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London – Mayfair District
10:14 PM Local Time
The night wore velvet.
A low fog curled around the cobbled streets of Mayfair, half-hiding the whispers of the city beneath a drunken sky. Golden lights pulsed from behind arched doors—each thump of bass like a heartbeat straining beneath its own rhythm.
Before a discreet entrance shrouded in ivy and old stone, two figures emerged from a black car that had not stopped moving since morning.
Roux adjusted his cuffs.
Akari stood silent beside him, her presence stilling the very air.
The brass plaque above the door read in worn script:
"The Hollow House."
A club of dark indulgence. And the domain of one of their own.
Roux lifted an eyebrow.
> "He always did find solace in sin."
> "And refuge in shadows," Akari murmured.
They stepped inside.
The music did not greet them. It bowed. A slow, seductive hymn beneath amber chandeliers and velvet-draped walls. Smoke slithered through the air like it knew how to speak. Mortals laughed, drank, forgot themselves. But none looked twice at the two who entered—neither did they need to.
They passed through the throng, parting it not with force, but with presence. Roux spoke softly, brushing questions into the ears of bartenders, dancers, and suited devils with wine-stained lips.
> "A man who owns the place but hides from it—where would he watch from?"
A trembling server gestured upward.
A second-floor balcony.
Roux looked up.
There—half-shadowed, leaning against the carved balustrade—stood a man draped in silk and defiance.
Dark-eyed. Sharp-featured. Familiar in posture, but faded in spirit.
Akari's voice was little more than wind.
> "So he remained."
Roux smiled without warmth.
> "But not willingly."
The man—whose name had once been Dorian—locked eyes with them.
He froze.
Then, like a startled animal, he turned and vanished through the upstairs corridor.
> "Ah," Roux exhaled, removing his coat with exquisite care. "So the chase begins."
They moved—not fast, not rushed—but with the certainty of predators who had done this before.
Out the back. Across the street. Into the alleyways of a city still unaware it had once hosted gods in human skin.
Dorian ran.
He ran with desperation sharpened by memory. Every footfall a refusal. Every breath a protest.
But the alley betrayed him.
Just as his path bent toward the open road, he was cornered—Roux to the right, Akari to the left, the walls behind him closed like judgment.
Yet before either could reach him, Dorian twisted sharply, vaulting over a crate, dashing toward a narrow passage where even shadows hesitated to follow.
Roux gave chase. So did Akari.
And then—
She appeared.
From the end of the alley.
A woman. Standing still. Cloaked in citylight and poise. Her skin kissed by sun long since passed, her eyes holding storms and stillness.
Dorian skidded to a halt.
She did not move.
He looked between the three of them now—cornered once more, his breath ragged, his past catching up faster than his pulse.
Roux stepped forward, brushing dust from his lapel.
> "You always were quick," he said. "But not quick enough."
Then his eyes drifted toward the woman who had appeared without sound or warning.
> "When did you return?" he asked her, voice low, reverent.
She gave no reply.
Dorian backed away, shaking his head.
> "No. No, no. I want no part of this. Whatever... madness this is—leave me be. I buried that life. I want nothing to do with it."
Akari's voice cut through the air like silk drawn over steel.
> "Want is not a luxury afforded to us any longer."
> "Stay away from me!" Dorian roared. "You don't understand—"
He gasped.
Not from fear.
But pain.
A slow, wet gasp. Choked.
He looked down.
Roux's hand had passed clean through his chest. Elegant. Precise. Like threading a needle.
Dorian's eyes widened.
His knees gave.
Roux held him gently, almost tenderly, as if apologizing with his silence.
Then withdrew his hand and let Dorian crumple into the cold, uncaring arms of the alley floor.
Unconscious. Not dead.
But reminded.
Roux stood tall, brushing his cuffs.
> "You misunderstand us, old friend," he said. "We did not come to ask. We came to awaken you."
The woman at the alley's mouth stepped forward now, just enough for her face to catch the light.
Neither Akari nor Roux looked surprised.
The fourth had arrived.
And tomorrow… they would begin to search for the lost two.
The ones even they feared might not return at all.
---
The Thamesview Villa – 9:41 AM
The ceiling was unfamiliar.
Dorian blinked slowly, the weight of old sleep pressing against his chest, even though his wounds had vanished.
He sat up.
His silk robe, untouched. His pulse, steady. The scent of cedarwood and bergamot lingered in the air—his villa's signature. It was morning, or perhaps later. Time no longer held meaning around them.
Then he saw them.
Three figures stood near the terrace, their silhouettes cast in golden light from the sprawling glass wall. The river glinted beyond.
Akari, still.
Roux, poised.
The woman from the alley. Selene—now seated, legs crossed, watching him with the quiet intensity of a moonless night.
> "You've taken liberties," Dorian muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "This is still my home."
> "Then you should consider locking your doors," Roux replied with a half-smile. "Though that never stopped us before."
Dorian groaned, rising slowly. His voice, though weary, carried the old fire.
> "I told you. I am not part of this. I have a life now. A business. A name that holds weight in this century. I do not wish to go back to being a shadow in someone else's war."
Akari's eyes did not blink.
> "It is not a war," she said softly. "Not yet. But it will be. He has awakened."
That name did not need to be spoken.
The one beneath the pyramid.
The one they had sealed away with blood, time, and betrayal.
Dorian's composure wavered. Slightly.
> "You're certain?"
Roux stepped forward, his tone devoid of theatrics now.
> "We felt him. All of us. When the seal cracked, so did the balance. Our powers—"
He opened his palm. A flicker of energy, raw and ancient, coiled like mist around his fingers.
"—returned with his breath."
Selene—spoke for the first time.
> "What we are… is no longer asleep."
Dorian turned away, pacing toward the tall windows. He let the silence stretch.
Then—
> "You should have led with that," he muttered.
He turned, this time fully engaged, eyes alive with the familiar gleam of one who had once commanded storms and silence.
> "So, you've come to gather the rest?"
> "Indeed," Akari said.
> "And after?"
Roux gave a tired shrug.
> "We decide. To intervene… or to let the world fall. Perhaps for good this time."
Dorian let out a low laugh.
> "Democracy never suited us."
> "No," Roux said, lips curling faintly. "But nor did tyranny."
Dorian sighed, walking past a decanter untouched since the last century.
He stood, groaning. "Alright. I'm in. But only if you tell me one thing first."
His eyes locked on Roux.
"How the hell did you get out?"
Roux blinked.
"It's a long story," he said.
The man folded his arms.
"Then start. Because it's the only way I'll move a muscle."
Roux sighed. He turned to the others.
"Do we have time for this?"
Selene smiled faintly.
"Time is the one thing we no longer own. But stories... they always find a way."
Roux sat.
And he began.
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