Chapter 10: The Law Above All

  After stepping into the hallway, Morbius gestured for me to follow him. We moved silently through the estate’s corridors, the dim candlelight casting flickering shadows across the walls. Framed portraits of past Marquettes lined the passage—solemn faces of those who had once carried the same burdens I now bore. Their eyes seemed to watch me, as if weighing my worth.

  It was a short walk—no more than two minutes—before we arrived at an imposing set of double doors. Morbius pulled them open with ease, revealing the study.

  “Are you ready for the meeting, my lord?” he asked, his voice steady, unreadable.

  I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yes.”

  The study was as I remembered—towering bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with records, laws, and secrets of the Fallen. In the center stood a massive oak desk, a feathered quill resting beside a high-backed wooden chair that had once belonged to my father.

  Morbius walked toward one of the bookcases and reached for a particular tome. With a smooth motion, he pulled it, triggering a concealed mechanism. The bookshelf slid open, revealing a hidden passageway. Without a word, he gestured for me to enter.

  I obeyed, stepping into the darkness. The moment we were inside, the passage sealed behind us. It was pitch black, the air heavy with dust and secrecy. Then, one by one, torches mounted along the walls flared to life, their flames licking at the shadows. As the dim light illuminated our path, I realized the true scale of the cavern we were traversing—vast, ancient, and filled with echoes of forgotten voices.

  Eventually, we arrived at a clearing where a worn, black carriage awaited. It was far older than the one I used in town, its wooden frame marred by battle scars—holes from swords, cracks from age. The war had left its mark even on things as mundane as transport.

  Morbius climbed onto the driver’s seat and, after allowing me to enter, urged the horses forward. The ride was slow, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone the only sound between us. Yet my mind was far from silent.

  Jacob’s letter lingered in my thoughts.

  Had we truly been the only ones to care? The only ones who ever picked up the pieces after his battles? It was an unbearable thought—that no one, not a single person outside of Morbius and me, had ever considered his well-being. The weight of it made my chest tighten.

  But my thoughts soon turned to something else, something even heavier. The meeting.

  I knew what awaited me. Accusations. Betrayal. Judgment. And possibly… condemnation.

  As the cavern’s walls grew wider, revealing the massive chamber that housed the round table, my heart sank deeper into despair.

  Morbius halted the carriage and stepped down, opening the door for me.

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  “We have arrived, my lord,” he said. “The Round Table.”

  I exhaled and stepped out, making my way down a dimly lit corridor. At the end of the path, I saw it—

  A massive, circular oak table resting beneath the cavern’s vast ceiling. Twelve seats surrounded it, six of them already occupied. The first to greet us was Marvel, his deep voice cutting through the chamber.

  “Come in, come in, Marquette. And you as well, Morbius.” He chuckled. “I must say, I was surprised to be the first one here for once.”

  I forced a smirk, masking my unease. “My streak had to break eventually.”

  Marvel laughed heartily. “That’s true, young Marquette, that’s true. And what of you, Morbius?”

  Morbius, ever cold and precise, replied flatly, “I go where the Bookkeeper goes.”

  Marvel only chuckled again. “Of course.”

  By now, we had taken our seats. Mine was opposite the entrance, the banner of my family hanging behind me. To my right, Morbius sat, as always. Diagonally to my left was Marvel, beside him Justus. To Marvel’s right sat Christophe, a tall, dark-skinned man with wool-like gray hair and soft brown eyes. Despite wearing merchant’s clothes, his posture reflected his noble status—he controlled the kingdom’s trade, ensuring that goods flowed in and out of our land.

  Next to Christophe sat Ray, who was mumbling frantically to himself. His hands trembled against the table, his voice a broken whisper.

  “This is how it ends… This is the end of the Fallen… We will lose everything while the kingdom prospers without us…”

  No one spared him a second glance. It wasn’t unusual. Ray’s family, the Paradoxes, were oracles. Some were cursed with the ability to see too many futures—so many that their minds eventually fractured.

  As the minutes passed, two more members arrived—Gloss, a striking woman in her forties from the Constantinople family, responsible for the kingdom’s finances; and Cato, a younger member who had recently inherited his position from his father, overseeing Lian Yu’s agriculture.

  With only two seats remaining, the final arrivals entered.

  One was Justin—Jacob’s son.

  The other… was Moore’s daughter.

  Justin was young—only fifteen—but already carried the weight of a commander. He wore new armor, befitting the new head of the Fallen’s military. When Cato turned to him, his voice was firm.

  “Before you take your seat as Commander-in-Chief, I must ask… do you hold resentment toward Marquette?”

  Justin’s gaze flickered toward me, then back to Cato. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t. But I understand why he did what he did. It will not hinder my ability to serve.”

  Cato nodded, satisfied. A vote was cast—unanimous. Justin was declared the new Commander-in-Chief.

  Then came the final matter.

  Three hooded figures emerged from the shadows behind an empty chair. At my signal, the figure in the center pulled back her hood—revealing Moore’s daughter.

  Justus slammed his fist against the table. “Are we seriously going to let this thing sit among us?!”

  Moore’s daughter flinched, but held her composure.

  Justus continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “She has no mother. No leverage we can use against her should she turn against us!”

  Gloss scoffed. “Neither does Morbius, yet you don’t seem to mind his presence.”

  Justus crossed his arms, knowing he had lost that argument.

  Marvel turned to the girl. “Do you have a name, child?”

  She shook her head. “No. In the Moore clan, we are nameless until we reach the status of Family Head. I have never even seen my own reflection.”

  Christophe ran a hand through his hair, visibly unsettled. “Why would your family impose such a thing?”

  I answered for her. “Because in families like ours, personal identity is stripped away. We exist as one entity, sharing the same name, the same purpose. Even if we look different, we are bound to a singular destiny.”

  A few members muttered to themselves about how miserable that sounded, but no one spoke against it.

  Morbius called for a vote. The decision was made—Moore’s daughter would serve as the Fallen’s new enforcer.

  Then came the final matter.

  Marvel’s voice was solemn. “We are here to write Moore’s name in the book.”

  One by one, hands rose. Moore’s daughter was the first.

  All eyes turned to me.

  I hesitated. Justus sneered. “Look at this traitor. He doesn’t want to write Moore’s name.”

  He was right. A part of me didn’t.

  But before I could make a choice—

  A voice echoed through the cavern.

  “So, you sheep think you can sentence me to death?”

  A thick cloud of smoke filled the air—then dissipated.

  Standing at the center of the table was Moore.

  Smiling.

  “Unfortunately for you all,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “it’s already too late.”