They did not call it a cult.
Cults required belief.
This required understanding.
The chamber lay beneath Divide City, older than the boundary line, older than the streets that pretended to tame the land above it. Roots from the dark forest punched through the stone ceiling like skeletal fingers. Red-yellow veins of bioluminescent moss pulsed faintly, synchronized to something far away in the sky.
The hooded figure knelt at the center of the chamber.
Around them, others mirrored the posture — not in a circle, but in a staggered spiral, each positioned precisely where the stone floor bore faint, ancient grooves. No candles burned. No chanting filled the space.
Silence was the point.
The central figure lifted their head.
Their hood bore the symbol: a fractured star, split unevenly down the middle.
It had been carved carefully. Lovingly.
Above them, far beyond stone and soil, Darkrai moved.
Even here, even shielded by layers of earth and ritual wards, its presence pressed inward — like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air becomes heavy and breathing feels like a choice.
A smile crept beneath the hood.
"It sees the city again," the figure whispered.
No one answered.
They didn't need to.
They felt it.
The Success
A pedestal stood before the central figure, draped in black silk inscribed with sigils that swallowed light instead of reflecting it.
Upon it rested a containment prism.
The crystal pulsed faintly — not with darkness, but with a soft, pearlescent glow that strained against its prison.
The glow dimmed with every second Darkrai remained active.
The figure extended a gloved hand and brushed the crystal gently, reverently.
"Rest, Warden," they murmured."You served long enough."
The prism trembled.
For a moment — just a moment — the glow inside brightened, as if resisting.
The hooded figure chuckled softly.
"Don't struggle," they said. "Your absence is the kindness."
They straightened, voice growing steadier, more fervent.
"Without you, the Dreamer remembers what it is."
Around the chamber, others bowed their heads lower.
Doctrine of Night
A second figure stepped forward, slimmer, nervous energy crackling beneath their stillness.
"It's stronger than expected," they said quietly. "The city is responding faster."
The leader nodded. "Of course it is."
"They noticed already," the second figure continued. "Someone is tracing the patterns."
That gave the leader pause.
Not fear.
Interest.
"…A trainer?" they asked.
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"No."
A faint hum filled the chamber — not audible sound, but psychic resonance.
The leader laughed.
"Oh, that makes this better."
They turned toward the dark archway leading upward, where the spiral path continued into the city.
"Balance was always a lie," the leader said calmly."A leash. A story told to keep power asleep."
They raised both hands slowly, palms upward — not toward the sky, but toward the idea of it.
"Darkrai is not a monster," they continued. "It is truth without anesthesia."
Somewhere above, Darkrai shifted.
The pressure increased.
The second figure swallowed. "And if the trainer interferes?"
The leader tilted their head.
"Then the Dreamer will test them."
A beat.
"And if they break?"
The leader smiled beneath the hood.
"Then they were never meant to wake up."
A New Variable
One of the followers stirred uneasily.
"There is… something else," they said.
The leader turned.
"…Speak."
"The distortion during the awakening. It didn't match Darkrai's signature."
Silence thickened.
The leader's fingers tightened slightly.
"…Explain."
"A presence," the follower said carefully. "Playful. Unaligned. Watching."
The leader considered this.
Then laughed — genuinely this time.
"Oh," they said softly. "A trickster."
They paced slowly around the pedestal.
"That's fine," they continued. "Chaos accelerates revelation."
They stopped and looked upward again, eyes gleaming beneath the hood.
"Let the trainer chase us. Let the trickster watch. Let the city fracture further."
Their voice dropped to a reverent whisper.
"The night is finally dreaming again."
Far above, on a quiet street near the boundary line, Cyrus stepped into shadow, unaware that the spiral had already tightened around him.
And in the sky, Darkrai turned — not hunting.
Watching.
Testing.