Ashfold.Secret meeting of Divine Compact.A few days later.
"Name, please."
"Fenn Ashen. F-E-N-N... A-S-H-E-N."
"Alright, let me look for a moment…"
A short pause.
"…ahh, here you are."
Another pause.
"But you are crossed out."
Fenn swallowed.
"Mind explaining that to me?"
"Well… I am one of the guys that went to Roseshire.
"And you are still alive?"
Yes we all miraculously got away.
A suspicious look, but...
"So you were with Jorik Tanner and Tomas Ward, correct?"
"That's right."
The masked man at the front door tore off a piece of paper and handed it to him.
"Your seat number is on here. Welcome."
Fenn took it.
And stepped inside.
Fenn glanced down at the slip of paper in his hand.
27.
He moved forward through the aisle and took his seat in the vast underground hall.
The space was enormous. The ceiling arched high above, supported by thick stone pillars that disappeared into shadow. Dim lights were embedded along the walls, just bright enough to outline rows upon rows of seated figures.
Several rows ahead of him rose a low stage.
On it stood a long table — solid, simple — with five chairs placed behind it.
Fenn narrowed his eyes slightly.
Those must be the higher-ups.
He leaned back just a little and let his gaze wander.
Every single person in the hall wore the same white mask.
Smooth. Identical. Featureless.
Exactly like his.
The anonymity pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.
His thoughts returned, unbidden:
And I'm supposed to find Jorik in here…
He let out a slow, controlled breath, forcing his shoulders to relax.
Around him, more people continued to arrive, filling the remaining seats one by one. The quiet murmur of movement slowly faded as the hall grew full — expectant, tense, waiting.
"Welcome!"
A tall, masked woman stood up on the stage. Her voice carried effortlessly through the enormous hall, clear and authoritative.
"Please give a round of applause for the direct subordinates of the Minigods and the Hands…"
She paused briefly — deliberately.
"…The Five Consecrates!"
Immediately, everyone present stood up.
Applause surged through the hall — unified, loud, almost reverent. No cheering. No shouting. Just steady clapping, disciplined and respectful.
From the rear door of the stage, five men stepped forward.
All of them wore masks bearing the winged symbol of the Divine Compact.
But their masks were black.
Heavy, dominant, set apart.
One after another, they walked forward without haste, without urgency. Every step seemed deliberate, controlled. They took their seats behind the table one by one, precise and calculated.
The applause slowly faded.
But something remained.
A tension that lingered in the air.
Respect — tangible, unspoken.
Fenn felt it all the way to his fingertips.
One of the Five slowly raised his hand.
The applause stopped instantly.
As if cut off.
Everyone sat back down. Row by row. Simultaneously. Not a single chair creaked unnecessarily, not a single word was spoken.
Then—
Silence.
Many long seconds.
Heavy. Expectant.
One of the Five Consecrates finally stood up. He calmly pushed his chair aside, walked to the edge of the stage, and looked out over the masked crowd.
Then he began to speak.
"My dear colleagues…"
His voice was calm, controlled — yet there was something cold beneath it.
"We have uncovered great deals in the last few weeks. "A brief pause. "And I mean a great deal."
Fenn felt his neck tense.
"We know that his name is Noen.""That he is still a young boy — to be precise, seventeen years old — we already knew."
A quiet murmur passed through the hall.
"This information comes from the mighty Ghalthuron himself. "He made a dismissive gesture. "That is nothing new."
Then he paused.
Longer this time.
"What is new…"
He laughed softly. Briefly. Ironically. A laugh that had nothing to do with humor.
"…is the fact that a member of the Black Synod was able to enter the minigods realm unnoticed."
The atmosphere shifted.
The man clenched his fists. Behind the black mask, a distinct grinding of teeth could be heard.
"Bring me the five responsible for this!"
The words echoed through the hall.
The large entrance door opened.
Five massive men entered.
And before them—
five bound figures.
Sacks pulled over their heads. Hands tied behind their backs.
Heavy steps. Dull shuffling.
The atmosphere in the room turned icy.