The throne chamber was lit by braziers that burned with black flame, their smoke curling upward into shadows that writhed across the vaulted ceiling. A long obsidian table had been dragged to the foot of the dais, its surface etched with maps, runes, and crude carvings of battlefields yet to come.
The air was heavy with iron and ash.
Vorath sat upon his throne above them all, Nox Obscura resting across his knees, its dark edge gleaming with a light that was not light. The skulls upon which he sat seemed almost to lean inward, as if eager to listen.
One by one, his lieutenants assembled.
Serikar, armored and stern, took his place first at the table, bowing with mechanical precision before straightening. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes never left the warlord's.
Velira drifted next, her silken steps whispering across the stone, crimson eyes bright with veiled delight. She trailed a finger along the obsidian table, as though it were a lover's skin, before reclining languidly in her seat.
Aethra materialized rather than walked, her spirit-form coalescing from smoke and pale light. Beautiful beyond reason, her face framed by a shimmer of shadow-veils, she sat without ceremony, folding her delicate hands. The faint smile she wore was a cruel echo of serenity.
Two others joined last: a hulking demon-warrior called Draxxus, with tusks curving upward like broken scythes, and a pale sorcerer named Malchior, whose robes reeked faintly of charred parchment and rot. Both bowed lower than the others, though neither dared lift their eyes until Vorath permitted.
The silence stretched. Only the crackle of black fire filled the hall.
At length, Vorath rose. He descended the steps slowly, each tread echoing like a drumbeat of war. The others watched in silence as he approached the table, gaze sweeping across them as though measuring their worth.
"The Black Sun exists."
The words dropped into the chamber like stone into water, sending ripples through every soul present.
Draxxus shifted uneasily, tusks grinding. Malchior paled further, lips tightening. Even Serikar's eyes flickered, though he held his posture like steel.
Velira leaned forward, her crimson gaze sharp with hunger. "Then it is true. The gods bound it, fearing its touch. And now you would claim it."
Aethra's soft laugh rang like glass. "It will unravel the world, they whisper. Yet what is the world but threads waiting for a weaver?"
Vorath placed both hands upon the table. The obsidian groaned beneath his gauntlets.
"It is not a matter of fear. It is inevitability. The gods chained what they could not kill. But chains rust. Seals fracture. The Black Sun waits, and I will be the one to bring it into the sky."
"Master," Serikar spoke, voice level but low. "If the Black Sun is a wound in creation—as Aevarion once warned—then any who seek it may be consumed. Even gods may not endure it. Are we certain that—"
Vorath's gaze cut to him, and the commander's words died mid-breath.
"Certainty," Vorath said, his tone colder than ice, "is not the privilege of mortals. It is the privilege of power. And power bends certainty to its will."
Serikar bowed his head in silence, though tension lingered in his jaw.
Velira's smile widened, her voice a serpent's caress. "Then let the gods weep. Give us the order, and we will scour every ruin, every star-map, every tomb. If the Black Sun hides, we will drag it into your hand."
Draxxus rumbled, his deep voice shaking the chamber. "My legions thirst, master. If you command, we will march across the living earth until its bones lie bare. But… tell me… do we war against mortals, or gods?"
Vorath turned his gaze upon the demon, unblinking. "Both. Mortals will bleed, gods will kneel. And those who cling to silence…" His eyes flickered briefly, recalling the chained prisoners below. "…will break."
Malchior, fingers twitching with arcane tremors, spoke hesitantly. "If the Black Sun is… alignment, perhaps—of heaven, earth, and void—then we must first trace its echoes. The stars, my lord. The constellations will mark the path. I will study them, if you allow."
Vorath regarded him for a long moment. "Do so. But do not mistake study for safety. If the stars themselves burn away, I will still have what I came for."
Malchior bowed so low his forehead touched the table. "As you command."
Vorath's gaze swept them all, pinning each beneath the weight of it. "You may disagree. You may counsel caution. But know this: I do not summon you to question my will. I summon you to enact it. You are blades. I am the hand that wields them."
A hush fell over the chamber. None spoke. None dared.
Vorath's voice dropped to a growl, soft yet vast. "Begin the search. Every ruin. Every forbidden library. Every whisper of prophecy. Tear down kingdoms if you must. The Black Sun is hidden in shadow—but we are the shadow."
The words throbbed through the chamber like a curse.
At last, Vorath straightened, Nox Obscura flaring in his grip with black light that stained the stone. "Go. Prepare your legions. When I next summon you, I will demand more than counsel—I will demand results."
One by one, they rose. Draxxus bowed and lumbered out, tusks gleaming. Malchior slipped away like a shadow clinging to itself. Velira lingered long enough to let her gaze dance over Vorath's form before retreating. Serikar saluted, sharp and precise, before departing with silent steps.
Only Aethra remained a moment longer. She tilted her head, her beauty unearthly in the half-light.
"And if the Black Sun refuses to yield?" she asked softly.
Vorath turned his gaze upon her, and his eyes blazed like void-stars.
"Then I will make the heavens bleed until it does."
Aethra smiled faintly, bowing her veiled head before dissolving into smoke.
The warlord stood alone at the table, his reflection fractured across the obsidian.
The hunt had begun.