In a dimly lit cave, four cloaked figures circled a single flickering candle. The tiny flame cast long, twitching shadows along the stone walls, giving the illusion of movement where there was none. The air was thick with tension—each breath, each shift, felt like it could spark something deadly.
A low, rumbling voice broke the silence.
"When do we move?"
The speaker stood rigid in the dark—imposing, unreadable. His tone was neither eager nor impatient. It was final, like an executioner's blade.
"Soon," a woman replied, her voice cool and precise. She sat half-shrouded in shadow, her face hidden, her words clipped like falling icicles.
"The last of our forces are almost here."
"Tch. Boring," another voice chimed in—masculine, younger, dripping with manic energy. His hood bobbed as he shifted in place, restless.
"Why wait? Let's just go in and burn everything down. I wanna have fun."
The woman's tone sharpened.
"We move on command. Until then, we hold."
"Why should I—"
A sudden silence followed.
Then, the deep voice returned, laced with quiet menace.
"Would you disobey orders?"
The younger man faltered, his bravado cracking.
"N-no! I just—never mind."
Ignoring the outburst, the deep-voiced figure stepped forward, the candlelight grazing the edge of his mask.
"We follow the plan," he said. "We strike only when all pieces are in place."
The flame crackled. The air shifted.
"Where first?" he asked.
The woman raised a gloved hand, her fingers catching the flicker of candlelight.
"Thirty squads up front for chaos," she said coldly. "Fifty-two for the border villages. Extras spread wide. Distractions. Noise. Fear."
"Extras?" the younger voice asked, intrigued.
"Expendables," the woman clarified without emotion.
A silence hung—thick, grim.
Then came a twisted chuckle from the excitable one.
"Cold. I like it."
She continued, her voice rising above the shadows.
"I suggest we strike the southern reach of the Mythos Empire."
A pause.
"It's Division 4 territory."
The others turned toward her.
"Hmm…" the deep voice mused.
"They're weak since the war."
"Exactly," the woman said. "Perfect opening."
The younger man's voice returned, gleeful.
"So we're doing it, right? Finally?"
"No."
The deep voice cut through the room like a blade.
"We don't act. The grunts move first."
"Wha—so we're just watching?" the young man whined.
"Yes." The leader's voice was firm. "We follow orders. We please the master."
A final voice—quiet until now—spoke at last. Cautious. Uneasy.
"We should be careful. The Division Knights aren't to be taken lightly."
The others scoffed.
"Let the dogs bark," the woman said, dismissive.
"They'll be silent soon enough."
The deep voice stepped forward.
"Prepare. When the command comes, we move."
"Roger!!" the younger man laughed, almost skipping in place, the sound bouncing madly off the stone walls.
The candle sputtered, shadows twitching wildly across their cloaks.
Then, with a soft hiss, the flame died.
Darkness swallowed the cave whole.
And with it, the first whispers of war took root.