The tide had finally returned to its natural rhythm, washing away the footprints of the dead. Vincent walked up the cliff path with a gait that suggested he was carrying the weight of the entire ocean. The Conclusion was held loosely in his hand, its dark blade coated in a fine, grey soot—the last physical remains of the men he had once led.
Chase met him at the glass doors. Without a word, he took the heavy weapon and returned it to the safe. He noticed Vincent's hands were shaking—not from the exertion of the fight, but from the spiritual toll of slaying his own ghosts.
"They're gone," Vincent whispered, sliding down the wall of the foyer to sit on the cold marble floor. "Truly gone this time."
"You did what had to be done, Vincent," Chase said, leaning against the doorframe. "You gave them a conclusion."
The domestic peace was shattered again, not by a horn, but by the soft thud of a delivery. Chase walked to the front gate to find a single black envelope pinned to the intercom by a small, obsidian dagger. There was no stamp, no return address—only a name written in silver ink that made Chase's blood turn to ice.
Isolde.
"I haven't heard that name in five hundred years," Chase muttered as he walked back inside.
He opened the letter. Inside was a heavy cardstock invitation to a "Summit of the Ancients." It provided a set of coordinates that pointed to a forgotten pier in the industrial district.
An hour later, Chase and Vincent stood at the end of a fog-drenched pier. A sleek, black yacht sat waiting, its deck occupied by a woman in a tailored white suit that contrasted sharply with her dark, raven hair and eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes.
"Chase Vance. And the little Commander," Isolde said, her voice a sultry purr. She gestured toward two chairs. "I see you've found each other. How... poetic."
"Isolde," Chase said, his voice wary. "You were the Architect of the High Rites. Why are you in New York?"
"For the same reason you are, Chase. For the same reason a Goddess is playing 'office' at your home," she said, pouring three glasses of a shimmering, iridescent liquid. "This world is a designated Sanctuary. A safe haven for the retired, the weary, and the broken of our old world."
Vincent looked up, his eyes narrowing. "A sanctuary? My men died on a beach an hour ago. That didn't feel safe."
"The gods have a treaty regarding this realm," Isolde explained, leaning back. "They agreed centuries ago that they would not intervene here. No divine strikes, no holy wars, no celestial interference. It is a neutral ground where we can live out our days as 'humans' or what ever else they want to be"
She took a slow sip of her drink, her gaze turning cold. "But there is a catch. If the gods don't intervene, it means they also don't protect. Whatever happens in this world is no longer their problem. If you bring your old wars here—like your Shadow Legion, Vincent—you are on your own. There is no divine backup. No resurrection. If you die here, you simply cease to be."
Chase processed the information. It explained why Lilith was able to run a corporation without being hunted by rival pantheons, and why Alex was able to hide in plain sight.
"And the 'Lattice'?" Chase asked. "Is that the Sanctuary's border?"
"It's the veil," Isolde nodded. "And it's thinning because too many of us are waking up. The more Essence you use, Chase, the more you tear the fabric of this peace. You're not just living in a house; you're living in a glass box, and the neighbors are starting to throw stones."
She stood up and walked to the railing, looking out at the city skyline. "I'm here to tell you that the Summit isn't just a party. We are deciding the fate of the refugees. Some want to tear the veil down and turn this world into a new battlefield. Others, like me, want to keep our retirement."
She turned back to Chase, her eyes boring into his. "You have a Goddess, a Demon, and a Commander under your roof. You are now the most significant political entity in the Sanctuary. Which side are you on, Warrior?"
Chase looked at Vincent, then back at the city where his messy, complicated "family" was waiting. "I'm on the side that keeps my home standing. If anyone tries to bring a war to my doorstep again, I don't need a god to help me finish it."
Isolde smiled—a dangerous, beautiful expression. "Good. Then you'll need to be ready. Because the other Ancients aren't as 'civilized' as you."