Chapter 166: Chapter 166: When Shadows Gather Again

The private lounge of the casino was bathed in low, amber light. Velvet curtains covered the walls, and a long circular table sat in the center, surrounded by untouched drinks, idle cards, and a single, pulsing crimson crystal floating just above the surface.

Only five chairs, now occupied.

For the first time, none of them wore masks.

The dwarf leaned back in his chair, a puff of pipe smoke curling lazily around his thick, braided red beard. His hair matched—long and wild, barely tamed by the golden clips he used to tie it back. Rings shimmered on every finger, and a glint of gold peeked from beneath his cuffs.

To his left, the twins sat side by side.

One was a boy, lean and sharp-featured, with a silver earring and a bored expression. The other, a girl, nearly identical in bone structure, though her eyes were heavier and more tired. Both looked like teenagers, but no one at the table believed they were harmless. The boy twirled a dagger between his fingers. The girl sipped from a wine glass without looking up.

Next came the chained woman—her body wrapped in bands of iron and dark steel, some fused to her arms like armor, others hanging loose like accessories. Her face was mostly visible now: smooth, pale, and emotionless, save for the black markings around her throat, like burned scripture.

Finally, sitting still as a statue, the First Pillar.

His skin was pale, almost waxy, and his black hair hung in tangled strands down the sides of his face. His eyes, dark as pitch, didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. He hadn’t spoken since arriving.

The air around him always felt colder.

The crystal in the center pulsed once—

Then again—

Then spoke.

“We were told not to gather unless it was urgent,” the twin boy muttered, spinning his dagger once more. “What changed?”

The room went still.

And the crystal began to speak.

“One of you… is no longer among the living.”

The dagger stopped spinning.

The girl twin set down her glass without a word.

Even the dwarf lowered his pipe.

The crystal pulsed again, slow and deliberate.

“Arya. The Scytheborn. Has fallen.”

No shock. No outrage. Only silence—and a slow shift of attention toward the First Pillar, who remained completely still, hands folded on the table.

The voice continued.

“Her role… was incomplete. But not without merit. The Saint has not perished… yet she bleeds. Her light… will fade. Her song… will tremble. That… is enough.”

The chained woman tilted her head slightly, her eyes still fixed on the crystal.

“Should we finish what she started?” the dwarf asked, adjusting the emerald pin on his lapel. “If she left the job half done, someone should—”

“No.”

The voice cut through the room like a blade.

“There is… a variable. A shadow… not written. A ripple… unaccounted for.”

“You mean variable,” the twin girl said, almost bored. “The one Arya and Kaelith fought.”

“Yes. His presence… distorts. Ink does not hold him. Time… cannot bind him.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The First Pillar twitched—just slightly—at the mention.

“So we do nothing?” the boy twin asked.

“For now. We observe. We refine. The path forward must be perfect. The gate… can open only once.”

A pause.

“Continue your roles. Gather coin. Maintain networks. Watch the fractures. Another… will take her place. We will find one. Her soul burned… another shall rot.”

And with that, the light inside the crystal began to fade.

The silence that followed was thick, but not unfamiliar. They had heard death announcements before. Loss was calculated in this circle—expected, even.

The dwarf exhaled a slow puff of smoke and tapped the edge of his pipe against the crystal plate on the table.

“Well then,” he muttered, almost cheerfully. “Back to the usual. I’ve got three more auctions to rig and a new buyer in Velmora. We’ll need more coin if we’re replacing Arya.”

He spoke casually, but his eyes were sharp—always counting.

The chained woman didn’t look up. Her voice came quiet and steady, like iron scraping stone.

“We all have our parts to play. Hers will need a new actor.”

The girl twin raised a brow.

“Not just anyone can wield a scythe and scream in circles.”

“She didn’t scream,” her brother added. “But she did beg, apparently.”

The comment earned a slight shift from the First Pillar, but he remained silent. His eyes were fixed on the now-dark crystal.

The dwarf continued, ignoring the tension.

“I’ll continue the funding routes. Smuggling, auctions, fake charities—whatever keeps the flow steady. We’ll need more soon anyway.”

The girl swirled her wine.

“So we’re all just keeping our heads down?”

“That’s what the voice said,” the chained woman replied. “Refine. Observe. Prepare.”

The twin boy gave a crooked grin.

“And wait until they call us again. Like obedient little monsters.”

The dwarf snorted.

“Better monsters than martyrs.”

A silence settled again, but different this time.

Tighter.

Sharper.

The First Pillar still hadn’t spoken.

But his hands were twitching—slow, rhythmic movements, as if mimicking something unseen.

The First Pillar finally moved.

His head tilted ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward—not quite a smile, more like a spasm of joy crawling out of his jaw.

And then… he laughed.

Low at first, like a chuckle meant only for himself.

Then louder.

Sharp.

Childlike.

“She’s gone,” he whispered, voice shaky with delight. “Arya’s gone. And it wasn’t even my doing this time… hehehe…”

The laughter built until it broke into something higher, twisted at the edges. No one tried to stop him. They’d seen worse.

The girl twin glanced sideways, unimpressed.

“Should we be worried he’s going to snap again?”

Her brother didn’t answer. He was too busy watching the First Pillar, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

The chained woman remained still.

The dwarf, unfazed, poured himself another glass of black wine.

“If he snaps, we toss him in the sea. He floats, we follow. He sinks, we toast.”

“I’ll drink to that,” the boy twin muttered.

The First Pillar abruptly stopped laughing, sitting upright with eerie calm—expression blank, eyes distant, as if he was listening to something no one else could hear.

“He’s still watching us…” he murmured. “Even now.”

No one asked who “he” was.

They all knew better.

The crystal may have gone silent, but the one behind it had never stopped looking.

For a while, no one said anything.

The flickering chandelier above them cast long shadows across the table, making each figure look like something less than human. Or more.

Finally, the girl twin leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.

“Maybe we don’t need a replacement. Fewer pieces on the board might be easier to control.”

“Maybe you’ll be next,” said the First Pillar, his voice sudden and soft.

His head didn’t move. His eyes didn’t blink.

But the threat was real.

The boy twin reached for his sister’s arm—not to restrain her, but to remind her. Not here.

Still, the crack in her wine glass was loud in the silence.

The chained woman spoke, finally breaking the moment.

“We need another Scythe. Or the cycle won’t move forward.”

The dwarf grunted his agreement, swirling his drink.

“I’ll look into it. There’s always someone desperate enough to sell their soul for a little power. You just have to dig deep enough—or pay high enough.”

The table went quiet again.

No one mentioned Arya after that. Not her failure. Not her screams. Not the ashes.

Above them, the crystal remained dark, as if it had never spoken at all. But none of them doubted it would awaken again. It always did. When the moment was right.

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