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Diarmuid
THE LIGHTS DIM around me, fading to a near whisper of illumination. A celestial theme reigns tonight; every surface is either shimmering with sequins or sparkling with glitter, casting a soft glow that makes the room look like a starlit sky. I can barely make out the faces around me—some familiar, some strangers—yet each carries the weight of importance tonight.
Lorcan steps onto the stage, and the subtle shift in the room's energy draws every eye to him. He embodies the essence of a politician, with a solemn grace that belies his years, though a ghost of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. It's clear he wasn't born for this role, but he has been shaped and molded by the demands and expectations of the order. He's a silent storm, commanding attention without a word, something I've always struggled with.
As I linger in the shadows, I watch him, aware of the vast gulf that lies between his presence and mine. I've never been one to attract attention—couldn't afford it, in fact. It's safer to observe rather than being observed.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lorcan begins, his voice reverberating softly through the hushed room, "welcome to the evening of the Harvest Moon." He pauses, allowing the significance of the event to settle among us. "Though the moon appeared later than usual this year, its significance remains unchanged. Tonight, we celebrate the fruits of our labors, the culmination of another year's hard work and dedication."
I shift slightly, the mention of labor and dedication resonating uncomfortably within me. My contributions are less tangible, harder to celebrate.
Lorcan continues. "We also honor the memory of the first emperor in human history, Sargon of Akkad, who reigned from 2334 to 2279 BC in the city of Ur." Murmurs of respect ripple through the crowd, a collective acknowledgment of our roots in power and leadership. "As the inaugural emperor, Sargon set the standards by which all great leaders are measured. His legacy is not merely historical but foundational to the ethos of our order."
I find myself unexpectedly caught up in the narrative, imagining the vast stretches of time that connect us back to Sargon. Lorcan's next words draw a direct line from the past to the present. "Significantly, Sargon's daughter served as a priestess to the Ur moon god, Sin, anchoring our ceremony tonight in ancient tradition. Sin, the shepherd of the heavens, guides us as we, the leaders and shepherds of humanity, endeavor to guide our flock toward a prosperous future."
Solemnity falls upon the room, a shared sense of purpose wrapping around us like a cloak.
Lorcan's voice continues to fill the room, a soothing drone that contrasts sharply with the storm brewing inside me. My eyes are fixed on Victor, standing off to the side of the stage. There's an ease about him that irks me, a confidence wrapped securely in layers of loyalty and protection. His guards, a constant shadow, form a barrier I've never dared breach. Not yet. My own life still holds some value to me. But I imagine a day when that might change, and Victor would be left defenseless against whatever storm I might bring.
Lost in these dark thoughts, I startle when a gentle touch grazes my arm. It's Selene. She always seems to know when my emotions are teetering on the edge. Her presence is comforting, unlike Niamh's, which often feels distant and disconnected. Selene's touch brings me back from the brink, grounding me, though the anger continues to simmer just beneath my skin.
As Lorcan extols the virtues of our ancient predecessors, Selene's grip tightens momentarily—a silent communication of concern. My gaze is still locked on Victor when the murmur of late arrivals pulls the attention of the room. I try to ignore them, to focus on the danger I know, but Selene's insistent tug on my sleeve is impossible to ignore.
Reluctantly, I turn, and my gaze clashes with Wolf's. He's unmistakable, arrogance is etched into every line of his face. Amira on his arm adds to the image of smug self-satisfaction. The sight of him ignites something reckless within me, a fiery surge that drowns out Selene’s whispered warnings.
Before I fully register my actions, I’m moving across the room, propelled by a mix of rage and a thirst for confrontation. The room falls into hushed anticipation as I approach.
With no words exchanged, I close the gap, and without hesitation, my fist connects with Wolf’s face. The impact sends a shock through my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the shockwave that ripples through the room. Wolf stumbles back, surprise morphing into fury as he touches a hand to his bleeding nose.
He’s quiet for a moment; then he pushes Amira aside, someone catching her before she falls, and he swings at me.
I grin as I dance back and land another solid hit to his face.
“Stop!” Lorcan’s voice roars across the room. But I am beyond stopping. I want blood. I swing again, only to be pulled back by guards, others arriving to grab Wolf and halt his advance toward me.
Victor's voice slices through the tense silence like a blade. Everyone in the grand room freezes, the chaos momentarily suspended as his cold, authoritative tone commands the space. "What an honor for us to witness such a struggle on this night, the night where we honor the legacy of Sargon of Akkad. A Duke has challenged a King just as Sargon challenged the kingdom of Ellam."
His eyes, icy and calculating, survey the room, stopping to linger on the men holding Wolf and me apart. With a subtle nod, the men reluctantly step back, though their bodies remain tensed, ready to intervene at the slightest hint of renewed aggression.
Victor continues, his gaze now locked on me, making the air around me feel colder, heavier. "In the spirit of our illustrious forebears, let this conflict unfold as it must. Let it be decided not by whispers in dark corners, but by the will and strength of those involved. This is how leaders are tested. This is how their worth is proven."
Wolf and I eye each other warily. The brief respite allows the adrenaline to settle, replaced by a cold realization of the spectacle we've become. Victor’s words hang between us, a challenge and a decree. The room remains deathly silent; every member of the order present now is a witness to this unexpected trial by combat.
Lorcan's earlier attempts to restore order are forgotten, his authority overshadowed by Victor's commanding presence. I can see frustration mixed with concern etch his features, knowing full well the implications of letting this conflict play out in such a public and symbolic manner.
As the room watches, I weigh my options. Fighting Wolf might prove my strength, but at what cost? And backing down could show weakness, potentially as dangerous. Selene's earlier touch on my arm echoes in my memory, a reminder of the stakes not just for me but for those connected to me.
Voices erupt around us as everyone waits and watches to see what will happen next.
Victor's voice, sharp and unyielding, slices through the murmurs of the crowd again. "Please, gentlemen, continue your battle." His command is an echo of darker times, a familiar coldness that sends a shiver down my spine, reigniting memories of harsh lessons etched into my skin.
Everyone takes a step back. As the space between Wolf and me widens, we both shed our dinner jackets, the heavy fabric hitting the floor with a soft thud. The room seems to hold its breath, the atmosphere charged with a palpable tension.
Wolf and I face each other, not just as two men, but as legacies of a ruthless upbringing. Raised in the mafia, forged in violence and survival, we learned the language of power through fists and blood from an early age. We both understand the unspoken rules of such confrontations—there are no winners, only survivors.
As I look up, trying to glean some hint of what might be going through Victor's mind, his face gives nothing away. It's a mask of stoicism, carved from stone, his eyes reflecting nothing but the dim light of the shimmering room. Around us, whispers flutter like uneasy birds, their words indistinct but their curiosity clear.
Victor's plans for us remain shrouded in mystery, but it's evident he's orchestrated this moment, counting on it to unfold according to his unseen design. Whatever outcome he desires, I know it hinges on what happens next between Wolf and me.
