Location; St. Moritz, Swiss Alps – Council of Eight Winter Summit
Wind howled across the jagged teeth of the Alps as black SUVs wound their way toward a secluded fortress carved into the mountainside. The Council of Eight's winter summit was always shrouded in silence, its location changing each year, its agenda locked behind biometric safeguards and encryption far beyond military grade.
Damien adjusted the custom earpiece in his ear. Layla's voice crackled through the line. "Thermals indicate fourteen individuals. Only eight have known Council heat signatures."
"That's six bodyguards," Damien said. "And one unknown."
He moved like a ghost across the snow, his footsteps silent thanks to adaptive gear. Aerial drones captured every angle while a small team of allies waited along the mountain's shadowed edge, prepared for extraction or war—whichever came first.
Inside the fortress, Viktor Orlov raised a toast. "To the eighth seal," he said, lifting a glass of 100-year-old Russian vodka. "And to those too blind to see the ninth."
The Council's reaction was a mix of confusion and unease.
"What ninth?" asked Grigori Vale, the Swedish biotech magnate whose patents ran half of Europe's military implants.
Viktor smirked. "He walks among us. Always has. But none of you thought to question why there are always nine chairs."
Silence.
Then, behind him, a panel of the obsidian wall slid open. A man stepped out.
Damien watched from his vantage point, zooming in. He gasped.
It was someone he knew. Very well.
"Uncle Sebastian," he whispered, his voice barely a breath.
Location; Tokyo, Japan – Abandoned Metroline Bunker
Nora gripped the rusted ladder, descending deeper into the old Japanese metroline-turned-research vault. Her contact—a former intelligence analyst named Emi Takeda—had vanished two days ago after uncovering links between the Vox Divina experiments and a hidden faction within the Japanese Defense Ministry.
Now, following Emi's last coordinates, Nora entered the bunker's main chamber.
The air smelled of iron, mildew, and electricity.
On a large table lay maps, photos, and documents pinned in organized chaos. Among them, a 3D-printed sigil caught her eye—a perfect match to the pendant her mother once wore.
"This place…" Nora whispered. "It's not just about secrets. It's a recruitment zone."
A sudden sound behind her. She spun, gun drawn.
A teenage boy stood in the doorway, holding a data drive. His features mirrored hers—uncannily so.
"I've been waiting for you, Nora," he said. "I'm Jun. Your cousin."
Location; Tavara – Penthouse Tower
Damien watched the livestreams in stunned silence. His uncle—Sebastian O'Connor—was alive. Not just alive, but a Council member?
His father entered, carrying a worn leather journal.
"You need to read this," he said. "It's time you understood what Sebastian really wanted."
Damien opened it.
Inside were details of the ninth seat. Hidden inheritance lines. Genetic blueprints. Psychic awakening schedules based on celestial alignments.
Then a final message: "The Ninth isn't a person. It's a bloodline. And you're its key."