Shadow & Starlight: The Syndicate’s Fractured Unity
Two faces. One Syndicate. Endless shadowplay.
The emergence of the Moon and Star factions was not sudden, but inevitable. As the Syndicate expanded, so did its ambitions. Some clung to the old ways—mastery in silence, control through absence. Others pushed for visibility, believing that influence was no longer just a game of secrecy, but spectacle.
In the not-so-distant past, during the Syndicate’s peak of internal growth, the rift crystallized.
A high-profile initiative meant to elevate the Syndicate’s influence ended in disaster. Operatives were lost. Territory was compromised. Eyes that were never meant to see began asking questions. What had once been private debate became a clear fracture.
The Sovereign chose not to mend it. Instead, she let it formalize—two factions, each allowed to lead in its own way. One from the shadows. One in the spotlight. In doing so, she elevated the Syndicate to heights once thought unreachable, forging a structure flexible enough to endure conflict without collapse. What began as division became design—an inheritance of balance, passed down to shape the Syndicate’s future and every Sovereign who would follow.
Ask around, and you’ll get different answers. To some, the divide is official—recognized, managed, and critical to Syndicate balance. To others, it’s spiritual—a cold war of philosophy, not policy. But to everyone who serves, the truth is clear:
The Syndicate is no longer unified.
It is balanced.
Rarely seen. Never unarmed. The Moon Faction operates behind the veil, where power is quiet and outcomes are already decided before the meeting begins. They manipulate indirectly, preferring silence over spectacle.
Primary Ranks: Magicians, Jacks
Assignments: Political leverage, intelligence, internal sabotage
Initiation: A silent trial. The candidate must alter the outcome of a public event without being seen or remembered.
Moon operatives do not speak for the Syndicate. They ensure no one else can speak against it.
If the Moon are the hidden pulse, the Stars are the gleaming crown. They host, seduce, and command attention. Charisma is their blade. Popularity their currency. They shape public opinion like a weapon.
Primary Ranks: Aces
Assignments: Recruitment, public relations, high-profile assassination, elite operations, and bodyguard duty for Major Arcana or political assets
Initiation: Two endorsements and proof of public influence—something unforgettable.
A Star’s job is to be adored and feared in equal measure. Preferably in that order. And when called upon, to protect what must remain standing—with lethal precision and a polished smile.
Most Syndicate families are bound to either the Moon or Star Faction by blood. Children are born into their parents' faction, raised in its values, and shaped by its expectations. Changing sides is rare, controversial, and often seen as a betrayal. It happens—but when it does, it echoes. The few families that have switched factions often carry the weight of suspicion for generations.
For outsiders, the rules are different. Recruits are observed, tested, and then drawn into the faction that best suits their talents. There are no second chances. Once you're in, you're in.
Each faction operates with its own internal hierarchy, informal but absolute. Influence is everything, but there are fixed roles at the top and bottom. Jokers, while valuable, sit at the base of both structures—expendable, temporary, and always watched.
At the highest level of Syndicate governance sits the Unseen Council—a shadow court of power brokers, strategists, and factional architects. Each faction holds a fixed number of Regents, their appointed representatives on the Council. The number of Regents from each side is always equal, regardless of how many operatives each faction fields elsewhere. Below them, additional representatives may rotate in or out based on Syndicate needs, but balance is non-negotiable.
Even marriage is a matter of equilibrium.
The Sovereign is expected—if not required—to choose a partner from the opposite faction, not just for appearance but for peace. A Star-aligned Sovereign marrying a Moon-aligned counterpart reinforces stability and symbolically binds the Syndicate’s two halves. Because of this, the selection of a partner is never a personal matter. It is strategy. It is survival. It is diplomacy by another name.
When the Syndicate says unity, it means tension made sacred.
From Cerellea City to the furthest corners of Sona, the Moon and Star divide influences every level of Syndicate life. Political appointments, territory control, and even supply chains are shaped by factional allegiance. Entire cities lean one way or the other, depending on whose operatives have embedded deeper.
Wraith leaders whisper loyalties behind closed doors. Operatives learn to read the room before speaking. Some wear dual faces. Most don’t dare.
Vikan Academy may be the most visible pressure point—but the fracture cuts through everything.
Moon operatives favor asymmetry, muted colors, and light-reactive embroidery visible only in certain angles. Their outfits often include gloves, layered collars, and disguised weaponry. Messages are sewn into seams or concealed in lining. The aim is not to go unseen—but to be forgettable until it’s too late.
Stars, in contrast, are curated brilliance. Tailored cuts, shimmer-woven fabrics, and elegant utility pieces are their signature. Every pin, brooch, or ring serves a purpose—some ceremonial, some lethal. Their uniforms make an impression. They always intend to be remembered.
Some families have chosen sides for generations. Others try to stay neutral and are punished for it. Interfaction bonds—especially romantic ones—are rare, fragile, and often doomed. A Moon and a Star together is either a mistake or a strategy. No one can tell the difference until it's over.
And then there are the double agents. The ones who move between light and dark, carrying whispers from both. Most are eliminated quickly. A few survive. Fewer still thrive.
Those who do? Change the game entirely.
Students are recruited early, often unknowingly, pulled into influence networks through clubs, dorm placements, and elective tracks. The line between loyalty and manipulation is so thin, most don’t realize they’ve crossed it until it’s too late.
The only place where neutrality holds is within the walls of the EVE Social Club.
EVE is enforced sanctuary. Overseen by the top-ranking students on campus—most of whom owe allegiance to neither side—the club is one of the only places where Moon and Star operatives can interact without risk. The Council doesn’t issue warnings. It delivers consequences.
For some, EVE is just a place to network. For others, it’s the only safe room left in a school full of traps.
The Syndicate’s strength has never come from unity, but from its ability to manage discord. As long as Moon and Star remain in tension, the structure holds. Together, they form a system resilient enough to withstand ambition, loyalty, betrayal—even change.
But no balance lasts forever. And those who serve the Syndicate understand this truth better than most: stability is never still. It is watched. It is worked. It is earned, every single day.
The emergence of the Moon and Star factions was not sudden, but inevitable. As the Syndicate expanded, so did its ambitions. Some clung to the old ways—mastery in silence, control through absence. Others pushed for visibility, believing that influence was no longer just a game of secrecy, but spectacle.
In the not-so-distant past, during the Syndicate’s peak of internal growth, the rift crystallized.
A high-profile initiative meant to elevate the Syndicate’s influence ended in disaster. Operatives were lost. Territory was compromised. Eyes that were never meant to see began asking questions. What had once been private debate became a clear fracture.
The Sovereign chose not to mend it. Instead, she let it formalize—two factions, each allowed to lead in its own way. One from the shadows. One in the spotlight. In doing so, she elevated the Syndicate to heights once thought unreachable, forging a structure flexible enough to endure conflict without collapse. What began as division became design—an inheritance of balance, passed down to shape the Syndicate’s future and every Sovereign who would follow.
Ask around, and you’ll get different answers. To some, the divide is official—recognized, managed, and critical to Syndicate balance. To others, it’s spiritual—a cold war of philosophy, not policy. But to everyone who serves, the truth is clear:
The Syndicate is no longer unified.
It is balanced.
The Moon Faction
Takes its namesake from Moon Tarot Card– deception, subconscious, illusion.Rarely seen. Never unarmed. The Moon Faction operates behind the veil, where power is quiet and outcomes are already decided before the meeting begins. They manipulate indirectly, preferring silence over spectacle.
Primary Ranks: Magicians, Jacks
Assignments: Political leverage, intelligence, internal sabotage
Initiation: A silent trial. The candidate must alter the outcome of a public event without being seen or remembered.
Moon operatives do not speak for the Syndicate. They ensure no one else can speak against it.
The Star Faction
Takes its namesake from the Star Tarot card – hope, influence, reinvention.If the Moon are the hidden pulse, the Stars are the gleaming crown. They host, seduce, and command attention. Charisma is their blade. Popularity their currency. They shape public opinion like a weapon.
Primary Ranks: Aces
Assignments: Recruitment, public relations, high-profile assassination, elite operations, and bodyguard duty for Major Arcana or political assets
Initiation: Two endorsements and proof of public influence—something unforgettable.
A Star’s job is to be adored and feared in equal measure. Preferably in that order. And when called upon, to protect what must remain standing—with lethal precision and a polished smile.
Bloodlines, Politics, and Power
Factions are not just ideology—they are inheritance. For many, your allegiance is decided before you’re born.Most Syndicate families are bound to either the Moon or Star Faction by blood. Children are born into their parents' faction, raised in its values, and shaped by its expectations. Changing sides is rare, controversial, and often seen as a betrayal. It happens—but when it does, it echoes. The few families that have switched factions often carry the weight of suspicion for generations.
For outsiders, the rules are different. Recruits are observed, tested, and then drawn into the faction that best suits their talents. There are no second chances. Once you're in, you're in.
Each faction operates with its own internal hierarchy, informal but absolute. Influence is everything, but there are fixed roles at the top and bottom. Jokers, while valuable, sit at the base of both structures—expendable, temporary, and always watched.
At the highest level of Syndicate governance sits the Unseen Council—a shadow court of power brokers, strategists, and factional architects. Each faction holds a fixed number of Regents, their appointed representatives on the Council. The number of Regents from each side is always equal, regardless of how many operatives each faction fields elsewhere. Below them, additional representatives may rotate in or out based on Syndicate needs, but balance is non-negotiable.
Even marriage is a matter of equilibrium.
The Sovereign is expected—if not required—to choose a partner from the opposite faction, not just for appearance but for peace. A Star-aligned Sovereign marrying a Moon-aligned counterpart reinforces stability and symbolically binds the Syndicate’s two halves. Because of this, the selection of a partner is never a personal matter. It is strategy. It is survival. It is diplomacy by another name.
When the Syndicate says unity, it means tension made sacred.
A Syndicate Divided by Design
The factions do not exist to oppose one another. They exist to contain one another.From Cerellea City to the furthest corners of Sona, the Moon and Star divide influences every level of Syndicate life. Political appointments, territory control, and even supply chains are shaped by factional allegiance. Entire cities lean one way or the other, depending on whose operatives have embedded deeper.
Wraith leaders whisper loyalties behind closed doors. Operatives learn to read the room before speaking. Some wear dual faces. Most don’t dare.
Vikan Academy may be the most visible pressure point—but the fracture cuts through everything.
Fashion, Symbolism, and Presence
Both factions wear their identity carefully—never gaudy, but never unintentional.Moon operatives favor asymmetry, muted colors, and light-reactive embroidery visible only in certain angles. Their outfits often include gloves, layered collars, and disguised weaponry. Messages are sewn into seams or concealed in lining. The aim is not to go unseen—but to be forgettable until it’s too late.
Stars, in contrast, are curated brilliance. Tailored cuts, shimmer-woven fabrics, and elegant utility pieces are their signature. Every pin, brooch, or ring serves a purpose—some ceremonial, some lethal. Their uniforms make an impression. They always intend to be remembered.
Interfaction Loyalty and Betrayal
Publicly, the Syndicate claims the factions are complementary. Privately, the divide has rewritten relationships.Some families have chosen sides for generations. Others try to stay neutral and are punished for it. Interfaction bonds—especially romantic ones—are rare, fragile, and often doomed. A Moon and a Star together is either a mistake or a strategy. No one can tell the difference until it's over.
And then there are the double agents. The ones who move between light and dark, carrying whispers from both. Most are eliminated quickly. A few survive. Fewer still thrive.
Those who do? Change the game entirely.
Vikan Academy: Where Balance Wears a Mask
Vikan Academy is where Syndicate ambition is shaped—and where the factional divide is most volatile.Students are recruited early, often unknowingly, pulled into influence networks through clubs, dorm placements, and elective tracks. The line between loyalty and manipulation is so thin, most don’t realize they’ve crossed it until it’s too late.
The only place where neutrality holds is within the walls of the EVE Social Club.
EVE is enforced sanctuary. Overseen by the top-ranking students on campus—most of whom owe allegiance to neither side—the club is one of the only places where Moon and Star operatives can interact without risk. The Council doesn’t issue warnings. It delivers consequences.
For some, EVE is just a place to network. For others, it’s the only safe room left in a school full of traps.
The Syndicate’s strength has never come from unity, but from its ability to manage discord. As long as Moon and Star remain in tension, the structure holds. Together, they form a system resilient enough to withstand ambition, loyalty, betrayal—even change.
But no balance lasts forever. And those who serve the Syndicate understand this truth better than most: stability is never still. It is watched. It is worked. It is earned, every single day.
Comments