In Cát Bà Island, Vietnam
In the heart of Halong Bay, amidst fog-draped limestone pillars, Cát Bà Island lay shrouded in secrecy. To tourists, it was a scenic paradise. To those who knew better, it was one of the last meeting grounds of the Veiled Accord—a clandestine alliance forged centuries ago to maintain global balance in times of impending collapse.
Damien and Nora stood before a massive temple carved into the rock itself, the encrypted pendant having led them here. Every step forward buzzed with arcane resonance, old magicks colliding with cutting-edge surveillance tech. Kiyomi and Elijah waited outside, guarding their flank.
"This place shouldn't exist," Nora whispered.
"Which is exactly why it does," Damien replied.
As they stepped through the obsidian threshold, whispers surged in the air like wind through reeds—languages from lost empires, dialects of forgotten tribes.
Inside, the chamber opened into a circular amphitheater, lit only by pale blue fire suspended in mid-air. Twelve figures sat cloaked in identical black robes, their faces veiled by holographic mist.
A thirteenth seat sat empty—until the flames reacted to Damien's presence.
"Damien Blackmore," one voice echoed. "Heir of Greyblood, Sovereign Elect of Tavara. And Nora Wylde—descendant of the Flame Serpent. You've disturbed the natural balance."
"We didn't disturb it," Damien shot back. "Archer did."
"Archer," another voice murmured, venomous. "He was one of us once. Before ambition became his god."
Nora stepped forward. "We have his pendant. It led us here. We believe you can help us stop what's coming."
A long silence followed.
Then, one of the figures leaned forward. "The Sovereign Bloodline… was never meant to rule. It was meant to protect. But Archer twisted it into a weapon. What he unearthed in Egypt was only part of his plan."
Another added, "He's not dead. What you buried was a shell."
Damien's breath caught. "He used a decoy?"
"Worse. A remote construct. His consciousness was uploaded to the Vantari relay weeks ago. You killed an echo."
From the center of the amphitheater, a 3D map flared into view—interlaced nodes across South America, Eastern Europe, North Africa, and the Pacific Rim.
"These are known as Sleepers," said one councilor. "Old allies. Some in stasis. Others in hiding. Archer is waking them—one by one."
"Then we wake them first," Nora said.
The council's holograms flickered in silence.
"You're asking for a war that will ignite the old bloodlines," one warned.
"So be it," Damien declared. "We've lost too many to play neutral. It's time for the world to remember who truly holds power."
The amphitheater dimmed. One by one, the veiled figures stood, then removed their hoods.
An Asian matriarch with eyes like embers. A Maasai elder with a cybernetic eye. A Russian magnate with burn scars. A woman from the Amazon basin with a jaguar tattoo glowing on her skin.
"You have our attention," they said in unison. "Now earn our allegiance."
Later – Cliffside Sanctuary, Cát Bà Island
Damien sat alone, looking over the ocean, the weight of the world pressing down. Nora approached, carrying a scroll—the council's first gift: a cipher detailing Archer's next target.
She sat beside him. "Colombia. Near the Sierra Nevada mountains. They believe that's where he'll attempt his first full resurrection."
He exhaled sharply. "Then that's where we go."
Nora touched his hand. "We'll be ready."