CHAPTER 77: AN INVITATION TO THE TOP

The holographic image of Forge flickered for a moment, then vanished, leaving the four of them standing in a sudden, heavy silence.

The air, which had been light with their small, strange victory over the haunted corner, was now thick with a new, unwelcome tension.

"So," Jax said, his voice a little too loud, a little too cheerful. "A party."

"The Guild Council wants to throw us a party."

He rubbed his hands together, his manic energy returning in a rush.

"Do I need to wear my nice jumpsuit? The one with fewer scorch marks?"

Jinx just stared at the spot where Forge’s face had been, her expression a mask of pure, unadulterated suspicion.

"It’s not a party, you idiot," she growled, her voice a low, cynical rasp. "It’s an interrogation."

She turned, her electric-blue eyes blazing with a lifetime of hard-earned paranoia.

"This is how it works," she began, her tone that of a seasoned veteran explaining the grim realities of war to a bunch of fresh-faced rookies. "The big Guilds, the ones that have been running this city for decades, they don’t like new players."

"They don’t like variables they can’t control."

She paced the floor, her movements agitated, like a caged wolf.

"This isn’t an invitation. It’s a summons. They’re not going to give us a medal and a fruit basket. They’re going to put us in a room, shine a bright light in our faces, and pick us apart. They want to know who we are, where we came from, and what our price is."

"And if they don’t like the answers," she finished, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper, "they will crush us."

"It’s a trap," she stated, the words a flat, final verdict. "We don’t go."

"I disagree."

The voice was Chloe’s. She stood by her console, her arms crossed, her face a mask of cold, hard logic.

"Jinx’s threat assessment is eighty-seven percent accurate," she conceded, her tone infuriatingly calm. "It is, in all probability, a trap."

"However," she added, her gray eyes locking onto Jinx’s, "refusing the summons is not a viable strategic option."

"To refuse the council," she explained, as if lecturing a class of particularly slow students, "is to declare ourselves a hostile entity. It would give The Vanguard, and any other Guild that sees us as a threat, the political justification they need to openly move against us."

"We would not just be fugitives from the DGC. We would be at war with the entire Hunter community."

"We cannot win that war," she finished, her logic a cold, inescapable cage.

"So we walk into the trap?" Jinx shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Great plan, Boss Lady. Flawless. No notes."

"We do not walk into the trap," Chloe corrected her, her patience clearly wearing thin. "We walk into the room, we identify the parameters of the trap, and we use their own political machinations against them."

"This is not a fight," she stated. "It is a negotiation. An opportunity to establish ourselves as a legitimate, if unconventional, power."

"It is," she concluded, with a finality that left no room for argument, "a necessary tactical step."

Jax, who had been listening to their back-and-forth with the rapt attention of someone watching a particularly intense tennis match, finally chimed in.

"So, what you’re saying is," he said, a slow, dawning grin spreading across his face, "is that this isn’t a party. It’s a political party."

"Even better!" he declared. "I’ll bring my ’formal’ grenades. The ones that release glitter."

Jinx just groaned and buried her face in her hands.

They all turned to Michael.

He had been quiet through the whole debate, just listening, feeling the weight of their decision settle on his shoulders.

He was the reason for all of this.

He was the Dragon Tamer.

He was the face of Thanatos.

The asset.

He thought about his father’s cryptic message. Find the ’Alkahest’.

He thought about his mother’s final words. Trust the family you find along the way.

He looked at Jinx, at her fierce, protective paranoia.

He looked at Jax, at his chaotic, unwavering loyalty.

He looked at Chloe, at her cold, brilliant, and surprisingly steady logic.

This was his family.

And they were all looking at him.

He felt the cold, ancient authority of the Umbraxis echo stir in the back of his mind. It offered him a solution. Go. Dominate them. Make them kneel.

He shoved it down, the mental effort a physical strain.

"We go," he said, his voice quiet, but firm.

Jinx looked up, a protest already forming on her lips.

"We don’t have a choice," Michael continued, his gaze meeting hers. "Chloe’s right. Hiding in the shadows isn’t an option anymore. We made too much noise."

He took a deep breath, the words of a leader feeling strange and heavy on his tongue.

"We walk into the lion’s den," he said, a faint, grim smile on his face. "We show them our teeth. And we make damn sure they know we’re not on the menu."

The decision was made.

The argument was over.

A new, tense, and deeply unsettling quiet fell over the room.

Chloe immediately turned to her console, her fingers flying across the keyboard, pulling up detailed political dossiers on every major Guild leader in the city.

Jinx, with a sigh of profound, cynical resignation, disappeared into the armory, the sound of her methodically checking and re-checking her gear a grim, rhythmic counterpoint to Chloe’s typing.

Jax, humming a cheerful, off-key tune, went to his workshop to polish his glitter grenades.

Michael was left alone in the center of the room.

He walked over to a large, grimy pane of glass that served as a makeshift window, looking out at the gray, indifferent city.

He saw his own reflection staring back at him.

A tired, scared kid, wearing a legend that was two sizes too big for him.

He felt the crushing weight of their expectations.

He felt the cold, patient hunger of the god that now lived in his soul.

He closed his eyes.

Okay, team, his inner monologue drawled, his sarcasm the last, tattered remnant of the boy he used to be.

Let’s go see the wizards.