The chamber dimmed, the glow of the map casting lines of power across the stone floor. Chen laid it flat on the central table, the divine threads pulsing like veins beneath the surface of the world. He traced one with a finger, a golden line that connected two realms—the Court of Chains and an unmarked mortal temple near the desert fringes of the mortal realm.
Lanmei leaned closer, her brow furrowed. "That temple… I've seen it. It's dormant. Forgotten."
Sarina smirked. "Not quite. The Court of Chains siphons faith from there—using it to feed their shadow armies. That place might look quiet, but underneath? It's a conduit. If we sever it, they lose a fifth of their mortal faith reserves."
Chen nodded. "We strike there first. Quietly. No warfront, no divine proclamation. Just precision."
Ye Yue stepped forward, eyes gleaming. "I can veil the approach. Wrap our essence in the light of starlight illusions—make us ghosts until we strike."
"Good," Chen said, then pointed to a second tether—this one dimmer, fraying around the edges. "What about this?"
Sarina squinted. "That's... a forgotten pact. A treaty link. Between the Court of Chains and the Obsidian Veil—back when they were allies. It's weak. If we trigger it just right, it'll look like they attacked each other."
Lanmei grinned. "We turn them against their old allies before they can unite."
Chen looked between them, then at the glowing map again. The plan took shape—elegant, brutal, effective.
"Ye Yue," he said, voice steady, "gather the veil team. Pick only those who've mastered silence and step."
She nodded. "I know who to bring."
"Lanmei," he continued, "start the sabotage threads. If we can mimic the Obsidian Veil's essence during the hit, the Chains will retaliate without realizing it's us."
Sarina added, "And I'll show you where to plant the disruption glyph. It'll cause a divine feedback—just enough to shatter the siphon without collapsing the temple entirely."
They moved in unison now, no hesitation. Plans etched in divine light and old vengeance. A rebellion born not from rage, but clarity.
Chen stared one last time at the map—and that faint, silver pulse.
"It begins now," he whispered. "Not a war of fire and banners. But threads, cut clean. One by one."
Ye Yue stepped beside him. "A god unravels the world not with a sword…"
"…but with a single pull of the right thread," Lanmei finished.
And as the divine courts stirred above—still unaware of the blade being drawn beneath them—Chen's rebellion began in truth.