Dark Monarch &The Unbound.

The secret society gathered once more in the dimly lit chamber, but something was off. The long mahogany table had three empty seats, their absence a silent statement louder than any spoken word. Their letters had been polite, their reasons vague—unavoidable engagements, urgent business—but the remaining members knew better. Doubt had begun to creep in. If three had the audacity to decline, how many more were silently questioning?

Meanwhile, in his office, Owen was locked in a battle of words with his advisor, Steven Rek.

"This party is reckless," Owen stated flatly, his fingers drumming against his desk. "A blatant show of excess when we should be calculating our next move. Do you want to hand our enemies proof that we're out of touch?"

Steven, standing by the window, gave a dry chuckle. "Out of touch? No, Owen. We are on the verge of looking irrelevant. You don't fight whispers of weakness with silence—you drown them in music, laughter, and an open bar." He turned to face Owen, adjusting his cufflinks. "A grand spectacle reminds people where power truly lies."

Owen exhaled sharply. "Power isn't in chandeliers and champagne, Steven. It's in control. It's in silence that makes people wonder what we're planning next. The more unpredictable we are, the more they fear us."

Steven smirked, stepping forward. "Ah, yes. The 'silent ruler' tactic. Very intimidating. But let me tell you something, Owen. Fear fades. People get used to it. Give them nothing but shadows, and soon they stop looking. But give them a grand event—one where the right hands shake, the right whispers spread, and the right people leave feeling indebted—suddenly, we are the center of everything."

Owen shook his head. "And what happens when they see through it? When they realize we're compensating? We lose more than we gain."

Steven crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Or we remind them why they need us. They need us to throw the parties, to set the stage, to control the room. A party isn't just drinks and dancing—it's a chessboard where every guest is a piece, and we make the first move."

Owen leaned forward, studying his advisor. "You're willing to gamble our standing on a spectacle?"

Steven grinned. "I'm willing to remind the world that we're the ones holding the deck of cards."

A long silence stretched between them. Owen's fingers stopped drumming. Finally, he sighed. "If we do this, it has to be precise. No leaks. No loose ends."

Steven gave a satisfied nod. "Of course. It's not just a party—it's a declaration."

Owen smirked. "Then let's make sure they hear it loud and clear."

The fire flickered lazily in the hearth, casting shifting shadows over the ornate chessboard between them. Owen and Allen sat across from each other, locked in a silent duel of strategy. The room smelled of old books and burning wood, a fitting backdrop for the weight of their conversation.

Owen moved his knight, pinning Allen's queen. "Check."

Allen narrowed his eyes, considering his options. He moved a bishop to defend, but Owen countered immediately. With a final, effortless motion, he slid his queen into place.

"Checkmate."

Allen exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You always play like you've won before the game even starts."

"Because I have." Owen leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "Which is exactly why you should take the Tenth Seat."

Allen rolled his shoulders, sighing. "Owen—"

"I'm serious." Owen's voice was firm, pressing. "You have the intelligence, the foresight, the control. This seat belongs to someone like you." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "The Tenth Seat isn't just a title. It's a force that holds the balance. Without someone like you in it, that balance weakens."

Allen smirked. "You're really pulling the 'for the greater good' argument?"

Owen's jaw tightened. "I swear, Allen, you will take that seat. One way or another."

Allen's smirk deepened. He tilted his head slightly, watching Owen with a look that was almost amused. Then, after a beat of silence, he chuckled softly.

"You're sweating."

Owen blinked. "What?"

Allen leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "You're pushing too hard. That's not like you." His tone was teasing, but his eyes held something sharper. "Which means, deep down, you're afraid you might lose this one."

Owen exhaled, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

Allen gave a lazy shrug. "I prefer the word comfortable."

Owen scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "So that's your final answer?"

Allen tapped a fallen chess piece against the table, rolling it between his fingers. "Owen, power has a way of warping people. I'd rather keep my head where it is." He set the chess piece down with a soft click. "I'm fine right where I am."

Owen studied him for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair with a quiet laugh. "You're a stubborn man, Allen."

"And you're an impatient one." Allen nudged the chessboard. "Another match?"

Owen smirked. "Set it up."

After a leader was chosen as the Supreme Leader, their descendants would inherit their vacant seat among the Twelve Pillars, ensuring the lineage remained within the council. Each new Supreme Leader had the right to select two knights—elite warriors sworn to their service. Additionally, the Supreme Leader would choose two leaders from the Twelve Pillars to serve as their personal knights, reinforcing the balance of power and solidifying loyalty within the hierarchy.

Owen's thoughts were steady, unwavering. One way or another, my son will take his place among the Pillars. It's only a matter of time.

At the same moment, Allen's mind countered, just as firm. You're blind if you think this is certain. In the end, you're the one who will lose.