.
The barista grinned as he brought over coffee. Ivan —tall, strong, with jet black hair that gleamed and ruby-red eyes that seemed too soft for someone that built. A golden retriever in a man's body.
"I told you not to sleep here, Ky," he said, plopping onto the opposite chair. "You scare away the customers with that Icy face of yours."
Kyrell glanced up, icy blue eyes unblinking. "They should be scared."
Ivan blinked. Then smiled wider. "Still brooding. That's good. Means you're healing."
Kyrell scoffed.
"Here, I made your favorite," Ivan said, handing over a cup of freshly made chamomile tea.
"Thanks…" Kyrell took it, eyes distant.
The bell above the café door chimed as a customer entered. Ivan turned. Kyrell stayed frozen, a flicker of unease crawling down his spine.
Somewhere deep beneath his ribs, a voice whispered again—
You left him behind.