The vast hall within the towering structure known simply as the Mushroom Tower echoed with soft murmurs and the occasional creak of ancient stone. Though it had never been given a proper name, the towering, spiraled architecture had made the nickname inevitable. A large, circular table stood at its heart, surrounded by figures who, despite the weight of history on their shoulders, sat with a strange blend of myth and humanity—people who had shaped eras, yet still bore the flaws and quirks that kept them grounded.

  Krungus stood near the edge of the table, arms crossed, his red-lensed glasses catching the light from floating lanterns overhead. His oversized white wizard hat drooped slightly to one side as he scanned the room, his usual eccentricity tempered by the gravity of the moment.

  Around the table sat the recovered members of The Number, each with their own distinct presence: Utopianna, tall and radiant in her floral robes, her freckled face calm but focused; Bahumbus, who absentmindedly tinkered with a small, clockwork insect crawling across the table; B'doom, the towering pachyrin druid, his heavy form hunched slightly as he gently traced the grain of the wooden table with a thick, gray finger, his deep-set eyes thoughtful beneath his tusked brow.

  The Paladins sat across from them, led by Brenna, whose armor still bore the scratches of recent battles. She sat upright, her expression steady, though her eyes flicked occasionally to Krungus, clearly waiting for the reason they’d been summoned. Beside her sat Griddle, his stocky frame tense as he maintained an overly rigid posture, his heavy gauntleted hands resting flat on the table, always ready to enforce the law with perhaps too much enthusiasm. On Brenna’s other side lounged Rent, his armor slightly scuffed but his demeanor relaxed, a wide grin on his face as he idly carved a small symbol into the wooden tabletop with the tip of his dagger, clearly still reveling in the novelty of his paladin strength while ignoring Brenna’s subtle glances of disapproval. The trio embodied different facets of the order—Brenna’s leadership, Griddle’s strict discipline, and Rent’s exuberant energy—creating a balance that, somehow, worked.

  Eugene sat near the end of the table, next to Qlaark, who twirled a feather between his fingers, his wings twitching slightly as he studied the old wizards. Cozimia’s lantern sat prominently on the table itself, its soft glow casting delicate patterns across the wood. Though contained within the lantern, Cozimia’s presence was palpable—her soft, honeyed voice occasionally chiming in, and the subtle flicker of light within the lantern shifting with her emotions. She was fully engaged in the meeting, her glow a warm, constant reminder of her watchful presence.

  Krungus cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the quiet. “Right, right. We’re all here. Well, mostly.”

  He gestured toward Utopianna with a sweeping motion of his hand. “I’ve asked Utopianna to lead this meeting. I know, I know—‘Oh sure, Krungus, you drag us all here and then hand the baton off? Classic.’” He waved his fingers dismissively. “There’s a reason. And I’m pretty sure most of you have figured it out by now.”

  Bahumbus didn’t even look up from the clockwork insect he was fiddling with. “Yeah, because if you led it, we’d be here ‘til next century and still wouldn’t know what the hell we were supposed to do.”

  A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Krungus huffed, pushing his red-lensed glasses higher up his nose. “It’s called building suspense, Bahumbus.”

  “Sure,” Bahumbus muttered, tightening a screw. “Or maybe it’s just you rambling again. Hard to tell sometimes.”

  Utopianna smiled gently, rising from her seat with a natural ease that filled the room. Her floral-print robes caught the soft lantern light, casting faint patterns on the stone floor. There was an undeniable gravity to her presence—not forceful, but binding. Her calm strength invited trust, weaving the room together without needing to demand it. Without her, this assembly would have frayed and unraveled before it ever began.

  “Oh, Krungus does love to spin a tale ‘til it tangles itself, doesn’t he?” Utopianna said with a teasing warmth, her words soft but sharp enough to draw a ripple of chuckles from the group. Her smile was wide but knowing, the kind that smoothed egos even as it pricked them. Even Krungus smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, conceding the point without saying a word.

  She placed her hands on the table, fingers splayed wide, her touch deliberate and grounding. “Chaos scatters like windblown seeds—but clarity? That’s what lets things grow. And we, my friends, are in desperate need of roots.” She let the thought hang for a breath before continuing. “The stakes have never stood taller, and the soil beneath us has grown thin. Yet here we are, the pieces coming back together, a garden waiting to bloom—if we’re careful with the tending.”

  Her words didn’t just cut through the tension—they softened it, smoothing the jagged edges that frayed the fragile alliances around the table. She was the thread that wove the mismatched cloth into something whole—not through force, but through a quiet, binding grace.

  Her gaze drifted, warm but unyielding, across the room—from Brenna and the Paladins, solid and steadfast, to Eugene and Qlaark, the newer branches on an old, sprawling tree. “We are not the same Number we once were. The City? It’s a wilder, thornier garden now—overgrown, tangled, but still alive. And we? We’re still here, roots deep in fractured soil. The path ahead isn’t clear, but the choice is simple: let it wither... or help it grow.”

  Qlaark leaned forward, his feathers rustling. “You mean resist the powers that be? Tear down the walls that are choking this place?”

  Utopianna tilted her head thoughtfully. “I mean finding a way for all of us to exist without tearing each other apart.”

  Krungus coughed loudly, breaking the moment. “See? Told you she was the right one to lead this.”

  Brenna spoke next, her voice firm. “And what exactly are we deciding here, Utopianna? Krungus called us, but I’m guessing there’s more to this than a status update.”

  Utopianna nodded. “We’re here to decide what to do about the Concrete Tower, the Mushroom Tower, and the growing tension in the City. The choices we make now will either unite these factions... or split them apart for good.”

  She didn’t need to raise her voice—there was a soft conviction in her tone that carried weight all on its own. It wasn’t that she commanded the room—it was that the room wanted to follow her. Even Krungus, with all his eccentricities, deferred to her wisdom, just as the others did. She was the unspoken center around which this fragile alliance revolved.

  The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her words pressing down on everyone.

  Eugene shifted in his seat, feeling the gravity of it all. So this is what it feels like to sit at the big table, he thought, glancing at Cozimia’s softly glowing lantern. He wasn’t sure if he belonged here—but here he was.

  Utopianna’s voice cut through the silence. “Let’s get started.”

  Before anyone could speak, Krungus cleared his throat again, louder this time. “Right, before we dive into the towers and politics, we gotta talk about the big problem—the City’s government. It’s a twisted mess of councils, guilds, and whatever self-important mages have clawed their way into power.” He tapped the table with a long, gnarled finger. “We need someone on the inside—someone who can actually navigate that storm. And before anyone interrupts, there’s only one person here who can do it.”

  He gestured broadly at Utopianna. “It’s you. You’ve always been the one who holds us together. You’ve got the influence, the charisma, the—”

  Utopianna cut him off with a soft shake of her head. “No, Krungus. That’s not my place.”

  Krungus blinked, genuinely surprised. “What do you mean? You’re the glue in this madhouse. If anyone can—”

  She raised a hand, silencing him gently. “I bind this group together, yes. But the City’s politics? It needs someone who can learn, adapt, and who doesn’t carry nine-thousand-year-old grudges against half the council.” Her eyes flicked meaningfully at Krungus.

  There was a pause before she turned her gaze toward Eugene.

  “Eugene should be the one.”

  The table collectively shifted—some in shock, some in curiosity. Eugene froze mid-thought, his mouth slightly open. “Me?”

  Before Utopianna could speak, Cozimia’s lantern pulsed with a warm, steady glow. Her voice, honeyed and calm, filled the room. “Now hold on, sugar. I think we’re overlookin’ someone who’s been dancin’ ‘round these politics longer than most of us care to admit.”

  The room quieted as all eyes turned to the lantern.

  Cozimia’s glow brightened as she continued, “Qlaark’s been flyin’ through the undercurrents of this city for years. He knows how to work a crowd, bend an ear, and stir up a little mischief without anyone ever knowin’. That’s the kind of subtle touch we need on the inside.”

  Qlaark straightened, clearly caught off guard. “Me?”

  “Why not?” Cozimia replied smoothly. “You know the streets, the whispers, the folks who don’t sit at fancy tables like this. And you’re not afraid of stirrin’ the pot when it needs stirrin’.”

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  Krungus let out a thoughtful grunt. “She’s got a point. The City’s government’s a twisted knot, and sometimes it takes someone who already knows how to pull the strings.”

  Utopianna smiled softly. “Cozimia’s right. You’re already part of the system that flows beneath the surface, Qlaark. You don’t need to break into the halls of power—you’re already inside them, in your own way.”

  Qlaark hesitated, then gave a sly grin. “Well, guess it wouldn’t be the first time I slipped into places I wasn’t supposed to be.”

  Cozimia’s lantern pulsed with satisfaction. “That’s the spirit, sugar.”

  Krungus grumbled, though there was no real bite to it. “Well, he’s got a knack for surprising people. Guess that’s exactly what we need right now.”

  “Exactly,” Utopianna replied. “He’s unentangled. That makes him the perfect candidate to learn how it all fits together. Plus, he won’t be ignored. People underestimate new players—until they realize they shouldn’t.”

  Qlaark leaned back in his seat, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Well... I guess I could give it a shot.”

  Cozimia’s lantern flickered warmly beside him. “You’ve got more sense than you think, sugar. You’ll do just fine.”

  Krungus still looked skeptical, but he didn’t argue. “Fine. But if he screws this up, I’m blaming you, Utopianna.”

  She smiled, patient and kind. “That’s fair. But before you start flexin’ those wings, Qlaark, your first job is simple—learn everything you can about the City’s government. We need to know who holds the real power, not just the ones who smile for the crowd. It’s a tangle of councils, guilds, and backdoor deals, and right now, we’re flying blind. Find the roots, not just the branches.”

  She let the room settle, the conversation still fresh and unresolved, before turning to Rent, who was already leaning forward in his seat, eager to jump in. “Now, before we even get deep into this meeting, Rent’s been working on something he thinks deserves our attention.”

  Rent perked up instantly, his grin wide. “Names. For the towers. I mean, come on—‘Mushroom Tower’ and ‘Concrete Tower’? We can do better.”

  A few chuckles rose from the table, but Utopianna held her gentle smile. “He’s submitted some ideas, and he’d like the group’s blessing. And honestly? I think he’s right. Names carry meaning. They shape how people see these places—and how they’ll remember them.”

  Rent tapped his dagger on the table with enthusiasm. “Exactly. These towers are more than stone and magic now. They’re part of this City’s story. Might as well give them names that say something.”

  Utopianna gestured to the table. “So, let’s hear them. And if anyone’s got better ideas, now’s the time.”

  Rent leaned forward, his grin growing wider. “Alright, so hear me out. For the Mushroom Tower, I’m thinking we call it The Spire of Spores. I mean, it still tips its hat to the whole mushroom thing, but it’s got a bit more... life to it, y’know? Spores spread, they grow, they’re sneaky—but strong.”

  He twirled his dagger thoughtfully before continuing. “And for the Concrete Tower—how about The Veiled Pinnacle? It’s hidden from most folks, yeah? But still this massive, towering thing that’s got power behind it. Makes it sound... important, but mysterious.”

  Griddle let out a gruff snort. “Or we could call it ‘The Big Ugly Tower’ and be done with it.”

  Rent didn’t miss a beat. “You’re no fun, Griddle.”

  Utopianna’s smile widened just slightly. “The Spire of Sporess and The Veiled Pinnacle... there’s weight in those names. They speak to what these towers represent, not just what they look like.”

  Krungus scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Huh. ‘Veiled Pinnacle.’ Not bad. Has a certain... oomph to it.”

  Brenna nodded. “I like them. Makes it feel like we’re claiming them properly.”

  Utopianna looked around the table. “Any objections?”

  When the room stayed silent, she nodded. “Then it’s settled. The Spire of Spores and The Veiled Pinnacle.”

  Rent practically beamed, clearly pleased with himself. “Told you we could do better.”

  The hum of conversation in the Mushroom Tower’s great hall softened as B’doom slowly rose from his seat. The towering pachyrin druid moved with a deliberate calm, the weight of his years evident in every motion. The wooden table creaked gently as he leaned forward, resting a thick, gray hand against its surface.

  His deep voice rumbled through the chamber. “The Paladins should stay here.”

  A murmur spread through the group, but Brenna didn’t look surprised. She sat straighter in her chair, her brows lifting as B’doom continued.

  “This tower—the Spire of Spores—it’s already known. People come here. They see the Paladins. They trust them.” His tusks gleamed under the lantern light as he spoke. “And more want to join. I overheard you talkin’. There’s been a growing number of folks asking to take up the mantle.”

  Rent grinned, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve been turning ‘em away for weeks. Didn’t have the space or the structure for more.”

  B’doom rumbled a low chuckle. “Then now’s the time to grow. Strengthen your roots. Expand your ranks.”

  Griddle bristled slightly. “More people means more chances for rule-breakers.”

  B’doom didn’t flinch. “Or more hands to help protect the City. Depends on how you lead.”

  A beat of silence passed before Brenna nodded. “He’s right. We can’t hold the line if we don’t have enough people standing in it. If folks want to join, we’ll make it work.”

  B’doom’s heavy hand swept across the table toward Krungus and the rest of The Number. “And as for all of us—we should set up in the Veiled Pinnacle. It’s hidden. Discreet. Safer for now.”

  Krungus grunted thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea. Keeps us out of the spotlight while we regroup.”

  Utopianna smiled, her voice soft but steady. “And it gives the Paladins space to grow. Two towers. Two purposes.”

  The group fell into quiet contemplation, the future of the City slowly reshaping in their minds.

  B’doom rumbled again, his voice like distant thunder. “Balance. That’s what this City needs.”

  No one argued with that.

  Griddle cleared his throat, the sound abrupt but deliberate. “There’s... one more thing.”

  The table turned their attention to him, his rigid posture softening just slightly. “We’ve been talkin’, the Paladins and me. And we think it’s time for a proper name. Something that sticks. We don’t want to just be ‘the Paladins’ anymore.”

  Rent chuckled. “About time.”

  Griddle ignored him, though a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We want to be called The Velvet Order. It’s a nod to where we started—the Velvet Veil. That old place gave us purpose when we didn’t have one. Feels right to carry the name forward, but make it something stronger.”

  A ripple of murmurs swept through the table—surprise, followed by quick nods of agreement. It was bold, unexpected, but it felt right.

  Utopianna smiled warmly. “Velvet—strong, but soft. Protective, but not harsh. And it honors your roots. That kind of history matters.”

  Krungus clapped his hands together. “Velvet capes. All of you. I’ll make ‘em. Deep reds, maybe purples. Something with a little flair.”

  Griddle hesitated, then nodded. “That... sounds good.”

  Rent laughed, slapping Griddle on the back. “Look at you, actually liking flair.”

  Griddle grunted, but the hint of a smile didn’t leave his face.

  The table collectively agreed—the Paladins were no more. The Velvet Order had been born.

  As the voices calmed and the last echoes of laughter faded, Utopianna leaned forward, her hands folded delicately on the table. Her gaze swept the room, warm but purposeful. “Now,” she began, “we need to figure out where we go from here.”

  The weight of her words settled quickly over the group.

  “We’ve come far, but we’re still blind in too many places. We don’t know where Null is, or who sent him. And if we keep stumbling in the dark, we’ll waste precious time.”

  She let the silence linger before continuing, “I think it’s time we split into teams. Small groups, each with a focus. We can cover more ground, gather more information, and get things done without tripping over one another.”

  Krungus rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Makes sense. We can’t afford to all sit in one room waiting for answers.”

  Brenna nodded. “And we need eyes everywhere. People are still scared. Null’s attack left a mark.”

  Utopianna tilted her head slightly. “Then let’s be smart about this. No one runs off alone. We stay connected. And if someone finds a trail—Null, his master, anyone pulling strings—we follow it, together.”

  Her voice softened, but the strength in it remained. “The City’s fragile right now. But we’re not. Let’s use that.”

  Krungus pushed back his chair with a loud scrape, standing up with renewed purpose. “Then let’s get to it. I’ll start fixing what’s broken in the City—barriers, wards, old foundations—there’s plenty of my work still holding strong, but plenty more that’s crumbling.”

  Utopianna nodded, rising alongside him. “And I’ll work on restoring what connects people—healing old ties, mending communities. Strengthening the spirit of the City as you mend its bones.”

  Bahumbus coughed dramatically, waving a spanner in the air. “And Reg-E and I? We’ll keep the defenses growing. Someone’s gotta make sure some Jennie of Destruction or somethin’ doesn’t just waltz through the front gate.”

  Krungus shot him a knowing look. “Still adhering to that timeline of yours?”

  Bahumbus grinned but didn’t elaborate. “Deadlines are deadlines, brother. You know how it is.”

  Before Krungus could press further, B’doom rose once more, his heavy form casting a broad shadow over the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but Qlaark cut in first, wings fluttering slightly as he leaned forward. “Hey, B’doom—you know about the Shroom Zoo, right? Used to be the old city gardens before it got turned into that tourist trap.”

  B’doom’s tusks lowered as he frowned. “The gardens? I thought they were long gone.”

  Qlaark shook his head. “Still there, buried under all the gimmicks and dying exhibits. The place is a wreck, but there’s life left in it. Figured if anyone could bring it back to what it was meant to be, it’s you.”

  B’doom’s deep-set eyes softened, and he nodded. “Then that’s where I’ll start. The City needs its roots back—even if it’s forgotten where they were planted.”

  Krungus let out a low whistle. “Good luck with that mess.”

  B’doom’s deep chuckle rumbled through the hall. “I don’t need luck. I need time.”

  The table settled into a determined silence. Plans were forming, paths diverging, but all moving toward the same goal: rebuilding what was broken and rooting out the dangers that still lurked unseen.

  Eugene cleared his throat, the sound breaking the stillness. “So, uh… not to state the obvious, but I’d be a complete idiot if I didn’t go hunting for more Jennies.”

  A few heads turned his way, some surprised, others expectant.

  He shrugged, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “I mean, I’ve already got a Warlock of Ambition breathing down my neck—may as well give him more reasons to obsess over me, right?”

  Krungus snorted, pushing his red-lensed glasses higher. “Now that’s the spirit. Nothing like painting a bigger target on your back.”

  Cozimia’s lantern flickered warmly beside him. “Well, sugar, that’s if you can even find any. Jennies don’t exactly hang out with signs sayin’ ‘Pick me!’”

  Eugene chuckled. “No promises.”

  Laughter rippled through the room, the tension finally breaking as the meeting drew to a close.