The Hunter Association's headquarters rose like a fortress in the heart of the capital, its black stone walls veined with runes that hummed faintly in the night. Inside, the corridors echoed with boots and whispers, the air heavy with tension. Everyone knew the name Rayon Veynar now. It carried like poison through the halls.
The High Council had convened.
At the center table sat Lucien Kaelstrom, the Head of the Association. His hair was streaked with gray, but his eyes—cold, calculating blue—were sharper than steel. He didn't need to raise his voice; his presence commanded silence. Around him sat the council: seven of the highest-ranked Hunters, men and women who had buried empires and toppled monsters.
A map of the city lay sprawled across the table, marked with crimson pins. Rayon's trail carved a path of chaos—massacres, manipulated gangs, bodies left like broken dolls in the gutter. Every pin told the story of his growing web.
One of the councilors, a wiry woman named Seris, slammed her fist on the wood.
"This boy has made fools of us. He's slaughtered families, infiltrated noble houses, and now—now he flaunts himself in the open. If the people believe we can't contain a Forsaken, the Association's authority will crumble."
Lucien's gaze didn't waver. "And so you would send more fodder to die at his strings? You saw what happened to the Veinar branch of Hunters. He crushed them like children playing with dolls."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Some of them had seen the aftermath—bodies twisted in grotesque shapes, eyes blank from hypnosis, weapons still clutched in limp fingers. Rayon didn't kill to kill; he killed to send a message.
Another councilor, a broad man in plated armor, leaned forward.
"Then we send only the strong. No more foot soldiers. The Forsaken are dangerous, but this one is different. He plans. He plays with his prey. And worse… he recruits. We cannot allow a Forsaken to create an army. If left unchecked, he'll strangle the entire city."
Lucien's jaw tightened, his hand curling against the table.
"You speak as though I haven't considered this. Do not forget—I knew the Forsaken before most of you drew breath."
Silence. The council bowed their heads slightly, reminded of the weight behind his words.
Lucien finally stood, his cloak dragging against the floor. His voice was iron.
"This Rayon is clever, yes. Ruthless. But in the end, he bleeds like any man. And men can be broken. I will not allow a gutter-born ghost to unmake the world we've bled to protect."
He turned his gaze to the map, where a single pin gleamed brighter than the rest—the district market. Hunters already surrounded Rayon there. It was no mere skirmish anymore. It was the opening move of a war.
"Let him fight tonight," Lucien said, his tone grim. "Measure his strength. Learn his weaknesses. If he survives…" His eyes darkened, voice dropping low.
"…then we'll show him the full weight of the Association. And we'll bury the Forsaken once and for all."
Outside, messengers raced through the capital, spreading orders. Hunters sharpened their weapons, adjusted their coats, and muttered the name Rayon Veynar with both hate and unease.
The stage was set. The boy from the gutter had the attention of the world's most dangerous killers.
And as the council's chamber doors slammed shut, it was clear—Rayon's war had truly begun.