The white throne

Orion calmly contemplated the situation after hearing the waitress's account. "They either don't know about the undead or are deliberately hiding their existence from the public. Perhaps that's why they've framed me as the main conspirator. What better way to conceal the truth than by branding the only witness as the criminal behind it?" He pondered the circumstances that had placed him at the center of a sinister conspiracy.

"As for those two masked men," he mused, "I have a feeling our paths will cross again soon." But then his breakfast arrived and he shifted his focus on food, seemingly indifferent to the fact that every mage in the empire was now actively hunting for him.

Meanwhile, in a dimly lit room elsewhere, Leon and Teress sat in silence, their attention fixed on a peculiar device before them. The dark blue cube, embossed with their official badges, served as a conduit for communication.

"It must be them. They dare to trespass into the Empire... I say we act now. This is an act of war." An angry voice erupted from the device, filled with indignation.

"Control your impulses, Jin. Let's not speak unnecessarily. We won't act until Azrail instructs us to do so," a solemn voice intervened, suggesting caution.

"Darrel is correct," Leon asserted calmly. "We must handle this discreetly."

"Or do you plan to defy Azrail?" Darrel added sternly after Leon's words.

At the mention of Azrail, Jin's voice fell silent. A few moments later, he spoke again, his tone now subdued and controlled. "Then, what did... Azrail say?" His earlier anger and arrogance nowhere to be found.

The device before Leon and Teress was a rare artifact, exclusive to the Thrones. It served as an extraordinary communication tool, capable of summoning a voice conference of all Thrones regardless of their geographic locations. Initiating such a meeting required at least two badges of the blazing sun, a testament to the emergency of the situation. Today, both Teress and Leon had agreed on the necessity of this urgent assembly.

At this moment, only four of the seven Thrones were present in the conference call: Jin Carran, Darrel Danver, Leon Adair, and Teress Silver. The room was tense, the air thick with the weight of their deliberations.

"Others have been dispatched to the eastern borders," Darrel began, his voice steady and authoritative. "They're managing the situation at the shores of the Black Sea. Azrail has specifically tasked the four of us with investigating and eradicating the undead within the Empire."

He paused, allowing his words to settle. "He has emphasized that not even a trace of these creatures should remain within our borders. The existence of the undead has been regarded as a myth through the annals of history, and it must continue to be regarded as such."

"Good way to say eradication," Jin spoke, his earlier fury seemed to simmer beneath the surface as he responded to Darrel's words. The gravity of their mission was understood by all. The undead were not just a threat; they were an affront to the very stability of the empire.

"Azrail's directive is clear," Darrel continued. "As jin said, We must ensure the utter eradication of these creatures. Their presence cant be allowed to become public knowledge."

Leon nodded, his expression one of resolute determination. "We will proceed with the utmost discretion."

After eons remarks, Darrel's voice, calm and measured, swiftly added another directive. "As for the individual responsible for the wyverns death. Azrail has instructed us to let him be for now."

As Darrel concluded his directive, a loud "thud" reverberated through the room. Teress, her face flushed with anger, vehemently disagreed. "This is unacceptable," she argued, her voice brimming with frustration and fury. "Have you all forgotten the devastation wrought by the last incursion by the undead? It was only a single one of those moon-blessed! Can you imagine the chaos they must be planning now?" Her words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"He is too dangerous to be left unchecked," she hissed, her eyes blazing with indignation.

"Watch your wor—" Darrel began, attempting to caution her, but his words were abruptly swallowed by a sudden, chilling interruption.

"I sense some disagreement," a slow but piercing voice rumbled from the device, resonating with a formidable and quiet intensity. The voice carried an unmistakable air of arrogance and superiority, reducing all the Thrones to mere subordinates. None dared to rebuke him, for everyone knew the identity of the speaker.

It was the voice of their leader, the most powerful mage in the empire, the one who held the highest authority among the Thrones: the White Throne, Azrail Malevolent had joined the meeting.

Azrail's presence was palpable, even through the communication device. His words lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of his unparalleled power and unyielding authority.

"Azrail," Leon spoke first, his tone measured and respectful, attempting to divert the direction of the conversation and veil Teress's sharp remarks. "We were discussing the directives concerning the undead and the individual behind the wyvern's demise."

"Indeed," Azrail replied, his voice like a cold wind sweeping through the room. After a short pause, he spoke again, "What were you saying again?" His words were even colder this time. There was no need to mention names; everyone knew exactly who the White Throne was referring to. No one dared to interrupt him, not even Leon.

Teress, in particular, felt the weight of his words. She clenched her teeth tightly, the struggle between her inner frustration and outward restraint playing across her face.

His presence, even from just words, imposed a different kind of fear—one that emanated from within, an unassailable aura that couldn't be overcome solely with a higher level of mana core.

"I disagree on the matter of Red Scar," Teress finally spoke, her voice slow and filled with reluctant respect.

"I see," Azrail uttered, his voice carrying the heavy weight of authority before he fell into silence. The quiet hung over the meeting like an ominous cloud. The room grew tenser with every passing moment as they all anxiously awaited Azrail's next words.

"Teress," he finally called out. "I'm aware of your past. Your intense thirst for revenge," he said, his voice becoming even colder. "So as a privilege of being one of the seven Thrones, I will grant you permission to pursue this matter."

A gleam of determination flickered in Teress's eyes, but she held back from voicing her gratitude. Azrail's following words immediately turned that determination into a silent chill.

"But make no mistake," Azrail continued, his tone bone-chilling, "no more privileges after this. So ensure that you capture him alive."

With those final words, Azrail departed the meeting as abruptly as he had entered. Yet, even in his absence, the chilling finality of his commands reverberated through their consciousness.

For half a minute, silence reigned. No one dared to speak, their thoughts consumed by the profound implications of their leader's decree. Finally, Darrel coughed to break the tension and draw their attention. "He has left. We must decide the rest on our own."

Outside the room, the Empire continued its daily rhythms, blissfully unaware of the imminent threat lurking within its borders. The strings of fate were tightening, weaving a web of chaos that would determine their future. Who would emerge victorious and who would perish in it's current. Only time would reveal the answers.

****Author's note****

Ah, the legendary Power Stones! Imagine the bliss if i had few—deadlines would dissolve, characters would spring to life, and plots would weave themselves effortlessly. I'd lounge back, coffee in hand, as stories crafted their own brilliance. So, if anyone finds this wondrous gem, do send it my way—I assure you, the tales will practically write themselves!