Tower of Virtue
Enochian Island
Grigori Empire
Oceania continent
New World
December 10th 6414
Within the magnificent heart of the Tower of Virtue—the grandest edifice upon Enochian Island, one of the many scattered jewels of the Oceania continent—a solemn chamber loomed, steeped in both reverence and quiet menace. At its core rose a vast circular platform, hewn from polished marble that glimmered faintly beneath the chamber's ethereal glow. Around this dais, towering seats of ancient stone and darkwood formed a great ring, thrones reserved for the mightiest of their age. Yet most of these seats stood empty, as if haunted by the absence of those meant to fill them.
Of the few who had gathered, one sat with disarming ease. Jack Kuria, the Paragon whose calculated gamble had sent Elijah into the depths of Kettlia's tangled fate. Draped in an immaculate black suit that caught the chamber's light like a blade's edge, Jack exuded a casual defiance. His silver hair—wavy and thick—was tied back in a loose bun, a mark of careless precision. His face, carved from marble's stoicism, betrayed no emotion. Yet his violet eyes—those restless, unguarded eyes—flickered with thoughts unspoken, shadows of amusement, weariness, and perhaps something darker.
Opposite him, tension simmered like a storm barely restrained. The other two Paragons regarded Jack as if their gazes alone could flay him. High Priestess Ines of the Diana Coven, matron of the world's most formidable Wytch sisterhood, sat rigid, her presence like coiled thunder. Beside her loomed Vlad Tepes Dracula, the dread High Priest of Lilithism—the ancient faith that still held sway in the dark lands of Wallachia, deep within the Ansgar Empire's brooding heart. His pale features were a mask of cold disdain, his dark eyes burning with old grudges.
Jack broke the silence first, his voice light, almost mocking. "So, is it just the three of us then? I suppose the big man decided we weren't worth his time?"
Before the weight of his words could settle, the chamber answered. A voice, clear and resounding as dawn's first bell, filled the air. "I am here."
From between the ancient columns, a sphere of radiant white light emerged, descending like a falling star come to rest among mortals. As it touched the central seat at the forefront of the platform, the orb shimmered and dissolved, revealing a figure draped in living light.
He appeared as a youth upon the cusp of manhood, yet in his golden eyes burned the fury and wisdom of countless ages. His hair shone like spun sunlight, falling in perfect waves to his shoulders, while above his brow floated a halo that pulsed with divine fire. This was Prince Cassiel Morningstar—the unchallenged sovereign of the Grigori Empire, the brightest flame among the Paragons, and the most powerful being upon the face of the world.
His presence filled the hall, banishing the tension for but a heartbeat—before it returned, sharper and more dangerous than before.
Prince Cassiel's voice rang clear, tempered with the weight of authority that none dared challenge. His golden gaze swept over them, burning with a light that seemed to pierce beyond flesh and soul.
"Now, Jack," he said, his tone neither harsh nor kind, merely inevitable. "Tell us what transpired with the fragment that was to be sealed away. That is why we are gathered here: to learn what, in Gaia's name, occurred to weaken the Weaving Array."
Jack leaned back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other, the very image of languid indifference. A faint smirk ghosted at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained unreadable.
"Seems the seal came undone," he said with a shrug, as if speaking of a broken lock or a cracked wall. "That sort of thing happens from time to time."
A cold edge crept into the chamber as High Priestess Ines spoke, her voice like a blade drawn across ancient stone.
"And yet," she said, her emerald eyes narrowing, "the Weaving Array was designed to be unbreakable. That was its purpose. It's a promise."
Jack met her gaze without flinching, his voice soft but heavy with meaning.
"You, of all people, should know—there are no spells that last forever. No ward is immune to time's decay. Sooner or later, all things fall. Even we, immortal as we may seem, as close to gods as this world has ever known—we, too, will end."
His words lingered in the vast chamber, echoing off the stone as if the very Tower of Virtue pondered them. And for a fleeting breath, even the light of Cassiel's halo seemed to dim.
"Is that a threat?" Vlad's voice was low, like a whisper carried on a winter wind—soft, but sharp enough to draw blood. The air between the two vampires thickened, the temperature of the chamber seeming to drop as ancient grudges stirred beneath the surface. Their eyes locked, two predators measuring one another, shadows of old wars and older betrayals flickering between them.
But after a tense heartbeat, the storm passed. The chill receded as their gazes shifted, drawn inexorably to Prince Cassiel—the axis upon which all things in that room turned.
Cassiel remained silent, his expression untouched by the weight of their shared enmity. He neither acknowledged nor cared for the sordid history that bound the two vampires like chains. His mind was elsewhere, reaching beyond the moment, fixed on dangers yet to come.
At last, he spoke—his voice calm, but laden with warning.
"Do you truly believe it wise to permit the existence of another Kain vampire?" Cassiel's golden eyes glowed brighter, the halo above his head flaring like a second sun. "That bloodline draws the vilest darkness this world has ever known. You know this, Jack."
Jack did not flinch, did not waver beneath the celestial prince's gaze. His tone remained steady, threaded with quiet defiance.
"And yet," he said, "they are also the ones who hunt down and destroy the worst of the monsters that plague this world. You cannot deny that truth, Cassiel."
The chamber seemed to darken slightly, as if the walls themselves listened for the prince's reply.
Cassiel's eyes narrowed. "Do you intend for her to ascend? To join the ranks of the Paragons?"
Jack leaned forward now, resting his arms casually on his knees, his smirk returning like a mask he chose to wear.
"In due time," he said, the faintest edge of amusement coloring his words. "I suppose."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken doubts, fears, and the weight of decisions that could reshape the world.
"Very well," Prince Cassiel said at last, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "I leave the Kain girl in your hands, then."
And with that, his form erupted in a burst of golden radiance, the brilliance momentarily blinding, as if a fragment of the sun itself had been set loose within the chamber. When the light faded, he was gone—vanished like a dream at dawn.
High Priestess Ines let out a soft, disdainful scoff, the sound like wind rustling through old tombs. With a swirl of green leaves that scattered across the marble floor, she, too, disappeared—carried off as if claimed by the forest's ancient will.
Vlad lingered a heartbeat longer, his crimson eyes narrowing in silent reproach. Then, without a word, his form dissolved into a swarm of black bats, the beating of their wings a whisper of menace as they fled into the shadows.
And so Jack remained, alone beneath the towering arches of the Tower of Virtue. The air was still, save for the soft hum of the chamber's lingering energies. His violet eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, their depths alive with calculation, with anticipation. Already, his mind turned to the next phase of his design—a tapestry of schemes only he could see.
"This world of ours has grown a touch stale of late," Jack murmured to himself, a wry smile playing at his lips. "A little bit of fun now and then wouldn't hurt, would it?"
The chamber, empty and vast, seemed to echo with the promise of coming storms.