A murmur rippled through the room, the council members exchanging uneasy glances.
"Integrated?" Emrys repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "What does that mean, Page?"
"It means," Page replied, her eyes glinting with a dark spark, "that Dark Hand didn't just defeat the Fjords. They absorbed their power, their resources, their men. Nothing's lost, everything's transformed, isn't that right?"
The Mistress, ever impassive, furrowed her brow slightly. "What's the goal?"
A smile crept onto Page's lips. "The seven mafia families are under the Empire's and the nobles' control. Dark Hand aims to take over the entire underground, giving the nobility a chance to oppose the royalty's push to centralize power—and handing them a weapon to do it."
"That's insane," Riane whispered. "They can't hope to overthrow the Empire."
Page shrugged. "Who knows?" she said nonchalantly. "History's full of surprises." She then turned to the woman in the elevated seat. "And you, Madam," she said in a soft, mocking tone, "what do you think? Do you believe Dark Hand has a shot?"
"Are you suggesting we might be next?" asked the weathered-faced man, his brows knitting with concern.
Page nodded slowly. "Exactly. Dark Hand wants the Underground. And we're among those standing in their way."
The Mistress's eyes narrowed, her mind racing. "Then why has it gone quiet?"
Page shrugged, her smile widening. "It's not that it's gone quiet," she replied. "It's that they no longer need to act in plain sight."
The Mistress's frown deepened. "Are you implying the nobility's already sided with them?"
Page locked eyes with her, a mischievous glint in her gaze. "I'm not implying anything," she said softly, her words heavy with tension. "I'm stating facts."
The Mistress stared back, her piercing black eyes unwavering, before saying in a calm, measured tone, "I dare hope your list of facts doesn't end there. Raising a problem calls for solutions, Page."
Page burst into laughter, light and irreverent. "Oh, you really expect too much of me," she replied with a mocking smile. "But yes, I do have a solution."
Every eye in the room turned to her, the atmosphere growing taut.
"Fight fire with fire," she declared simply.
The Mistress frowned.
But Page remained unfazed, her smile broadening. "This is the perfect moment for us to take the Underground too. If we don't, the least satisfying outcome would be sharing it with Dark Hand. At least we won't have been assimilated."
A gray-templed man spoke up hesitantly, "Then we'd be siding with the Empire."
Page turned her head slowly toward him, a calculating smile stretching her lips. "Exactly," she said, a gleam in her eyes. "That'll be our edge. We'll be on the stronger side."
"We'd spark a war," the weathered-faced man objected, his tone grave.
Page fixed him with a hard stare. "War's inevitable, whether we like it or not. The question is whether we strike first or wait to be wiped out."
"You seem to forget your place," the Mistress said. "You're not here to dictate our strategy. Your role is to advise, nothing more."
Page lowered her head, but her expression remained resolute. "Then I advise you not to underestimate the threat looming over us."
The Mistress regarded Page with cold intensity. "If you didn't have those demon eyes, I might've dismissed your words as a spoiled child's tantrum." She paused, then added in a more measured tone, "But I'll admit those eyes have helped us more than once."
Page met her gaze unflinchingly, a faint, almost insolent smile tugging at her lips.
"For now, Page, I order you to withdraw," the Mistress commanded, her voice firm, a spark of determination in her dark eyes. "We've heard enough."
Page tilted her head slightly. "So, you're dismissing the on-duty oracle?" she teased, her voice soft and almost melodic.
But before turning to leave, she cast one last look at the council members.
"You know where to find me," she said simply, then exited the room.
Once out of sight, Page's smirk widened into something more cunning. She murmured softly to herself, "Dark Hand, keep me entertained long enough." Then she walked off, her footsteps echoing in the silence.
---
Gray lay sprawled on the grass in a garden bursting with colorful flowers, his tall frame relaxed, his wavy brown hair framing a peaceful, sleeping face. The breeze played gently with the petals, and everything seemed frozen in perfect serenity.
A vast, vibrant green lawn stretched out, the grass soft and impeccably kept. Flowers of every hue dotted the landscape—scarlet roses, white lilies, purple tulips, and pink peonies.
Tall cypresses lined the garden's edges, their slender forms swaying faintly in the gentle breeze. A few fruit trees, scattered here and there, added a touch of sweetness with branches heavy with ripe fruit. Near where Gray lay, a small, sculpted stone fountain murmured softly, enhancing the tranquil ambiance.
Above this enchanting scene, the sky was blanketed with white and gray clouds, a cottony cover filtering the sunlight into a soft, diffused glow. Occasional rays broke through, illuminating the flowers and glinting off the dewdrops still clinging to the leaves.
But suddenly, Gray opened his eyes, staring up at the cloudy sky.
"Why's my rest being disturbed?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with mild irritation.
A silver-haired man with thin glasses stepped forward, intruding on the moment of peace. "I'd never dare disturb Dark Hand's leader without good reason," Corwin replied politely.
Gray sighed, barely sitting up. "You're terrible at humor, Corwin."
Corwin tilted his head slightly, accepting the remark without flinching. Gray turned to him, his eyes narrowing with a hint of reproach. "You know I hate being woken up. Only one person has the right to do that."
The air tensed briefly, but Corwin, unruffled, adjusted his glasses. "Libel's gone to oversee the assimilation of a trafficking group."
"And why should that concern me?" Gray replied, looking away, clearly uninterested.
"I'd like you to back her up," Corwin pressed, undeterred.
Gray frowned. "Libel can handle herself."
"It's not about her managing the operation," Corwin explained. "It's about stopping her from overdoing it. You know how she gets."
Gray closed his eyes again, letting out a long sigh. "You're lucky I'm not in a foul mood today. Get lost."
But Corwin didn't budge. "It's for the smooth execution of the master's plan," he insisted.
"Send someone else," Gray shot back, his patience thinning.
Corwin adjusted his glasses again, his gaze fixed on Gray. "Of the five of us, only you, Nereva, and I are rational enough for this. But given the tension between Nereva and Libel, that leaves you."
Tired of arguing, Gray finally sat up. "Then take my place and do it yourself."
"I'm handling the organization's alliances," Corwin replied calmly. "But if you'll take my duties, I'll go support Libel."
Gray opened his eyes, a flicker of interest crossing his face. "Which job's harder?"
"Mine," Corwin answered without hesitation.
Gray stood with a sigh, his slow movements betraying his weariness. "Fine, I'll go."
A rare smile flickered on Corwin's usually stoic face. "That puts me at ease."
Now standing, Gray's gaze drifted absently over the peaceful garden. The flower petals quivered in the breeze, and the fountain's murmur filled the air with a soothing melody. Yet the harmony felt at odds with the irritation rising within him. He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair, mussing it slightly, before glancing at Corwin.
"You really know how to ruin a perfect day," he muttered, his voice laced with weary sarcasm.
Corwin, ever stoic, adjusted his glasses again—a tic Gray had come to associate with either deep thought or an effort to stay composed. "I only do what's necessary for Dark Hand," he replied, unfazed. "You know that as well as I do."
Gray raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, spare me the duty speech. If the master really wanted me to move, he'd tell me himself. You're just an overzealous messenger."
Corwin let the jab slide, staying silent for a moment. Then, in a measured tone, he added, "Libel tends to… push boundaries when left unchecked. You're the only one who can rein her in without it escalating."
Gray crossed his arms, his gaze drifting back to the cloudy sky. He knew Corwin was right. Libel, with her fiery temper and taste for drastic measures, could turn a simple assimilation into an unnecessary bloodbath. And if the master's plan—whatever it was—stayed on track, someone had to step in. Apparently, that someone was him.
"And why not you, huh?" Gray asked, more out of habit than genuine curiosity. "You're always so calm, so collected. You could talk to her, adjust your little glasses, and bore her to sleep with a lecture."
Corwin's lips twitched into a faint, barely-there smile. "I'm not sure Libel would appreciate my lectures. And as I said, my current responsibilities keep me tied up. The alliances are fragile right now. One misstep, and it could all collapse. Especially with Yonghoul to manage too."
Gray sighed loudly, exaggerating his exasperation. "Fragile, huh? Maybe we should just let them crumble and see what happens."
"You know that's not an option," Corwin replied, his tone steady but free of irritation.
Gray threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll go babysit Libel."
Corwin tilted his head slightly, accepting the answer without a flicker of reaction. "I trust you to handle it. You've always had a knack for calming storms… or starting them, depending on your mood."
Gray chuckled, turning to walk away from the fountain and the garden. "Don't flatter me, Corwin. It doesn't suit you."