The screen blinked to life with a soft pulse.
No names. No identifiers.
Just four silhouettes seated around a virtual table, cast in blue mist and layered shadow.
The boardroom interface was Linh's creation — clean, silent, and nearly surreal. Each figure was a presence without form, speaking only when allowed, their voices filtered through smart modulation. For Alexis, the host and architect of the meeting, the effect was perfect. Anonymous intimacy. Strategic distance.
He was simply: Founder.
"Welcome," he said, his voice low and metallic, fed through three levels of distortion. "This is the first and only meeting of its kind. Speak freely, but remember — this space is not for ego. It's for clarity."
There was a pause. Then Camille spoke first.
"I assume this is more than a fancy chatroom," she said dryly. "The invite was…cryptic."
"To test your sense of curiosity," Founder replied.
Linh's silhouette shifted, her digital avatar flickering slightly.
"You know," she said, "this feels like the start of a spy thriller. Are we about to dismantle world governments or start a moon cult?"
Marco chuckled, a soft, grounded sound.
"I was promised art. And legacy. If this is a cult, it better have good taste."
Alexis allowed a pause before continuing.
"You've each worked in isolation. That changes now. From this moment forward, your paths converge — under a single banner: Vaelore Atelier."
A subtle animation rotated a digital emblem before them: a crown of intertwined silver and gold threads.
"There are no titles here," he continued. "Only responsibility. And belief."
Camille leaned forward, her silhouette sharpening slightly.
"Why us?" she asked. "Three very different people, zero contact, and now this. What's the play?"
"Because you don't ask stupid questions," Alexis answered. "Because you've each built something remarkable from shadows. Because you understand the power of silence."
Linh tilted her head.
"You're awfully dramatic for a mystery client."
"I need builders," he said. "Not followers. You're here to shape a future brand so precise, so untouchable, it will live without explanation."
Marco finally spoke again.
"And what do we tell the world it is?"
Alexis smiled behind the blur.
"Luxury," he said. "Custom. Timeless. Unreachable."
The ring appeared in the center of the table — a 3D model, hovering and slowly spinning.
"The first creation. Marco, your design. Linh, your vault. Camille, your structure."
Camille folded her arms.
"And what do we receive in return?"
"Freedom," Alexis said. "Protection. Influence. Wealth beyond most currency markets. But never fame. Your names will never be associated with it."
Silence fell.
Then Linh asked: "What if we want to walk away?"
"You can," Alexis said. "But only once. And never again."
Marco exhaled through his nose.
"You speak like a king."
"No," Alexis said. "Kings demand loyalty. I offer alignment."
He stood — or at least, the silhouette did.
"You won't meet again. Not unless I allow it. You'll remain shadows in the machine, connected only by purpose. You'll receive your instructions through secure channels. You'll operate without knowing each other's full story."
Camille looked directly into her feed.
"And you?"
"I'm the voice in the dark," Alexis replied. "That's all I need to be."
The image of the ring brightened.
"One piece," he said. "A beginning. More will come. For now, complete your current assignments. Don't speak of this meeting. Don't attempt to trace the others."
He nodded once.
"This concludes the Founder's Assembly."
The screen faded to black.
Camille Vossa sat back in her loft apartment, the lights of Buenos Aires glittering behind her. She closed her laptop slowly, her reflection barely visible in the window.
"Who the hell is this guy?" she murmured.
Linh Tran spun in her chair, the soft hum of cooling fans in her rig buzzing faintly.
"Voice in the dark, huh?" she grinned. "Okay, spooky. I'm in."
Marco Di Volterra sat in a stone workshop surrounded by the smell of wax and gold.
He lit a candle, took a piece of parchment, and sketched the ring again — this time with threads swirling outward like roots.
"A dynasty," he whispered. "Hidden beneath velvet."
Meanwhile, Alexis Prince sat in silence. No lights. No screens. Just the soft weight of the ring on his finger and the lingering buzz of the connection closing.
Three sparks had been lit.
And somewhere deep inside him, something whispered:
Let the fire begin.