The scrying pool shimmered with the dying light of the temple. Faint echoes of collapsing stone and flickers of eldritch fire danced across the surface before fading into black.
Silence.
The chamber was quiet, save for the soft hum of sigils carved into the obsidian walls. Seven robed figures stood around the pool, their faces obscured by veils of shadow.
"He fell," one of them said at last.
"Predictable," replied another. Their tone was calm. Almost bored.
A third, voice cold and dry like parchment, added, "But not without value. The resonance confirmed it. The Mask is active again."
The eldest among them stepped forward. Her veil rippled with power. "The Overseer was never meant to survive. He was a lens—meant to provoke the artifact. And it responded."
Another scoffed. "Still, a pity. We wasted good blood sculpting him."
"There will always be more blood," the eldest said, waving a hand. The scrying pool cleared, revealing schematics of other temples, relic sites, and names—some crossed out, others underlined in red.
"And the boy?" someone asked. "Aden."
"Alive. For now," murmured the cold-voiced one. "The Mask chose him. But choice is not permanence. The artifact has its own will. It tests those it empowers."
There was a pause. The seventh figure, silent until now, finally spoke. Their voice was androgynous, smooth and calculating. "We let him walk. Let him think he has escaped."
"And then?"
"Then we watch. Every step he takes spreads the legacy. Awakens the world to what once was. The past will burn through the present. And when the world panics, they will come to us—seeking power, protection... understanding."
"The Overseer," said the eldest once more, "was a herald. A corpse wrapped in ceremony. But now the true game begins."
A faint laugh echoed in the chamber.
"Let the world mourn the loss of a temple. Let them believe the cult bleeds."
The pool rippled one last time, revealing Aden's unconscious body being dragged from the rubble by a small figure.
"Let them think we've lost. In the shadow of ruin... we thrive."
The lights dimmed. The council dispersed.
And somewhere far from that forgotten chamber, something old stirred in the dark, awakened by the blood of a hunter.