The candlelight flickered across the polished mirror, though no flame in the room should have caused it.
The squib leader stood alone, staring at his own reflection as it began to ripple like liquid, distorting his features into watery echoes. A low hum filled the room—a soundless vibration that resonated in the bones rather than the ears.
Then, the surface shimmered, and something else took shape.
Not a face.
Not quite.
A blurry figure, veiled in molten gold, emerged in the glass. Its form lacked hard edges, shifting constantly like sunlight seen through deep water. There were no eyes, no mouth just a presence. Warmth and dread, woven into one.
When it spoke, the voice was soft but unmistakable like a thousand golden bells chiming at once, slow and melodic, as if laughing through its words.
"How go your efforts, my faithful herald?"
The squib leader dropped his gaze instinctively, before forcing himself to meet the image again. His own reflection had vanished completely.
"We have progressed, Master," he said. His voice, usually full of fire and fury, was now laced with deference. "Many of our people have already been placed. Some are in the camps. Others have been accepted into critical supply roles. They are ready. All of them."
The golden figure's form shimmered, growing brighter. Its laugh soft, musical, inhuman rippled through the mirror.
"Very good…" it said slowly, savoring the words. "You move quickly, faster than I expected."
"I live to serve," the squib leader said, bowing his head.
The golden figure seemed to lean forward, though its shape remained indistinct.
"Continue your work. Let them think you are small. Let them think you are broken." Another chuckle, this one darker. "They have no idea what sleeps inside you all. No idea what I am ready to give you."
A pause. The mirror pulsed, as though breathing.
"Do this, and you will be rewarded with power beyond your imagination."
The squib leader's lips parted slightly—not in awe, but in hunger.
"Yes, Master," he whispered.
He dropped into a low, reverent bow before the mirror. His cane clinked softly against the stone as he knelt, head lowered.
"Yes… Master."
Behind him, the room remained dim and still.
But the mirror burned like a sun, even as the golden figure faded from view—its form collapsing into ripples and then silence.
The squib leader rose slowly, his reflection returning, now lit by something behind his eyes.
Not hope.
But desire, a ravenous all encompassing desire to show those that called him weak how wrong they were.
***
The shrine's inner war chamber was a marvel of ancient and modern craft cherrywood beams traced with glowing rune filigree, tables embedded with animated tactical maps, and shelves crammed with battle scrolls and warding tomes. Incense curled lazily through the rafters, never cloying, always lingering.
At the center of the chamber stood a wide obsidian table overlaid with a living map of the surrounding region. Magical runes pulsed gently in red and blue, denoting known attack paths, defensive layers, and terrain features.
Morpheus Everglade stood silently beside it, hands behind his back, watching the newest figure to join the defense settle into the room.
Commander Reyes, the American representative, removed her gloves and surveyed the chamber with sharp eyes. Though tired from travel, her posture was unflinching. A seasoned warcaster with command presence in every line of her stance.
Kazuki gave her a brief nod. "You've arrived just in time. There were two strikes in the past few days. A ranged barrage, followed by a multi-pronged infiltration attempt."
Reyes raised an eyebrow. "Did they breach?"
"No," Kazuki said, a faint edge of pride in his voice. "We stopped them before they got close to the core."
Morpheus finally spoke, voice even but magnetic. "They're adapting. Not in power, but in approach. Slower. More calculated. They're tired of losses."
Reyes folded her arms. "And what's our response?"
That was the moment Morpheus had been waiting for.
He reached toward the map and flicked his fingers. The glowing projection twisted, the terrain warping outward like ripples in a pond until it zoomed miles away from the shrine, past forested ravines and snow-thick ridgelines.
There barely visible on the western edge was a faint, jagged cluster of pulses. No symbols. No flags.
"Here," Morpheus said softly. "A pattern of magical disturbances, timed precisely between known strike waves. Always far enough to seem irrelevant. But persistent. Unnatural."
Kazuki's eyes narrowed. "You believe that's their command center?"
"I do," Morpheus said. "Or one of them. At the very least, a forward operations base."
Reyes stepped closer. "We haven't struck at any of their positions directly yet. Not since this war began."
"We haven't," Morpheus said, gaze cutting across the room. "Because we've been on the defensive. Fortifying, reacting. Waiting. But if we allow that to continue, we'll be outmaneuvered. Again and again."
He paused, letting the words weigh.
"It's time we do something we haven't done in this war yet."
Kazuki lifted his head slightly. "You mean—"
Morpheus's fingers flicked once more. The terrain above the suspected camp shifted—sky routes appeared in ghostly blue, tracing lines of flight across the high ridges.
"An aerial assault," he said. "Focused bombardment. High-altitude transfiguration drops. Arcane munitions. Crystalline scatter spells. We hit them hard and fast, force them to retreat or reveal where their true lines are."
Reyes tilted her head, clearly considering. "You're proposing we become the aggressors."
"I'm proposing," Morpheus said, "that we stop being the hunted."
Silence fell over the room.
Then Kazuki stepped forward, eyes fixed on the projection.
"We'll need high-speed brooms and invisibility charms layered, Decoy conjurers on the ground. Altitude control runes to manage turbulence. It's feasible."
Reyes slowly smiled. "My people have been dying to get off the defensive."
Morpheus gave the faintest nod, eyes never leaving the glowing ghost of the enemy base.
"We strike at dawn," he murmured.
***
Herpo sat and sighed.
The light and dark factions were playing nice for now, well not entirely nice more like natural.
But he could tell tension is still building and unfortunately it was mostly due to his own faction. Too many innocents have been slain by the dark families.
They didn't understand how important Britain is in the grand scheme of things. If the Asian anchor is destroyed then Britain will be the last line of defense.
And for some reason Herpo thought Morpheus was counting on it.
Letting another sigh escape his lips Herpo stood not wanting to get comfortable, "I'm too old for this shit." He spat as he left the room and joined the ongoing meeting
"Greetings my friends, let us begin the monthly update. I trust you are all sticking to your words?"
The room collectively nodded.
Herpo sighed again, these people are so difficult, acting passive while he's here and like animals when he's not.