The command center of Asylum was a pocket of focused silence. Deep beneath a city of noise. Edward placed the worn journal on the central tactical table. The crudely drawn eye on the last page seemed to stare up at them. A symbol of a mystery that felt far more dangerous than the marching armies above.
Selene leaned over the book. Her expression was uncharacteristically serious. Her usually playful, cynical demeanor was gone. Replaced by the sharp focus of a predator that has caught an unfamiliar scent. She produced a small, crystalline device. She passed it over the symbol. Capturing a perfect digital image.
"I’ve seen thousands of gang signs, thieves’ cant, and assassin’s marks," she murmured. Her fingers flew across the keys of a data-slate. "This is none of them. It’s clean. Too clean."
She plugged the slate into the fortress’s main console. The symbol appeared on the large screen. Stark and unnerving. Selene began her work. Lines of code scrolled past. Access requests were sent and denied. Backdoors were pried open. She was diving deep into the underworld’s hidden archives. A digital ghost slipping through layers of security.
Fenris watched. Her arms were crossed. Her patience was wearing thin. "It’s a drawing," she grunted. "What’s to know? Someone draws creepy eyes, we find them, we punch them. Simple."
"Nothing about this is simple, puppy," Selene said. She did not look away from the screen. "This symbol isn’t in any criminal database. Not in the royal archives. Not in the Inquisition’s records. Not even in the off-the-books ledgers of the Ashen Market. It’s like it doesn’t exist."
For an hour, the only sounds were the soft hum of the fortress and the clatter of Selene’s keys. Then, she stopped. Her entire body went rigid.
"Oh," she whispered. Her voice was a little too quiet. "There you are."
She had bypassed the conventional networks. Broken into a section of forbidden history. A collection of texts the Inquisition had tried to erase centuries ago. On the screen, the eye appeared again. This time carved into the stone of an ancient, pre-System altar.
"What is it?" Edward asked. His voice was low.
"They call themselves the Children of the Oblivion," Selene said. Her voice was laced with a newfound gravity. "It’s not a gang or a guild. It’s a cult. An old one. And their god... is the Oblivion Core."
The pieces clicked into place. A cold, sickening finality. He wasn’t just fighting a machine. He was fighting a faith.
Selene continued. Pulling up fragmented texts and her informants’ terrified whispers. "They believe the System isn’t a tool or a curse. They believe it is a living god. And that the dungeon outbreaks are its divine judgments. They call it the ’Great Cleansing’—a process to wipe the world clean of the ’flaw’ of chaos and messy human emotions. They think that by serving the Core, by helping the Cleansing along, they will be spared and granted a place in the new, perfectly ordered world it creates."
"How do they ’help’?" Edward asked. Already dreading the answer.
Selene’s face was grim. "By feeding their god. The people who are disappearing... they’re not just being kidnapped. They are being used as ritual sacrifices. They believe that by offering up souls directly to the Core, they can appease it. Earn its favor. And be granted a fraction of its power."
It was a horrifying thought. While hunters fought and died to close dungeons, this cult was actively working to open them. To fuel the very force that was destroying the world.
"That’s not the worst part," Selene said. Her fingers typed again. A series of portraits began to appear on the screen. Edward recognized them instantly. A decorated general from the Royal Army. A hero. A fabulously wealthy merchant lord who funded half the city’s infrastructure. And the last one made Edward’s blood run cold. A high-ranking priest from the Grand Cathedral. A man who publicly condemned heretics with fiery passion. Dıscover more novels at 𝗻𝗼𝘷𝗲𝗹•𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮•𝕟𝕖𝕥
"They are everywhere," Selene stated flatly. "Hidden in plain sight. In the nobility. The military. Even the Inquisition itself. They are a shadow government. A cancer that has spread to every part of the kingdom."
Edward finally understood. The Inquisition, for all their power and cruelty, were just puppets. Fanatics chasing a monster. Unknowingly serving the agenda of a machine they didn’t comprehend. But the Children of the Oblivion were different. Not puppets. Willing, devout servants. They knew what the Core was. And they worshiped it. He had been fighting a war on one front. Against an army of blind soldiers. Now he realized he was in a war on two fronts. And the second was against an enemy who could see everything.
A war of shadows he hadn’t even known he was fighting.
Suddenly, a high-priority alert flashed on Selene’s console. A single, heavily encrypted data-burst. Her eyes widened as she decoded it.
"It’s from ’Nightingale’," she said. Naming one of her most trusted deep-cover agents. "It’s a priority one alert. He says the Children are preparing for their largest ritual yet. Tonight."
"What is their goal?" Edward’s voice was sharp.
"To create a ’wound in the world’," Selene read. Her own voice was tight with tension. "A massive, permanent dungeon rift. Not a temporary breach. A self-sustaining gate to the abyss. A direct line for their god to send its legions through."
The scale of it was unthinkable. A permanent rift would not just destroy the Undercrown. It would swallow the entire Royal Capital. Millions would die.
"Where is the ritual site?" Edward demanded.
"He doesn’t say. The message is... incomplete," Selene said. Her brow furrowed. "It looks like he was cut off." She scanned the fragmented data. "He did manage to send one last piece of intel."
A chill ran down Edward’s spine. "What is it?"
Selene looked up from the screen. Her eyes met his. The cynical, playful assassin was completely gone. Replaced by someone who looked genuinely afraid.
"To anchor a wound that large, they need a sacrifice of immense spiritual power. A soul with a direct connection to the land itself," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper. "They need a soul of royal blood."
She paused. Letting the weight of the words sink in.
"Their target," she said, her voice now cold and final, "is Princess Seraphina."