The underground hall of the Order smelled of old stone and iron. Torches burned along the walls, their flames flickering restlessly as though mirroring the unease of the men gathered. The heavy doors slammed shut, sealing away the echoes of the night's failure.
At the long table sat the elders, cloaked in white trimmed with silver. Their leader, Archon Valerius, leaned forward, his cold eyes fixed on the kneeling Hunters before him.
"You mean to tell me," Valerius' voice was smooth, deadly, "that a single devil cast down ten of my finest men?"
The captain bowed his head, blood still staining his bandages. "Not just any devil, my lord. Adrian."
The name cracked the air like a curse. Murmurs broke out among the gathered Hunters, whispers of fear and disbelief. For decades, the Order had spoken of Adrian only in hushed tones—a devil too cunning, too powerful, one who walked the world like a man.
Valerius silenced them with a wave of his hand. His gaze sharpened, drilling into the captain. "And the girl? Did you bring her?"
The captain's silence was answer enough.
Valerius' hand slammed down on the table, the wood groaning under the blow. "You let her slip through your fingers!" His voice thundered, filling the hall. "The key to the prophecy—the very reason the Order exists—walks freely at his side while you crawl back here like beaten dogs."
The captain trembled but dared not raise his head. "She's… not just any girl. The way he fought for her, the way his shadows shielded her—"
"Silence," Valerius hissed. His lips curled into something between disgust and fascination. "So it's true. The devil has chosen a vessel. He clings to her like she's salvation."
A heavy pause stretched. Then Valerius stood, his robes brushing the floor as he strode toward the altar at the end of the hall. A massive book lay open upon it, its pages filled with the Order's blood-oaths and ancient decrees.
He placed his hand upon it, voice low but carrying through the chamber.
"If the devil has chosen her, then we must claim her first. She will either become our weapon…" His eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight, a zealot's fire burning within. "…or she will burn alongside him."
The Hunters bowed their heads in unison, their oath renewed, their failure buried beneath vows of vengeance.
But among them, one figure did not kneel so quickly. A younger Hunter, barely past his training years, clenched his fists as unease gnawed at him. He had seen Elena's face that night—not just fear, but humanity.
"She didn't look like the devil's accomplice," he thought bitterly, his chest tight. "She looked like a girl caught in the storm."
Yet he bit his tongue, for dissent was a death sentence in the Order.
Valerius closed the book, the echo ringing like a verdict. "Send word to every chapter. No rest, no hesitation. Bring me the girl, alive if possible. Dead if necessary. The devil will watch his salvation crumble before his very eyes."
As the Hunters rose to obey, shadows flickered against the torches, almost mocking. For no matter how loudly the Order swore its oath, none of them understood one truth—
Adrian would never let Elena go. Not to demons, not to Hunters, not even to fate itself.