The Hall of The Order felt alive that night. A low hum clung to the walls, and the flicker of blue torches stretched shadows into strange, crooked shapes. Two elders stood near the towering windows, their voices barely more than whispers.
"The Creed made their move," the first one said. "Word is out. There's an awakener."
The second elder froze, his fingers tightening around his robe. "You're certain?"
"Certain enough," came the reply. "They hadn't done the ritual yet. But they were on their way. Once they performed the Rite, the power would be unlocked. And then…" He let the sentence trail off, but the meaning was clear.
"And then every faction would want them," the second finished grimly. His eyes flicked toward the massive door at the far end of the hall, the one that led to the Arbiter's chamber. "Does he know?"
"Not yet," the first said quietly. "But the others wouldn't wait. The Seraphim. The Fang. They'd move fast. Faster than us, if we hesitated. And if they got her first…" He didn't bother to finish.
Thunder rumbled outside, rolling across the dark horizon. The second elder spoke softly, almost like a prayer.
"Then Arbiter has to choose who we send."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt heavy, like the calm before something that could tear the world apart.
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Melissa stepped into the small, cluttered office, the buzz of a rickety old fan cutting through the quiet. The place smelled like dusty books and a hint of cleaning spray, with a beat-up metal table in the middle that looked way out of place. The guy with the scar—everyone just called him Scar—lounged against his desk, flipping a pocketknife in his hand like it was no big deal.
"Hey there," he said, not even looking up, his voice all smooth and teasing. "What brings you back? Don't tell me you're here just to brighten my day."
Melissa crossed her arms, trying to look tougher than she felt. Her stomach was doing flips, but she kept her voice steady. "I need to find my mom," she said. "When can I start looking?"
That got his attention. He stopped flipping the knife, stuck it into the desk with a thud, and finally met her eyes. His grin was more sly than friendly. "Wow, you don't mess around, do you?" He pushed off the desk and sauntered toward her, his boots scuffing the floor. "But here's the deal—this place isn't a free ride. You can't just waltz out and play hero."
Her hands balled into fists. "I'm not asking for a favor," she shot back. "I'm telling you what I've gotta do."
He chuckled, and it sent a chill through the room. "You've got guts, kid. But guts without skill?" He shook his head. "You'd be in deep trouble out there real quick." He picked up the knife again, twirling it like it was second nature. "You want to chase after your mom? Alright. Prove you've got what it takes."
Melissa squinted at him. "How?"
He nodded toward the muffled cheers coming from the training area down the hall. "Three fights in the arena," he said, his grin widening. "Win 'em, and maybe—just maybe—I'll let you walk out of here. I've heard you're getting pretty good with that monk's training." He leaned closer, eyes glinting. "Now show me you're more than just talk."
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A handful of police officers and their search dogs trudged through the woods, their shouts of "Ethan! Ethan!" bouncing off the trees. The forest just whispered back with rustling leaves and cracking twigs. It had been days since Claire's little boy vanished, and every hour chipped away at her hope. She hadn't slept a wink, barely touched food—her heart was a mess, and she was holding on by a thread.
Her mind kept drifting back to that day at the hospital. That's when things started feeling off. Ethan would zone out, his eyes going blank, his small body shaking like a leaf. Sometimes he'd have seizures, but the doctors just shrugged, saying it was "normal for his age." Claire wanted to trust them, but deep down, her gut screamed something was wrong—really wrong. And now her worst nightmare had come true. Ethan was gone. Did he wander off? Or… did someone take him? The thought twisted her insides as she stood at the edge of the woods, hugging herself against the chilly evening air.