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Maybe his father’s punishment had already commenced.

Torin didn’t like waiting. Patience wasn’t a quality at the top of his best attributes—unless he was coaching a certain witch.

Dale Wellprose, a hunter who stayed within the tower walls as a member of the clan, walked past, scuffing the table with his leg and bumping into Torin’s torso. A flash of rage went through him, and he wanted to floor the young man with one punch. This amount of testosterone in one room was a perfect recipe for disaster, especially when tensions were so high.

This kind of environment reminded him of the first stages of the Selection, crowded and too loud. He much preferred it when the weak had been whittled out or had gotten themselves injured, leaving only the strongest.

A buzzing hush fell over the room and Torin’s eyes darted to the door, finally witnessing his father walking through in fully kitted hunter regalia, weapon belt gleaming as he moved. He hadn’t seen his commander for some time now, had not even received a single communication. The violet circles under his eyes told Torin all the information he needed to know. He, too, hadn’t been sleeping, and if Torin knew his father like he thought he did, he would have been racking his brains for days, mulling over all the events of the Uplift. Thinking through strategies, looking over possibilities, and meeting with influential members of society, who he could manipulate into seeing the Uplift the way wanted them to. The hunters saved the event, and everything was under control.

Viktir Blacksteel drew in a breath as he stood at the front of the briefing room, a familiar coldness in his eyes.

Torin had never seen his father–the commander–as an older man, but today he looked his age, with the grey-speckled hair and the creases on his face.

“Hunting Clans, thank you for joining us at the tower.” His bottle-green eyes flicked around the room, taking in who from his brethren had come. “Even in retirement, you are loyal to your oath, and the Gods will not forget that.”

A few of the elders nodded in agreement.

There was no retirement in hunting, and this was the reminder.

Torin took a long breath and crossed his arms over his chest, ready to hear the first communication from his leader. He felt Gideon do the same.

“Our world has known dark times before, as you all know, and we were created and put on the soil of Caledorna to make sure that the catastrophic events that happened to our Gods’ good people did not happen again. To prevent history from repeating itself.”

Torin did all he could not to shift in his chair and draw attention to himself, especially when his father was still to deliver his punishment for not giving him the intel on the Resurrection Stone.

He had betrayed his father’s trust; a punishment would certainly be delivered.

“I am afraid to inform you that the darkness of the Underworld is rising up like never before. The Dark Army has struck again since the Uplift, and they have struck deep, right into the heart of the community. The magic world has not witnessed calculated violence like this since our great war, centuries ago.” He shifted, moving forward gracefully. “I am sure word of the Uplift has spread to you all by now, and rumours of scandals will be circling.” His stoic face hardened, and the silver in his hair glistened under the light. “But I am here to tell you first-hand that what happened at the annual Uplift was not an accident. It was a premeditated attack on this community by one elite member of society who had been conspiring with the Dark God.”

Evidently, it wasn’t just Torin who felt the intensity in the room; a few hunters shifted in their seats, letting out a heavy breath. Creaks and groans of the wooden chairs broke the silence left by the commander’s stern voice, and it gave Torin room to exhale.

“We do not have all the answers of why he meddled in such darkness, but what we can tell you is that he managed to trade his soul for immortality.”

Torin’s eyebrows pulled together as he realised Viktir had willingly skimmed over why Taymir Solden had even shown up to the Uplift in the first place, to trade Emara to the Dark God for immortality. Why did he leave out a vital piece of information?

Torin’s foot began to shake under the desk.

“The King of the Underworld is moving in different ways than we are used to. He is purposefully targeting the human faction—the weaker and uneducated—who are unaware of what he really is. He’s tempting them to join him with bargains they do not truly comprehend. What this elite did”— he took a breath—“was a bold move. He knew of the Underworld and how wrong it is, yet he put his faction at great risk.” His jaw tightened and he found Torin’s gaze. “Since the Uplift, every empress of the Rhiannon’s covens have been murdered. Just this morning, more news came by fireletter that the only empress who remained alive—the Empress of Spirit—has now been slaughtered in her own home.”

House Spirit had lost their empress too. Now there were none.

A spine-breaking wave of gravity weighed on Torin’s body, and a low whistle came from a hunter behind him.

Fuck.

“Was it a demon or a member of the elite who killed the Empress of Spirit?” A hunter with an astute tone asked.

“The Dark Army,” the commander answered. “You may know this already, but I will make it clear again that the elite male responsible for the brutality at the Uplift was taken care of that night. And we don’t suspect any more of the elite humans to be involved in anything to do with the darkened.”

A few curses flew across the room, and Torin raised an eyebrow, trying to remain calm.

He wasn’t convinced that more of the elite weren’t involved.

Every single empress was dead—killed, murdered.

But why? Did the elite want something they had?

What was more interesting to him right now was how much of the event his father was skimming over. It had been Emara who killed Taymir Solden. Although he had been ‘taken care of,’ his father seemed to intentionally leave out by whom. The hunters who had been there would have seen Emara take out the Solden heir like she had been conjuring her flames for years, but no one seemed to question it. No one dared to.