The chamber of the Conclave was older than New Echelon’s glass towers, older even than the Chapel. It had been carved into the bones of the earth itself, a hollow womb of stone lit by fire that did not flicker. The walls were covered in reliefs of wolves, bats, and men kneeling with shackles of light. Nexum had chosen this place centuries ago for one reason: it smelled like permanence.
Now it reeked of fear.
One by one, the city’s pillars entered. Alphas draped in tailored suits, their eyes glowing faintly gold in the firelight. Vampire syndicate heads with smiles too sharp, too calm. Corporate titans in coats that cost more than lives. Each carried themselves like they owned the city, but each of them glanced at the empty dais in the center. The space where a ruler should stand.
And th
