Chapter 9: Council of Shadows

Council of Shadows Beneath the earth, where no sunlight dared to reach, the council gathered. The chamber was circular — carved from obsidian and laced with runes that pulsed a faint red glow, like the slow beat of a dying heart. Thick black chains dangled from the ceiling, their links silent but oppressive, reminders of what power truly cost. Twelve cloaked figures sat in stone thrones — all faceless, all still. At the head of the circle stood their leader — taller than the rest, cloak darker than pitch, and a mask smooth as bone, marked only by a single vertical slash down the right eye. “He’s returned,” the leader said. The room didn’t move — but the air tensed like a pulled blade. “Zero. The Hollow Vessel. The Royal Flame.” One of the cloaked figures leaned forward, voice gravel-worn and bitter. “He killed Issac and Zack. In public.” Another spat, “They were weak. Pawns.” “No,” came a voice from the far left — calm, deliberate. “They were warnings.” A low murmur moved through the room like wind through ash. The leader raised a gloved hand. Silence returned. “This boy is no longer a child.” “He is power incarnate. A flame we failed to extinguish... and now it burns through our plans.” A fourth voice, sharper than the others, asked: “Do we kill him?” A pause. “Not yet.” The leader stepped forward, cloak trailing like smoke behind them. “He’s the spark we need. And sparks… are useful when you want to burn down kingdoms.” The figure seated directly to his right — masked in jagged bronze — scoffed. “You speak as if we can control him. That boy just tore through two of our own and vanished. You want to gamble on a wildfire?” Across the chamber, a slender figure cloaked in violet leaned forward. Her voice was smooth, poisonous. “No… not a gamble. A test. Let him keep killing. Let him think he’s winning. All it does is weed out the weak.” Another grunted — armored shoulders creaking with weight. “He’s not just killing. He’s hunting.” “He remembers,” one murmured from the shadows. “He remembers what we did.” “Good,” the leader said flatly. Gasps echoed — only slightly restrained. “Let him remember. Let his hate sharpen. It binds him closer to us.” The violet-cloaked woman chuckled darkly. “Or it’ll tear him apart. Either outcome serves us.” Bronze-mask spoke again, more direct. “What about the Hollow?” Silence followed. “Zentistu,” he clarified. “That thing still lives inside him. That’s not a weapon — it’s a ticking disaster.” “If it awakens fully,” the armored one growled, “it won’t serve us. It’ll consume him… then all of us.” The leader tilted his head slowly. “Then let him burn.” “And if he survives the flame… we’ll see what rises from the ashes.” A hooded figure finally spoke from the farthest end — voice rasped and slow, old like cracking parchment. “You all speak of Zero like he’s our greatest threat…” “But have you forgotten what’s sleeping beneath the northern sands?” Even the chains above seemed to still. The leader’s mask turned toward him. “No,” they said. “We haven’t forgotten. Which is why Zero must remain alive — for now.” A sigil ignited in the floor beneath the leader’s feet — blood red, swirling. “Send the Wordbearers. Begin the Ember Trials.” “If he reaches the capital again… let’s see if the people still call him hero.” The chamber pulsed with low energy — red sigils glowing more violently now, as if reacting to the name… Zero. A voice from the center-left throne spoke next. Deep. Mocking. “So what’s the end goal, then? Watch him tear down every wall between us and Eldora? Then what? Offer him a seat at the table?” The bronze-masked figure scoffed again. “He wouldn’t take it.” The leader turned slightly, arms behind their back. “He will… if we break him first.” The armored general grunted, shifting. “We’ve tried that before. He survived your chains. Survived the seal. Even now, with Zentistu living inside him — he hasn’t broken.” The violet-cloaked woman licked her lips behind her mask. “Not yet. But we haven’t played all our pieces.” “What about the girl?” she added, voice sly. Silence. A few heads turned. “You mean the one from the ashes?” the old parchment-voiced man rasped. She chuckled softly. “She’s alive, isn’t she? The one he failed to protect.” The bronze-mask growled low. “That’s off limits. You said we’d never use her.” The leader finally raised a hand — slowly. “Enough.” Everyone froze. “We do not pull strings that fragile unless it is the final thread.” “But…” the leader continued. “Perhaps it’s time we introduce him to the others.” A heavy breath came from the back wall — a thirteenth throne no one had acknowledged until now. A monstrous figure, cloaked in silence, finally leaned forward. Its voice was like gravel cracking beneath a landslide: “I’ve waited long enough.” The others instinctively stepped back — not in fear, but in reverence. “Let me face him.” The leader turned toward the massive figure, slowly nodding. “Soon. But not yet.” “First, we send the Wordbearers. Let them test his mind. Then… you can have his body.” The thirteenth figure leaned back, the sound of bones or metal scraping across the stone echoing through the chamber. His presence was like a storm held together by sheer will. “Let them test him,” the deep voice rumbled. “But when he breaks… he’s mine.” The violet-cloaked woman tilted her head, amused. “So eager. But don’t forget, brute force never worked on that boy. You’d only feed his flame.” “Then I’ll feed it,” the thirteenth spat. “Until it burns itself out.” The bronze-masked figure crossed his arms. “We speak of him like he’s the endgame. He’s not.” The leader finally turned, voice low and absolute: “No. He’s the catalyst.” “Eldora is already crumbling. Their allies grow suspicious. Their king cannot control his own throne room.” “Zero is the match. We are the inferno.” A sudden pulse of red light burst from the runes beneath their feet — like the chamber itself agreed. The parchment-voiced elder spoke again: “What of the Hollow? If Zentistu fully awakens... we risk more than kingdoms.” “We risk awakening the Hollow Gate itself.” Silence. Even the thirteenth shifted. The leader nodded slowly. “That is the final seal. We are not there… yet.” Then he turned — and the flames behind him flared in a perfect ring. “Send the Wordbearers. Let the minds of men tremble.” “And if he resists?” “Then we send the Blades.” The air inside the chamber had gone still — like a battlefield right before the first scream. The Ember Vow leader stepped into the center of the sigil-ringed floor, cloak brushing against charred stone. “He walks with the Hollow.” “He commands royal fire.” “He kills without hesitation.” Each word echoed like a tolling bell. The thirteenth figure’s growl followed: “Then we should’ve ended him when he was a child.” The leader didn’t turn. “And yet... we didn’t.” A pause. “We let him live. Now we reap what we let grow.” One by one, the council began vanishing into black smoke — their thrones emptying without a sound. The violet-cloaked woman was the last to speak, her voice curving like a dagger behind a smile: “Let him come. Let him chase us.” “Because when the game ends...” “He won’t even remember who lit the first match.” The leader remained alone — staring at the dying light of the last sigil. “And when the final ember fades...” “Only one name will be remembered.” “Not his.” Darkness swallowed the room whole.