Another day has come. They are trying to grow their team. "Demora was great", voice, rough and old, the hooded figure said. "The others are strong. But they are not many of the true kind. They gather the light and hide it. We must bring out those who crave more. Those who want gold, power, and glory. Those who will not ask why."
They spoke of the world above. Of towns and cities, of people who burned bright in greed and fear. "Find the greedy," the old voice said. "Find the men who would sell their souls for a throne. Find the leaders who would burn their neighbors for power. We will reach them. We will raise them. They will answer our call."
Pimo tried to stand, the ritual taking the last of his strength. He shook as he looked at the hooded figures. "What do you ask of me next?" he whispered.
The leader turned. "You will travel. You will listen. The fire will guide you to those who want more. Give them a choice. Let them see what we can give. Gold. Strength. A place above the rest. Offer them a way to break the rules."
Pimo's breath hitched. He had no wish to travel. He had no wish to speak with kings or pirates or men with loud hands and empty eyes. But the blade had been close to his throat. He nodded.
"Good," the leader said. "You will be our shadow in the world of men. And when the time comes, you will bring them here. We will teach them the chant. We will bind them with darkness and debt. When many such men stand with us, nothing will stop us."
A low murmur of agreement passed through the room. The hooded figures shifted their hoods and moved toward the table. One of them reached down and touched Demora's brow. For a second, the dead seemed to breathe. Not with life, but with promise. The light on the table flickered like a small heartbeat.
"We need to find more as early as possible". Another one said. "The light grows each night. The people who carry it breed new and bright ones. If we cut that light at its source, if we take their greedy hearts and turn them, we will rule. We will drown their bright in our dark."
They planned then, simple words but heavy with design. "Find the greedy men in the markets. Find the leaders who sell their people for coin. Find the priests who hollow out the faith for followers. Point them to power. Make them a promise, the chance to end hunger for their desires."
Pimo listened and then asked, his voice small, "How will we find them? There are many, many men."
The leader smiled, though his face stayed in shadow. "Power calls to power," he said. "Greed smells like fuel. We will send our whispers along trade routes, to the corners where money moves fast and laws move slow. We will show them ways to get more without work. We will promise them what they want most and make them part of our plan. Once they join, we will give them a task that binds them to us. Then they will never leave."
A cold excitement moved through the hooded group. They spoke of agents, letters folded with secret marks, and coins that would be left in certain places. They spoke about people in high places who already drank from the same tired cup of need. They would not take to the streets as monsters at first. They would go where men who sell their souls already sit.
Pimo's fear turned into a gray kind of resolve. He had no choice. He had to live. He would bring those men to them. He would carry letters and whispers. He would light small fires in the hearts of greedy men.
The leader bent closer. "When the world is weak, we will act. When their lights dim, we will strike. We will take their bright and turn it to our dark. We will not stop until the last light is broken. Then we will bring our Evil master here."
The hooded figures closed their circle. They lifted their hands, and a soft wind rose in the stone chamber. The candles burned steady. Demora's body lay quiet, but the promise in the air felt strong and dangerous.
Before they left, one of them marked Pimo's arm with a thin line of ink. The mark was small and black, a sigil that would guide him and call him back. "You are bound," the leader said. "You will carry our shadow into the world."
Pimo felt the weight of the mark like a chain. It was not a good chain. It fit him like a lock. He nodded, the movement simple and final.
They closed the torch light and stepped into the dark passageways. Their hooded shapes slid away like smoke. The stone room swallowed the sound of their footsteps.
After the door shut and the last light faded, the chamber was quiet. The candles dimmed. On the table, Demora's body rested under its dark cloth. The oil burned out. A single spark of dark light lingered, small and patient. It would grow again.
Outside, the cold night seemed emptier. Far above, the city lights blinked and moved. Men who had watched too closely slept on, dreams empty of the truth. The hooded ones had left, and their plans were already beginning.
They would find the greedy. They would bind them. They would gather their forces. And they would wait for the night when all the bright ones were too weak to stand. He informed to bring even the dead ones who joined on the army.
The dark Side had spoken. The next move was in motion.