NIGHT SHADE KEEP-CETRE CITY.

  A young boy stands beside a snow-white horse. He sprinkles grain into his palm; the mare nips at it while his small, gentle fingers stroke her sleek neck. He looks like a child at play, but his eyes are centuries old.

  Boots crunch on gravel.

  “Prince Chille, sir.”

  "Welcome," the prince says.

  “What’s our next move? Vultures are circling the kingdom.”

  Chille laughs—a light sound that never reaches his eyes. “Let them circle. I’m ready.”

  “But my Prince—”

  “I’ve had enough,” Chille says, his voice icing over. “Leave me. I’m busy.”

  The man bows and retreats.

  As he goes, a shadow peels itself from the stone wall.

  Daniel.

  He kneels immediately.

  “Daniel. What’s the verdict?”

  “My Prince… you must vanish.” Daniel’s voice trembles. “Jager has lost patience. He sent two demons for the Chuppah.”

  Chille smiles faintly. “I felt the warning in my blood. Jager mistakes my age for weakness.” His eyes harden. “That will be his final mistake.”

  “You can’t face them head-on,” Daniel insists. “They’re walking genocides. His top mercenary and his cleanest assassin.”

  “Names?”

  “Satan’s Soul… and Antar Joa.”

  Chille runs a hand along the horse’s neck one last time. “I’m not stupid. Intellect alone won’t stop monsters like them. Did anyone see you?”

  “No eyes, sir. Jager believes I am his.”

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  “Good. Ready the horse.” Chille turns away. “I leave now. I’m already ten steps ahead.”

  NEW SAGE-CENTRE CITY.

  The Council Hall is a tomb.

  Cold stone presses the air flat. Candle flames hiss softly, as if afraid to burn too bright.

  The Sneaky Birds stand in a row, faces set like carved masks.

  The feathered hat girl. Machi Kuli stands, the breeze tickling her feather hat, sending a few feathers quivering. She leans closer to Moon Black. “What do you think they’ll say?”

  Moon Black doesn’t blink. Her eyes stay locked on the empty high chairs.

  “Moon Black.”

  She startles, dragged back from somewhere dark. “Sorry. What?”

  “Never mind…”

  The oak doors groan open. A dying sound.

  The Council enters.

  At the head walks the leader—iron-gray hair pulled tight, spine straight, unyielding. A heavy wooden hammer rests in her grasp.

  The hammer slams.

  Crack.

  “Moon Black. Report. Nightshade Keep.”

  “We failed,” Moon Black replies, flat and tight. “An agent appeared. The Chuppah shattered. Smoke and light. A decoy.”

  The woman with the milky eye sneers, knife pausing mid-spin. “The Sneaky Birds are dulling. You were sharper once.”

  Moon Black’s jaw tightens. “It wasn’t incompetence. The Prince plays with traps.”

  The leader ignores the tension. Her gaze shifts to the stranger standing before them. “This one. Who is she?”

  “Our savior,” Daisy says clearly. “She got us out alive.”

  The broad-shouldered figure speaks, voice even. “Name.”

  “Helma Herra,” she says, stepping forward.

  "Tell us who you are."

  “I was a prisoner of the Blue Whales. I fled and took refuge in Nightshade Keep. I saw the Birds fleeing and opened my hideout. Then I learned—” She turns towards Scarface. “—he’s my husband.”

  Silence freezes the hall.

  The leader rests the hammer beneath her palm. “Is this true?”

  “Every word,” he answers.

  The leader nods once. “Helma Herra joins the Sneaky Birds. Objections?”

  None.

  The hammer falls.

  Settled.

  “Moon Black. Your proposal.”

  “We strike again tonight. Iron against iron. No mercy.”

  The thin figure with spectacles exhales softly. “Charging blind—”

  “Fire doesn’t fight fire,” Moon Black cuts in. “Iron bends iron. We prove who’s stronger.”

  The woman with the ruined eye smiles, thin and sharp. “I’m in.”

  The leader lifts a hand.

  The doors burst open.

  Two men. Two women.

  New Sage soldiers.

  “I summoned four reinforcements,” the leader says. “They’ll assist tonight.”

  One adjusts his glasses, smiling faintly. “They're all Level-5 mercenaries, same as mid-tier assassins.” He exhales. “Together… it’s a storm.”

  NIGHT SHADE KEEP–CENTRE CITY.

  A woman in black crouches atop a seven-foot fence near Nightshade Keep. A telescope rests against her eye.

  “What’s taking them so long…”

  Movement.

  The Sneaky Birds emerge from the treeline—numbers doubled by more shadows.

  She turns away—then stops.

  Seven new figures cut through the mist.

  A towering woman carrying a massive machine gun.

  Another with a slab of steel across her back.

  Five men with rifles, advancing in flawless formation.

  Her breath catches.

  The scope trembles.

  “Satan’s Soul…”

  “And Antar Joa.”

  Cold dread settles in her stomach—not fear, but certainty.

  She drops from the fence.

  “It’s going to be a bloodbath tonight.”