Unt Chapter 4: Silent Shadowitled Episode
1496 Words
The script had not yet faded, its stardust glow slowly dissipating as if it had never existed.
Hale stared at the unfamiliar runes on the wall, his expression grave. “Heretical cipher, belonging to none of the six major Church sects. Likely the work of an underground stellar cult.”
Underground factions wove a tangled web across the Aerya Continent: the Gate of Annihilation, the Wheel of Fate, the Faceless Troupe all operated outside Church jurisdiction, privately researching stellar arts, stealing relics and rewriting soul covenants—perpetual targets of Church purges.
Yet the Round Table referenced in the cipher was the hidden secret of Elias’s crimson void alone.
Someone had uncovered his secret long before he was ready.
“File an immediate report,” Hale ordered sharply. “The new stellar drug is tied to an unknown heretical organization. Risk level elevated; lock down the entire West District for overnight sweeps.”
Elias bent to pick up the vial. The moment his fingertips brushed the glass, the fate threads in his vision erupted into chaotic tangles, snapping and reweaving. Countless divergent futures exploded forth: failed Church lockdowns, mass distribution of the new drug across the market, mass madness among superficial infected, mutation riots sweeping the slums.
The seeds of catastrophe lurked already in the city’s shadows.
The pair returned to the Church to submit their dossiers, night having deepened fully.
Elias took leave on a pretext and headed back alone to his slum cottage. The instant he pushed open the door, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.
The room looked unchanged. Lila slept soundly, blankets neatly laid, potions set in order—no outward sign of intrusion.
Yet a wisp of faint cold fragrance lingered in the air, clean, detached, untouched by the slum’s hearth smoke and rot, a scent foreign to this district.
Someone had been here.
Elias stepped slowly inside, his fingertips tingling with latent power, perpetually on guard. He voiced no accusation, merely drifting toward the bed, scanning every corner of the room.
Tucked in the window’s c***k was a thin strand of black hair.
Lusterless, ice-cold, heavy with the stellar power of shadow.
The first seated member of the Crimson Round Table had visited this place.
Elias closed his eyes, his soul sinking once more into the crimson void.
Amid boundless scarlet mist, the silent shadow already occupied its seat—slender, upright form wrapped in black robes, hood pulled low to conceal every feature. No aura rippled off its frame, as if it were the void made flesh, quiet and undetectable, erasing all traces of its passage.
Lina Vane, Sequence Seven practitioner of the Silent Oath Path.
Once a scion of a powerful noble house, her entire clan had been purged by the Blazing Sun Holy Church on false heresy charges; she alone escaped with her life. To break the curse of words that brought ruin to her kin, she sealed her own vocal cords, renouncing all speech forever. In exchange for lifelong silence, she wielded unmatched stealth and assassination arts.
No soul in the world could track her footsteps, no gaze could uncover her movements.
At this moment, she tilted her head faintly, as if sensing the Speaker’s soul descend, yet she uttered not a single sound. Silence was her power, and her unbreakable chain.
Within the void, the other three glimmers drifted slowly closer.
Jax’s illusions leaped and shifted playfully through the mist, countless masks flickering across his form, his tone teasing yet edged with underlying vigilance: “Our first companion arrives, and a mute assassin no less. Most intriguing.”
Elvin’s book glowed steady and cold, every word steeped in unemotional logic: “The Silent Oath Path excels at stealth reconnaissance and covert elimination. The Table’s combat roster gains its first vital piece.”
Sorin’s sea lantern flickered far off, carrying the sharp tang of ocean winds and the heavy gloom of spilled blood: “A killer, a ghost, a survivor. In chaotic times, there is no more trustworthy ally.”
The four glimmers gathered fully around the table, waiting only for the Speaker to formally speak.
Elias stood beneath the throne, gazing down at the four souls trapped in despair, his soul’s voice reverberating across the entire crimson void—low, calm, unwavering.
“You are all exiles cast aside by order. From this day forward, the Crimson Round Table will stand as your shelter.”
“The price: set aside personal grudges, exchange hidden truths, and stand united against the Annihilation Tide. Any who betray shall find no refuge in the void; the throne shall show no mercy.”
A soundless covenant branded itself instantly into all five souls.
The laws of the Round Table took effect at last.
The void conclave ended, and Elias’s soul returned to his mortal body.
He opened his eyes to find the cold fragrance in the room faded completely, the strand of hair vanished from the window ledge. Lina came and went without a trace, leaving no clue to her passage—proof the Table’s bond was unshakably real.
Early the next morning, the Church issued a city-wide edict: full lockdown of the West District black market, door-to-door searches for forbidden stellar drugs. All wardens were deployed to round-the-clock patrols, cracking down harshly on underground heretical trade.
Panic rippled through Silvermist City’s slums, the lower classes living in constant fear.
Elias patrolled the alleyways beside Hale for days of grueling field work, uncovering hoarded illicit potions, broken relics and secret stellar practitioners at every turn. The more they investigated, the greater his alarm grew.
The forbidden new drug circulated far wider than Church estimates. Countless infected commoners knew the elixir was deadly poison, yet still chose to ingest it. For them, fleeting clarity and peace outweighed the slow, torturous agony of unchecked corruption.
By afternoon, the streets teemed with crowds: idle vagrants and street vendors mixed together, the perfect cover for secret trades.
Among the throng stood a young vendor in neat clothing, wearing an ostentatious grin that drew every eye. He operated a stall selling cheap stellar pendants, his patter smooth and lively, drawing passersby to stop and browse.
Elias’s gaze narrowed.
His expression was too flawless, polished without a single flaw, unnatural for a living mortal.
In Elias’s sight, threads of fate tangled in endless false loops around him, layers of illusory masks overlapping to hide his true soul.
Jax Cohen.
Survivor of the Faceless Troupe, an Awakened of the Illusion Path, master of disguise, enthrallment and deception. He lived behind masks, never letting any soul glimpse his genuine self.
Sensing Elias’s stare, Jax lifted his head, his grin growing brighter and more exaggerated, yet no warmth lingered deep in his eyes. He subtly raised a hand, passing an ordinary stellar trinket to a young girl walking past, a faint glimmer flickering at his fingertips.
A silent illusion implanted itself within her mind.
The girl took the pendant, her gaze going blank as though bewitched, turning and wandering away silently.
“Unauthorized enthrallment of civilians,” Hale warned quietly. “Suspected heretical Illusion Path arts—move forward to question him.”
Elias raised a hand to block his advance, his tone even. “I will handle this.”
He stepped slowly to the stall, meeting Jax’s masked gaze head-on.
“Your trinkets soothe the mind and ward off misfortune?”
Jax smiled smoothly, his sales pitch glib. “Merely small comforts for slum folk, Warden. Mortals endure endless hardship; they must cling to some empty hope.”
“Empty hope,” Elias repeated, his voice turning cool. “Or fabricated illusion?”
Jax’s grin stiffened for a heartbeat, surprise flashing across his eyes before he masked it instantly, falling back into playful banter. “You jest, sir. A trivial street trade—where would illusions come into play?”
Elias leaned forward, lowering his voice to a murmur only the two of them could hear.
“The Round Table awakens. No need for masks among allies.”
In an instant, every trace of bright amusement melted from Jax’s form. Layers of illusory masks shattered apart, leaving only cold vigilance and bone-deep weariness in his eyes.
He dropped his pretense at last, whispering a single word.
“Speaker.”
That title confirmed their mutual identity.
“Are you behind the new black-market drug?” Elias cut straight to the core of the matter.
Jax shook his head, his tone heavy. “The Faceless Troupe does not brew poisons—we only facilitate trade. The drug originates from the Gate of Annihilation. They spread this chronic corruption elixir intentionally, not for profit, but to screen potential hosts.”
“Screen for what?”
“Those who can endure intense stardust corruption without descending fully into madness.” Jax’s gaze darkened. “They cultivate mutated vessels in advance for the Annihilation Tide.”
The shadow of the apocalypse drew far closer than the Church had ever predicted.
- Writer
