The Council Hall of Vaelgard was ablaze with tension.
Dozens of banners hung above the amphitheater chamber, each representing a powerful noble house, military faction, or ancient order. And beneath them, the lords and strategists shouted across one another like wolves snapping over scraps of meat.
Alaric stood near the rear wall, arms crossed, cloaked in shadows. Beside him, Kael leaned against a stone column, his shoulder still singed from the earlier fight. Lysera stood a few paces away, silent but watchful, her radiant presence somehow making the grand room feel colder.
Lord Varen's voice rang above the others.
"The borderlands must be abandoned. Every time we send troops, we lose more than we gain. The people there are...expendable."
Kael's jaw twitched. He stepped forward before Alaric stopped him with a glance.
Not yet.
Another voice cut through the noise—this one sharp, young, and proud. "And what of the relics still in those territories? The temples? The sealed Crucibles?" It was Lady Tharne, youngest of the military lords, and one of the few who had seen combat personally.
Lord Varen scoffed. "Old myths. Let the Voidbinders have them. Their hunger will turn inward eventually."
Alaric frowned. He's afraid. Not just of the Voidbinders. Of what might awaken if the relics are disturbed. The memory of the Sentinel still crackled in his bones.
Suddenly, a new presence entered the chamber—sheathed in emerald and black. High Magister Trelain, head of the Arcane Assembly, floated down the central stairway. His eyes glowed faintly beneath his hood.
"Enough," Trelain said. The entire chamber fell into stillness. Even Lord Varen's mouth shut with an audible clench.
"The Voidbinders have escalated. They no longer probe. They seek," Trelain continued. "And their next goal lies within the Skycrypt itself."
Murmurs swept the hall. The Skycrypt was forbidden—a vault said to hold remnants from the First Forge and ancient Titan bones.
Lysera stepped forward. "They're after an anchor. We fought one of their Sentinels at the Spire. He was tethered through old void-sigils. They want to draw something through."
"A Titan," Alaric said quietly.
All heads turned toward him.
"Their Titan-Essence in Maeryn isn't complete. They're looking for more. A full merge," he added.
Lady Tharne narrowed her eyes. "You're sure?"
Alaric nodded. "She wasn't at her peak. She retreated to evolve."
Lord Varen stood, voice cold and cutting. "You speak of evolution while cities burn? This isn't your battlefield, Mythforged. You're a relic yourself."
Alaric stepped forward now, no longer holding back.
"Better a relic than a coward who lets his people die."
Gasps echoed. Kael chuckled softly, folding his arms.
Trelain raised a hand before the conflict could spark further. "Enough posturing. If Maeryn is truly fusing with a Titan Essence, we are facing the rise of a second-world entity."
Kael's eyes flickered. "Then we need to move first. Cut off their supply. Stop their rituals."
The hall slowly shifted. A plan began to form. Delegations were named, strike groups assigned. And for the first time in weeks, the Council moved as one.
Afterward, on the balcony overlooking the night-swept city, Kael leaned on the railing beside Alaric.
"You ever think Varen was dropped as a child?" Kael asked.
Alaric smirked. "No. But I suspect he hasn't stood in rain since he was born."
Lysera joined them, silver eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. "You made quite the speech, Alaric. Dangerous, but stirring."
"I only said what needed to be said."
She looked at him curiously. "You've changed. More fire lately."
Alaric's hand rested over his core. "Maybe it's the Stone finally waking up."
Kael stretched his arms. "Or maybe you've realized we can't just endure anymore. We have to win."
As the night deepened, lightning flickered on the edge of the horizon again. But it wasn't Kael's doing this time.
Another storm was coming.
And they would meet it head-on.