Chapter Text
BEFORE THE PANTHEON’S DESCENDANTS FOUND EACH OTHER
“Let me go!”
The scream tore through the chamber and struck the stone walls hard enough to come back distorted, thinner, more desperate, as though even the echoes were trying to escape.
“The debt has been paid! I told you—I’ve paid everything!”
“Please!”
“My family needs me!”
“Somebody! Someone, please—help!”
Three people were dragged across the cold stone floor, their hands bound behind their backs, their clothes torn from the struggle. Their feet scraped uselessly against the ground as the figures carrying them moved forward without hesitation.
No one came to help.
No one ever did.
The chamber was enormous, though the darkness made it difficult to see where its walls ended. Ancient pillars rose into a ceiling swallowed by shadow, their surfaces carved with spiraling roots that seemed to twist upward forever. Along every wall, iron sconces held trembling flames. The torches were the only source of light, and even they seemed reluctant to illuminate the place completely.
The people surrounding the captives wore identical crimson robes.
Deep red fabric concealed their bodies from throat to ankle, the long sleeves covering their hands. At the center of every robe, directly over the heart, was the same symbol embroidered in metallic thread.
A single eye.
Wide.
Unblinking.
Watching.
The captives twisted desperately in the grip of their captors.
“Please!”
One of the robed figures shoved them forward.
The screaming stopped only when the chanting began.
“THE ROT AT THE ROOT, PLEASE ACCEPT OUR SACRIFICE.”
The voices were low at first.
Then louder.
“LET THE EYE GRANT US SIGHT.”
A pause.
“SO THE SCARLET ORDER MAY BECOME DIVINE.”
The words rolled through the chamber.
Again.
“THE ROT AT THE ROOT, PLEASE ACCEPT OUR SACRIFICE.”
“LET THE EYE GRANT US SIGHT.”
“SO THE SCARLET ORDER MAY BECOME DIVINE.”
Again.
And again.
The third repetition had barely left their mouths when the ground moved.
Not trembled.
Moved.
Stone groaned beneath their feet as something immense shifted beneath the temple. Dust rained from the ceiling. Several torches went out at once, plunging half the chamber into darkness.
The captives began screaming again.
“What is happening?”
“Please—please, don't—”
A sound rose from somewhere beneath them.
A roar.
It was too deep to belong to any living creature.
The chamber shook violently.
Then the abyss opened.
It had always been there, a great circular wound in the center of the temple, concealed beneath the ritual floor. Now its darkness seemed to deepen until it became something more than an absence of light.
Something was looking back.
An eye opened beneath them.
It was enormous.
Red.
Its surface stretched across the darkness like a living moon buried beneath the earth, its pupil narrowing as it focused upon the people gathered above.
For one terrible instant, nobody moved.
Even the Scarlet Order fell silent.
The captives understood before anyone explained.
“No…”
One of them began sobbing.
“No, please.”
The first was thrown into the abyss.
The second followed.
The third fought so violently that two robed figures struggled to hold them, but eventually they too disappeared into the darkness.
Their screams fell with them.
And then—
nothing.
No impact.
No final cry.
Only silence.
Far below, something consumed them.
Flesh became dust.
Bones became fragments.
Fragments became nothing.
Even the memory of their names seemed to vanish from the world above.
The Eye closed.
The temple shuddered.
A deep vibration rolled through the chamber, almost resembling satisfaction.
Several members of the Order lowered their heads.
Others smiled.
Some prayed.
Then the darkness moved. It crawled upward. Not like a creature climbing.
Like liquid flowing against gravity.
A black-red substance seeped from the abyss, spilling over its edge and crawling across the stone floor. It gathered around itself, rising slowly, twisting into the shape of a human body.
A torso.
Arms.
A head.
A robe.
Red fabric formed around the figure as though the darkness itself had learned how to imitate the Scarlet Order.
It had no discernible face.
Only eyes.
Too many.
They opened across its body before disappearing again beneath the fabric. The temperature in the chamber dropped. The figure lifted its head.
When it spoke, the sound did not come from one throat.
It came from thousands.
Men.
Women.
Children.
The dead.
The living.
Voices layered over voices until the chamber itself seemed to speak.
“̱̅𝑊̟̐𝐸̮̑ 𝐻̟́𝐴̹̀𝑉̪̫𝐸̹͗ 𝐷̭͗𝐸̞̬𝑇̭̑𝐸̳̐𝐶̺̄𝑇̹̀𝐸̳̬𝐷̙̿ 𝑇̬̪𝐻̀͘𝐸̮͗𝐼̭̍𝑅̜̎ 𝐴̟̐𝑊̬͒𝐴̗͗𝐾̝͒𝐸̤̆𝑁̤̆𝐼̭̐𝑁̥̆𝐺̘̅ 𝐹̯̰𝑂̛̭𝑅̮̫ 𝑌̀̍𝐸̛̘𝐴̞̆𝑅̬̑𝑆̤͘.̮͒”̛͗
Several members of the Order stiffened.
“̯̘𝑊̯͒𝐸̘̗ 𝐻̘̦𝐴̱́𝑉̙̬𝐸̥̕ 𝐻͒̑𝑈̙̫𝑁͗͗𝑇̳͘𝐸̘̞𝐷̠̅ 𝑇̲̫𝐻̜̟𝐸̅̀𝐼̲͘𝑅̛̭ 𝐵̯̦𝐿̯̆𝑂̜̝𝑂̤̬𝐷̖́.̰́”̠̪
The figure took one slow step forward.
“̬̐𝑊̬͒𝐸̪̍ 𝐻̝͒𝐴̖̩𝑉̺̝𝐸̳̺ 𝐾̥̥𝐼̛̱𝐿̭̐𝐿̗̎𝐸̖̎𝐷̜̕ 𝑀̝̿𝐴̬͒𝑁̞̦𝑌̺́ 𝐷̬̍𝐸̐͘𝑆̜͘𝐶̩̎𝐸̰̖𝑁̫̠𝐷̬̝𝐴̥͗𝑁̀͒𝑇̐̀𝑆̱̕ 𝑂̛̛𝐹̛̖ 𝑇̹̜𝐻̆̆𝐸̱̀ 𝑃̬̳𝐴̮̬𝑁̍̿𝑇̿̑𝐻̬̗𝐸̖̐𝑂̘̲𝑁̄͗.̦͗”̯̟
Another step.
“̮̑𝑊̪̩𝐸̫͘ 𝐻̺̯𝐴̟̐𝑉́͒𝐸̞̎ 𝐸̿̅𝑅̛̅𝐴̛̱𝑆̫͒𝐸̫̮𝐷̯̬ 𝑀̘̮𝑂̭̩𝑆̤̿𝑇̠̱ 𝑂̖̿𝐹̄̕ 𝑇̦̅𝐻̫̦𝐸̠͒𝐼̺͒𝑅̞̬ 𝑇̭̿𝑅̿̍𝐼̖̬𝐵̲̍𝐸̖͘𝑆̦͗.̑̕”̳̐
The words struck harder than the shaking ground.
“̙̆𝐴̮̕𝑁̥̅𝐷̜̑ 𝑌̲̰𝐸̞̜𝑇̩̎…̅̿”̯̳
The many voices became quieter.
More dangerous.
“̩̘𝑌̲̫𝑂̫̱𝑈̟̞ 𝐻̠̺𝐴̱̅𝑉̩̲𝐸̠͒ 𝐹̬̍𝐴̗͗𝐼͒̆𝐿̦̆𝐸̲̆𝐷̪̤ 𝑇̺̆𝑂̩̟ 𝐹̲͗𝐼̯͒𝑁̥̑𝐷̗̐ 𝑇̱̠𝐻̙̪𝐸̲̄𝑀̀̑.̬̖”̛̰
Nobody answered.
The silence became suffocating.
The Scarlet Hallow stood at the front of the chamber, their faces hidden beneath their hoods. Behind them, representatives of the Order's various branches remained motionless. The Venomblades and Ghostline stayed silent.
The Mistborne stood closest.
The trackers.
The watchers.
The ones whose entire purpose was to find what others could not.
The figure turned toward them.
Its eyes opened.
“̫̥̤̲͗̑𝐌̞̭̍̀̎̕𝐈̩̖̰̘́̍𝐒̛̦̤̭̜́𝐓̭̺̪̀̎̄𝐁̟̯̫̘̎͘𝐎̛̟̜̥̮̍𝐑̰̩̭̄̿̅𝐍̟̀̐̆̕͘𝐄̯̟̲͒̀̑.̘̬̜̝͒͘”̛̘̭̪̅̕
The representative's breath caught.
“̛̟̯̩̑͗𝐖̮̤̎̄͒̑𝐇̜̤̥̀̍̕𝐀̛̲̯̄̄̅𝐓̭̱̱̙̎̄ 𝐀̤̱̱̙̍̑𝐍̠̥̑̍̎̕𝐒̛̮̰̲̰̆𝐖̞̹̠̤̤̺𝐄̭̰̭̪̜̝𝐑̜̮̖̤̺͗ 𝐃̹̝̲͒̑̿𝐎̺̦̥̙̤̎ 𝐘̛̠̥̤́͘𝐎̬̜̫̝̄͗𝐔̤̙̦̞̀͒ 𝐇̜̯̥̄̅̿𝐀̠̤̯̮̟̿𝐕̖̲̤̗̜̱𝐄̬̤̤̙̑̿ 𝐅̬̠̙̞̝̝𝐎̭̬̖̲̀̕𝐑̲̺̩̘̑͗ 𝐌̩̙̟̲̀̅𝐄̰̬̰̖̄͘?̛̲̎̅̍͗”̖̗̟̱̀͒
For a moment, he could not speak.
He had spent years telling himself that the Twelve were scattered beyond recovery. That the bloodlines had diluted. That the ancient powers were fading.
He had believed that if they simply waited long enough, the Pantheon would become nothing more than a story.
Now he understood the terrible flaw in that belief.
They had not disappeared.
They had been hiding.
“We have none, Scarlet Divine,” he finally said.
His voice was barely steady.
“We have failed you.”
The figure stared at him.
“We have sinned against you.”
His knees weakened.
“We have failed to detect them for years.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the chamber shook again.
“̪̮̭̀͗̕𝐘̛̝̥̹̙́𝐄̜̮̪̮͗̄𝐀̟̬̲̲̎̿𝐑̛̪̳̞̀̕𝐒̪̺̰̆̅͗?̞̘̩͗̑͘”̞̜̹̗̍̍
The single word became thunder.
The torches flickered violently.
“̙̙̟͗͒̕𝐓̗̝̺̦̄̐𝐇̗̳̘̿̄̕𝐄̗̟̟̳̍́ 𝐃̩̱̟̱̹̍𝐄̟̖̟̺̤̆𝐋̩̩̭̑̄̅𝐀̤̦̺̖̱́𝐘̬̤̮̝̍͘ 𝐘̘̦̝̆̆͗𝐎̦̝̮̬̎̍𝐔̙̪̘̆́͘ 𝐂̛̗̞̘̄̄𝐀̳̦̄̅͒͗𝐔̬̳̅̅͘̕𝐒̙̗̝̍͘͘𝐄̠̤̩̪̐͒𝐃̛̫̞̑̅͘ 𝐇̜̦̘̮̮̿𝐀̞̬̩̑͗͘𝐒̗̮́̑̅͘ 𝐀̪̯̟̖̿͘𝐋̘͒̍̎̑̕𝐋̩̪̱̅̆̆𝐎̖̟̅̅̎̿𝐖̘̦̫̩̆̍𝐄̛̫̲̱͒́𝐃̮̥̳̯̐͘ 𝐓̩̹̫̩̑̕𝐇̱̖̳̥̫͒𝐄̩̱̰̍͘̕𝐈̮̝̘̦̅̕𝐑̟̤̮̙̆͗ 𝐃̩̺̞̎̅̎𝐄̞̪̪̖̐̄𝐒̝̗̩̅́̕𝐂̩̟̤͗̐̕𝐄̬̗̪̯̙́𝐍̝̰̜̠̎͘𝐃̝̘̱̙̄́𝐀̳̰̬̭̭̍𝐍̫̗̟̎̀̎𝐓̠̝̘̩̀̑𝐒̜̱̬̜̭̿ 𝐓̙̖̖̑͗̎𝐎̛̘̩͒̎̆ 𝐆̰̞̰̆̎͘𝐑̲̮̎͗̀̐𝐎̫̝̮̗̎̕𝐖̫̗̯͒́͘.̳̟̗̍̄̕”̥̦̭̞̄͒
The Mistborne representative lowered his head.
“̰̝̪̗̎̆𝐓̯̳̬̞̅̎𝐇̟̰̞̰̭̑𝐄̞̭̮̰̆͗𝐘̠̯̀̀́̄ 𝐀̛̞̅̍̕͘𝐑̳̯̭̍́͘𝐄̩̹̰̰̫̝ 𝐍̛̳̱̝̜͒𝐎̬̮̖̍͒͗ 𝐋̝̜̅̀͗͘𝐎̜̳̟̞͒̍𝐍̯̥̦̘̱̅𝐆̱̦̹̄̑͘𝐄̬̰̥̹̺̐𝐑̭̭̟̪͗̍ 𝐂̲̝̱͒́̕𝐇̝̪̰̯̬̝𝐈̝̪̮̥̯̕𝐋̛̥̠̳̭̅𝐃̟̰̙̟̘̺𝐑̖̥̤̗̑̎𝐄̛̜̝̑̐͒𝐍̬̘̪̗̎̿.̦̥̱̆͗̿”̛̛́̎͗́
The voice reverberated through the temple.
“̪̖̙̰̭̀𝐓̩̞̘̟͒͘𝐇̛̜̞̰̲̖𝐄̛̘̲̦̆͗𝐘̜̦̗̰̆̀ 𝐀̜̱̍̎͘̕𝐑̰̜̮̦̪̍𝐄̛̛̱̩̐̑ 𝐅̘̙̹̿͘̕𝐔̹̭̗̜̆̐𝐋̤̦̠̿͒̆𝐋̰̤̦̥̙͒𝐘̠̘̗̩͒̎ 𝐆̳̫̝̘̞̕𝐑̛̗̦̯̠̘𝐎̟̯̩̪̪̑𝐖̫̲̯̳̑̆𝐍̗̮̯̗̄̎.̰̺̆̄̐̐”̘̫̗̮̄̍
That was the sentence that frightened them.
Not because the Scarlet Divine was angry.
Because it was right.
The descendants had survived. They had grown into adults. They had built lives.
Families.
Careers.
Friendships.
They had become human enough to forget why they had once been hunted.
And that made them dangerous.
“̯̘̯̬̱̪𝐈̹̮̀̀͒͘𝐅̜̱̖͗̿̕ 𝐓̝̖̙̫̤̀𝐇̩̘̤̀͗̕𝐄̙̭̜̮̿̐𝐘̬̯̗̯̑̀ 𝐑̛̖̪̮̑́𝐄̖̜̖̮̮͒𝐔̭̱̮̆̕͘𝐍̲̠̲̺́̿𝐈̯̗̦̟̘̖𝐓̲̱̘̪̝̿𝐄̗̠̦̩̜͘…̠̟̗̠̯̆”̟̲̱̭̩͒
The Eye appeared again behind the figure. The enormous red pupil opened in the darkness.
“̞̬̜̩̙̘…̜̞̤̑̆̿𝐓̜̱̙̹̎̎𝐇̫̰̹̐̎̄𝐄̙̜͗͒͗͒ 𝐓̠̑̐͒̎̿𝐑̗̰̐́̐͗𝐄̖̰̅́̎͗𝐄̲̹̙̱̥̖ 𝐎̗̤̝̤̿̑𝐅̤̝̜̝̞̄ 𝐋̭̑̀̆̕̕𝐈̗̝̱̦̑͒𝐅̺̭̪̝̞̰𝐄̳̭̭̺̟̆ 𝐒̝̺̗̳̱̝𝐇̝̲̫̄́̕𝐀̖̜̘̬̆̿𝐋̺̺̅̆͗̍𝐋̪̩̹̪̯͗ 𝐇̹̟̰̩́̄𝐄̳̟̠̭͒̆𝐀̭̦̤̞͗͘𝐋̟̪̳̍̕͘.̳̰̗̰̠̍”̤̭̫͒̆͒
A murmur passed through the chamber.
The members of the Scarlet Hallow exchanged uneasy glances beneath their hoods.
“If the Tree heals…”
One of them whispered.
“Our influence…”
Another swallowed.
“Our holdings…”
A third looked genuinely frightened.
“The borders between worlds could collapse.”
Someone else spoke before they could stop themselves.
“Does that mean we lose everything?”
The chamber went still.
“My money,” another whispered. “You mean we could lose all of it?”
“Our influence would become meaningless.”
“Our companies…”
“Our governments…”
“Our power…”
For all their robes and rituals, their sacred oaths and centuries of doctrine, fear had stripped them down to something painfully human.
They were not afraid of death. They were afraid of becoming powerless. They had spent generations building an empire around the belief that the Twelve would never return. Now the possibility of their reunion threatened everything.
“What should we do?”
“The Mistborne cannot even find them.”
“We should move the laboratories.”
“No. If we move now, we risk exposing ourselves.”
“Then kill every awakened descendant.”
“We don't know where they are!”
“Then find them!”
The voices rose.
Panic began spreading through the chamber.
Then one voice cut through all of them.
“My dear brothers and sisters of the Scarlet Order…”
The speaker emerged from the Hallow Circle.
Unlike the others, his voice remained calm.
Almost reassuring.
“We shall find them.”
The room slowly quieted.
The Mistborne representative looked toward him. “How?”
The Hallow representative stepped closer to the edge of the abyss.
He stared into the darkness.
“The Pantheon's descendants may have forgotten who they are,” he said, “but their blood has not.”
He looked toward the others.
“They may hide among millions of humans. They may change their names, occupations, languages, and homes. They may cross oceans and disappear into cities where nobody knows their history.”
His eyes narrowed.
“But they cannot hide from themselves.”
He lifted one hand.
“The descendants will always be drawn toward what feels familiar.”
The Mistborne representative frowned. “Familiar?”
“Their elements.”
The Hallow representative smiled faintly.
“Where would the descendant of Water feel safest?”
No one answered.
“The sea.”
He continued.
“Where would Earth settle?”
“The mountains,” someone murmured.
“Where would Wind remain?”
“Somewhere open.”
“And Frost?”
“A cold place.”
“Exactly.”
His voice became almost gentle.
“You are searching the entire world as though the descendants are trying to hide from us.” He shook his head. “They aren't. They are simply living where they feel safe.”
The Mistborne representative stared at him. For the first time, understanding began to form. The Hallow representative turned toward the great Eye.
“They don't know they are choosing their hiding places.”
He smiled.
“But their blood does.”
Silence.
The Eye remained open behind him.
Watching.
Waiting.
“Brother of Mistborne,” he said, turning back toward the tracker, “you don't need to search the world.”
He stepped closer.
“Narrow it down.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Find the cities where their elements belong.”
The Mistborne representative stared at him for several seconds. Then slowly—he understood. The world suddenly seemed much smaller.
“We can trace environmental anomalies.”
“Precisely.”
“Weather patterns.”
“Precisely.”
“Unexplained electromagnetic activity.”
“Yes.”
“Water disturbances. Temperature drops. Spatial distortions.”
The Hallow representative's smile widened. “Now you're thinking.”
The Mistborne representative straightened.
Hope and terror battled inside his chest.
Hope, because they finally had a method.
Terror, because if the method worked…
they would find them.
All of them.
The descendants who had survived generations of slaughter. The descendants whose blood had remained hidden. The descendants who were beginning to awaken.
Somewhere across the world, twelve ordinary people were living ordinary lives.
They did not know one another. They did not know why certain places felt like home. They did not know why their bodies reacted strangely to storms, oceans, mountains, fire, light, wind, frost, time, or space. They did not know why old stories sometimes felt less like stories and more like memories. They did not know that something ancient had begun searching for them.
And they certainly did not know that the moment they found one another—
the world itself might begin to heal.
Behind the Scarlet Order, the Eye slowly closed.
But its final words remained suspended in the darkness.
“̪̰̝̖̯̍F̞̟̥̅̀̎Ī̟̪̦̲̦Ǹ̛̗̰́͘D̗̘̬̹̑̅ Ṯ̰̠̗͗͒H̖̩̦̞̩̪Ĕ̜̎̐̄̆M̲̝̥̲̐̕.̙̦̫̝̐͒”̱̫̮̹̟̐
A pause.
“̯̙̰̤͘͘B̞̠̳̳͒̕E̛̛̜̖͒̑F̩̪̖̐̑̐O̹̠̳͒̎̍Ṟ̱̝̝̆̿E̳̯̩̍̄̆ T̙̩̲̳̭̑H̙̺̹̜̬̎Ȇ̫̲̥̝̎Y̮̭̥͒́͗ F̛̰̦̳̅͗I̲̮̹̥̳̗Ǹ̯̰̜̎̄D̞̖̪̱̘̮ È̤̳̳̞̟A̖̠̦̅̍̎C̖̘̮̹̰̅H̺̮̞̜̟̍ O̙̭̯̅̎̕T̺̖̗̞̱̰H̺̜̺̝̝͘Ḙ̞̯̝̬̆R̘̦̜̱̄̅.̙̳̦̠̪̑”̰̯̙̤̍̆
The torches went out.
And somewhere far beyond the temple, twelve dormant bloodlines stirred.