Location: Ravenhold, Tavara
The air was thick with a tension so subtle, it could only be felt by those accustomed to power. Damien Kane stood by the enormous glass window of Ravenhold's private strategy suite, overlooking the horizon where clouds hovered like sentinels above the city. Behind him, a group of influential allies—business moguls, legal advisors, and military strategists—waited silently for his cue.
He raised a single hand, halting their chatter. "We move at dawn."
The declaration was simple, but the weight behind it was monumental.
Nora, seated gracefully beside a low marble table, gently sipped her herbal infusion. Her eyes met Damien's with quiet understanding—no longer just lovers in a storm, but commanders in a war of silent dominion. Her hands trembled faintly as she placed the cup down, though her voice betrayed no fear.
"The Tribunal has received word. They'll reconvene in 72 hours," she said, sliding a thin silver tablet toward Damien. "They're expecting you to bend. Or to break."
A chuckle escaped from Damien. "Then they don't know me at all."
Peter Musyoki entered with hurried footsteps, a coded envelope in hand. "It's from Lin Qing's contact in Macau," he said, handing it over. "Encrypted. She says it confirms that the man behind your uncle's attack was never on the Consortium's payroll. Someone else is pulling strings."
Damien opened the envelope, scanned the document, then exhaled slowly. "So it's a ghost move."
"A shadow play," Peter corrected grimly.
Linda Okello, seated with a tablet of her own, frowned. "If this is connected to the recent shift in offshore funds from the Dominion Bank... we're not just looking at a family coup. We're looking at something older. Deeper."
Damien's jaw clenched. His eyes shifted to Nora. "You were right. This isn't just about the Kanes or the Wambuas. It's a war of legacies."
She nodded. "And legacies don't die quietly."
The room was silent again, not from confusion, but from the weight of realization. The fight they were in wasn't simply corporate. It was generational. Spiritual. Global.
Suddenly, a private line buzzed on Damien's encrypted communicator. The caller ID showed only one word:
"Oracle."
His eyes narrowed. "Leave us."
Everyone, even Nora, exited without argument.
He accepted the call.
"Damien," came a voice distorted by static. "The pieces are moving faster than expected. You'll need to activate the dormant seal. The one buried beneath Kilimani."
Damien's breath caught in his throat.
"I was hoping we'd never need to unearth that again," he murmured.
The voice was quiet. "Hope is a luxury. And time is blood."
The call ended.
Damien turned slowly toward the map of Tavara, tracing his finger over the center of Kilimani, where decades ago, his father had hidden something—something not even Nora knew about.
Tonight, they'd prepare.
At dawn, they'd make history.