The Gathering (Louisiana Bayou Bishops MC #24)

RECAP—

LAST CHAPTER IN THE brOTHERHOOD

The Academy’s Grand Hall was full of Kings. And a few queens, including his sitting next to him. Cherie’s hand in his was the one anchor capable of keeping him grounded lately.

But nearly every person in that room had Seer’s hands itching to touch.

Even those absent. Harlow, Kult, Pain. Atlas and Sync.

He’d only shaken Kult’s hand. Now they were on a rescue mission to get Augustine.

The second Seer heard of his loss, he’d needed to touch him.

Not wanted. Which meant there were things about him he was supposed to see. A job to do.

Seer couldn’t begin to imagine suffering such a thing. Didn’t allow himself to, either. Just the thought was hard to survive.

He moved his gaze around the room, stopping at Beth and Bishop, letting the sight of them together further ground his soul.

His favorite power-match was reunited. More powerful than before.

But something was up with Bishop. And without looking directly, the man sitting a few chairs down from Seer was responsible.

The Master of Mayhem. Sinrik, Krovax had called him.

Very interesting name. Not his Christian one, he wagered.

Seer eyed the silence the man locked himself in, gaze turned inward on things both in and not in that room.

Beth was one of those things, of this he had no doubt.

Since Bishop’s bite, her powers were off the charts, impossible to escape.

She was definitely meant to meet Sinrik.

The question of why, remained. But not for long.

His God-gut said he’d have all the answers within the hour.

Seer eased his attention to the newest kings. The Chaos Pillars, he’d heard them called. Men who studied chaos he’d gathered. Each had an apprentice standing a couple feet behind them. Not just students but guardians too, he sensed.

Did their little team work with Sinrik? One of his top questions.

He wagered yes. Somehow. From the moment Sinrik’s voice had broadcast at the academy, Seer knew he was more than any of them imagined.

Nobody destroyed an entire nation in the way that he did without a unique motive.

Likely even divine. The kind of divine that didn’t ask for help but ordered it.

With or without you knowing it. And the current trouble etched on all their faces testified to men being divinely moved upon.

The trouble? Thinking they’d been in control, maybe even thinking everything had been their own idea.

They definitely looked like men who’d just been told—“Think again, human.”

One thing was a fact. Whatever caused their mountain to be devoured into the earth was surely part of what brought them there. And it was linked to whatever sent Beth on her little mission to do whatever needed doing.

“They’re starting,” Cherie leaned and whispered.

Seer turned his gaze to the center of the Creole Kings table where Nidev stood, eyes sweeping over the faces all around. The Marsh Kings sat at one end of the table, the thirteen Creole Kings at the other and the Quantum King with the Chaos Pillars and company in between. Including Sinrik.

“Gentlemen,” Nidev began, his voice a powerhouse of authority. “Allow me to introduce our new friends. Beginning with the Chaos Pillars and their Apprentices.”

He nodded at the man nearest him. “Oblivion. He is known as the historian of chaos.”

Seer studied the elderly gentleman with the long raven-black hair streaked with silver.

Tied loosely back. Asian ethnicity. His dark scholar’s robe completed the look of antiquity and something told Seer it was his everyday attire, not just dress up.

But those deep, ink-dark eyes held its own history with a peculiar weight.

A man who’d unearthed truths only to realize some things were buried for a reason.

He gave one single head bow, his eyes remaining fixed on things far beyond the room.

Behind him, the middle-aged apprentice stepped forward. “Soren Kai,” he called out. “A watchful student of history.” He stepped back with purpose, his black hair—slightly unkempt—and guarded, steel-gray eyes filled with an intense restlessness.

“Volkan,” Nidev announced to the next man. “The Pillar of Power.”

This one was a fortress. Also elderly. Broad-shouldered with a bald head that reflected the room’s light.

Seer saw no vanity in him. No excess. All restraint.

His deep-set brown eyes carried the weight of battles fought long before any of them were born.

But that tightness in his jaw felt fresh.

A man who’d spent his life studying the nature of power and had just learned that there was a force he’d never accounted for.

He lifted a hand in acknowledgement and from behind him, the apprentice, maybe Seer’s age stepped up.

“Colton Graves,” he announced. “Enduring student of power.” He stepped back in line, looking more like a survivalist than a soldier.

American, maybe. Presented himself like a bad omen.

His hazel-green eyes were intelligent but also reckless.

A man who didn’t like waiting for answers and often wished he had.

“Noctis – The Psychologist of Chaos,” Nidev introduced next.

Now this one was different. Not as still as the rest. Not as composed.

There was something fluid about him but controlled.

His features were sharp, angular, his ice-blue eyes sharp as shattered glass.

Seer could tell this man had built his entire life on understanding human chaos, but tonight, there was something he didn’t understand.

And whatever it was, put him at that table.

A world away from his home in a swamp of nobody’s, somebody’s, and everybody’s.

Seer’s gaze lowered to the man’s fingers strumming against the table. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was timing something. Something with no rhythm to follow.

The man gave no reaction to the introduction and from behind him, his young student stepped forward.

“Zahir Malik,” he called out in a thick, middle eastern accent, eyes on the air before him.

“Willful student of the mind.” Egyptian, Seer guessed as he stepped back in line.

His dark-skinned face and expressive golden-brown eyes were framed by silky black, slightly tousled hair.

All of him burned with intensity. A student of endless questions with a drive hungry enough to get all of their answers.

“And Nexus,” Nidev said, nodding at the fourth king. “The Synthesis of Chaos.”

Seer settled his gaze on him, finding him the hardest to read.

Not because he had no emotion, but because his presence stretched beyond the room itself.

What was he seeing? Maybe the long path ahead while the rest of them stood at the threshold.

His dark, slicked-back hair was streaked with silver.

Blue-gray robes marked with intricate geometric symbols implied a pattern-seeker.

He also bore the mark of something heavier.

The same troubled one they all wore. Maybe even deeper.

The man standing behind him took a step forward.

“Elias Ward,” he announced with an accent Seer couldn’t quite place.

“Calculating student of patterns.” He returned to his spot, hands behind him, eyes fixed straight ahead.

His eyes were sharp. Analytical. Neutral expression, but clearly forced.

And the reason was likely the same as whatever locked his jaw.

Seer finally settled his gaze on the man he most wanted to study and touch. The Master of Mayhem. “Sinrik,” Nidev called out, gesturing to him with a hand. “We’ve informally met him once. We know him as the Master of Mayhem.”

There was an odd shift in the room even though nobody moved.

Seer studied him, committing every detail to memory.

The sharp angles of his face, the ink stretching across his throat, the black coat that hung open over a lean, muscled frame.

But it was his stillness that had Seer’s nerves in a coil.

It set him apart. Sinrik was a man who could do nothing and still command the space around him.

Though he bore a title, he didn’t claim it.

Though he obtained a throne, he didn’t sit on it.

The oxymoron brought touching tingles to both Seer’s hands.

Seer looked at Bishop and found he watched him too.

Then he found something else. That look.

The same one he’d had when avenging Beth became his sole purpose for breathing.

Not fucking good. Something had definitely happened.

And with each passing second, Seer realized every anomaly in that room bore their Belle Eveque’s stamp of oblivious power.

Nidev exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping over the long table.

“A man might believe he knows his own path,” he began, voice steady.

“He might believe he carves it with his own hands, that his choices alone have led him to where he stands.” He let his words settle.

“But I believe that every one of you in this room is here because something greater than choice has willed it.”

“Amen,” Seer barely mumbled as all sat still, watchful and measuring.

Nidev continued. “Fate has a way of pulling paths together. Paths that should never meet, one might think. And yet, here we are. Not by our choosing—but by something greater.”

His gaze settled on the Chaos Pillars.

“You believe chaos has rhythm. Structure. That destruction follows laws—if only one is clever enough to see them.” His voice hardened. “And what happened at Velkratos does not seem to fit any pattern. None that we can see.”

A ripple of tension moved through the Pillars.

Nidev exhaled. “Gentlemen. And ladies,” he added, looking around the room. “These men are here because where they have lived most of their lives is no more. Velkratos. The Stronghold of The Pillars. Was devoured by the earth.”

A few sharp breaths broke the silence.