The Leviathan's core chamber pulsed with an eerie rhythm, like the heart of some mechanical beast. Veins of green light crawled along the walls, weaving in and out of the living metal. The hum of magic was constant, but beneath it lingered something subtler: a whisper, like the faint murmur of voices just beyond hearing.
Lisette Tenebral sat at the edge of the platform, staring into the abyss where the Leviathan's gears descended into shadow. Her dark hair hung loose around her face, her hands trembling as she toyed with a shard of transmuted crystal.
"You're doing it again," Ailis said softly. She stood nearby, arms folded. Her face, always calm, was tight with concern. "Listening to the hum. To the voices."
Lisette didn't look up. "It isn't voices. It's… questions. The system asks, and it waits. I answer without realizing I've spoken."
"That's not natural." Ailis's voice dropped. "It's consuming you. Consuming all of us."
---
Regulus Enters
The sound of boots echoed. Regulus Black appeared in the chamber doorway, sharp-eyed and sharp-shouldered, his cloak drawn tightly around him. He had always carried the aura of secrets, but tonight his expression was different—darker.
"What are you whispering about?" he asked.
"Doubt," Ailis replied flatly.
Lisette finally looked up, her pale eyes reflecting the Leviathan's glow. "She thinks Eric's work is dangerous."
Regulus snorted. "Dangerous? Of course it's dangerous. Power always is. But it's also necessary. Unless you'd rather leave the world in the hands of doddering fools in Geneva."
"They're not fools," Ailis shot back. "They're trying to keep balance. Eric is rewriting it."
"Balance is stagnation," Regulus countered. "He's offering evolution. Don't mistake fear for principle."
---
The Artist's Prophecy
A soft scratching sound interrupted them. Cyrus Dawlish sat cross-legged on the floor, parchment spread before him. His ink-stained fingers moved furiously, sketching images as though guided by invisible hands.
Regulus approached, frowning. "What are you drawing this time?"
Cyrus didn't answer. He never did. His quill scratched on, creating scenes that made the others uneasy. Towers crumbling. Oceans boiling. A sky fractured by lightning that bore no clouds.
Lisette crouched beside him, her breath catching. "These… these are cities. Rome. New York. Moscow. All falling."
Cyrus's hand slowed. He wrote a single word at the page's bottom. Inevitable.
Ailis's face paled. "No. He sees collapse. Our collapse."
---
Eric Arrives
The chamber lights shifted as Eric Dillan entered, his presence bending the room before he spoke a word. His black cloak trailed behind him, his wand strapped into the gauntlet of Nemesis. His eyes glowed faintly with that inhuman intensity that made even Regulus stand straighter.
"I hear whispers," Eric said. "Whispers of fear."
The group fell silent.
Eric walked among them like a general inspecting soldiers, pausing at Lisette. "The system speaks to you because you are attuned. That is not a weakness—it is a gift."
He turned to Cyrus, glanced at the sketches. A faint smile curved his lips. "Prophecy again. Collapse, fire, ruin. Good. That means we're striking nerves. Progress is never bloodless."
Ailis's composure cracked. She stepped forward, voice trembling but firm. "This isn't progress—it's infection. You've turned ley-lines into a disease, and you're proud of it. If the world collapses, what will be left to rule?"
Eric's eyes locked on hers. "What survives collapse is what deserves to. Weak systems rot. Strong ones endure. I am building the only system that cannot be broken."
Ailis shook her head. "You sound no different from the tyrants before you."
---
The Confrontation
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then Regulus spoke, his tone sharp. "Careful, Ailis. You're speaking treason."
"I'm speaking truth," she snapped. Her hands clenched at her sides. "Look around you! This machine feeds on us. Lisette hears its whispers. Cyrus bleeds prophecy. Even you, Regulus—you defend Eric like a zealot, but your eyes are full of doubt."
Regulus stiffened, but didn't deny it.
Eric stepped closer to Ailis, his shadow falling over her. "Faith," he said quietly, "is not requested. It is demanded. You are not following me—you are following inevitability."
Ailis didn't back down. "And if inevitability leads to ruin?"
"Then ruin becomes the foundation of creation."
The words were spoken with such certainty that for a moment, even her breath faltered.
---
The Breaking Point
Lisette rose abruptly, crystal clattering to the floor. Her voice was raw. "We didn't come here to burn the world down. We came to build something better."
Eric's gaze softened—almost. "And we are. But to build, you must first clear the ground. Old foundations must be torn away, even if they scream as they fall. The world will hate us before it kneels to us. That is the price of design."
Cyrus looked up at him then, ink dripping from his fingers. His lips moved soundlessly, but the others felt the word ripple in the air like a spell. Architect.
---
Private Shadows
Later, when the chamber emptied, Regulus lingered in the shadows. His hand brushed one of Cyrus's discarded sketches—an image of the Leviathan itself, half-buried beneath rubble, Eric's throne shattered.
For the first time, Regulus allowed the doubt to surface.
If prophecy was truth, then perhaps loyalty would only make him a fool.
But he said nothing. Not yet.
---