The Council Chamber was a theater of wolves.
Whispers moved like insects beneath the stillness. Silk shifted against polished seats. Rings tapped against armrests. Quills scratched softly against parchment. Beneath the towering dome of black marble and gold-veined stone, tension coiled invisibly through the air like a tightening wire.
Gyan stood at the back of the chamber where attendants and assistants of the Lords all stood, her hands folded neatly before her.
Still.
Composed.
Watching.
The circular chamber descended in layered rings toward the center floor where the accused stood beneath the crest of Aerthos—a crown with a sword and sceptre crosses beneath it. Fourteen seats surrounded the chamber's inner circle, each elevated slightly above the central platform so that whoever stood below would always appear smaller.
Deliberately so.
The Privy Council was not built for comfort. It was built for pressure.
And today, pressure hung over the chamber like a storm waiting to break.
Gyan's crimson eyes drifted across the gathered Lords. Some leaned forward, eager. Some leaned back, watchful. A few sat with their arms crossed, their faces carved from stone.
She categorized them instantly.
Those afraid.
Those confident.
Those pretending.
The Speaker—elderly, grey-robed, her gavel resting on the arm of her chair—surveyed the room with eyes that had seen decades of scheming.
"Lord Alaric Dukker," she announced, "you stand accused of multiple violations of Council conduct. The charges will be read. You will be given the opportunity to respond."
Alaric stood at the center of the chamber, alone. His robes were immaculate, his posture relaxed. He looked like a man attending a performance he had already seen.
Kingsley Amberose rose from his seat.
He did not rush. He savored.
"Before we proceed," he said, his voice smooth, "let us review the rules that govern this body. Lest anyone forget."
The Speaker inclined her head.
'Of course. Formality.A shield for corruption.'
Gyan already knew them all.
The Twelve Articles of Tribunal Conduct(TATC).
Ancient laws meant to prevent abuse of power within the Privy Council itself.
In theory, they were admirable.
In practice…
'Humans abused everything they touched.'
Amberose began to count on his fingers.
"Rule One. No Lord may be tried by the Council for crimes committed outside the scope of their duties—unless the Council votes to assume jurisdiction."
"Rule Two. Personal disputes between Lords are to be transferred to the Royal Courts to prevent political bias."
"Rule Three. The Council itself may only conduct a trial if national security, foreign threats, treason, or succession stability are involved."
"Rule Four. In the case that there is a trial by the Council instead of the Court, any accusation brought against a seated Council Lord must be formally documented before the Speaker and witnessed by no fewer than three Council members."
"Rule Five. No Lord may use their Trait within the Council Chamber."
"Rule Six. No Lord may abandon their seat without official leave."
"Rule Seven. No Lord may conspire with foreign powers without informing the Crown."
"Rule Eight. No Lord may conceal the presence of a fugitive within their territory. "
"Rule Nine. The Speaker alone determines procedural order."
"Rule Ten. No Lord may interfere with the Inquisition's investigations."
"Rule Eleven. No Lord may incite rebellion against the Crown."
"Rule Twelve. Any Lord invoking authority or force against another during proceedings shall face suspension."
Amberose paused, letting the weight of the final rule settle.
"Normally," he continued, "disputes such as these would be handled by the Courts. But the Council has voted. And we have assumed jurisdiction."
Gyan's eyes narrowed.
'Of course they did.'
The process was straightforward in theory. The charges would be presented. The Speaker would read them. Then, one by one, the points would be taken. Each of the other fourteen lords would have the opportunity to ask a question. If Alaric failed to answer the majority to their satisfaction— at least eight votes against him—he would be presumed guilty of that charge.
They would move to the next.
And the next.
And the next.
Gyan had studied this process. She had analyzed its strengths and weaknesses. In principle, it prevented a single powerful voice from dominating proceedings. It forced transparency. It gave every Lord a voice.
In practice—
It was a slaughterhouse.
The accused was questioned by their enemies, their rivals, their political opponents. There was no neutral arbiter. No judge. No jury of peers who had not already chosen sides.
The Speaker could maintain order, but she could not compel fairness.
And the opposition had used the very rules meant to protect the accused to ensure that Alaric would be tried not by the Courts, but by them.
The chamber remained heavy with anticipation. Gyan's gaze lowered briefly toward Alaric.
Calm.
Entirely calm.
Even now.
Even surrounded by vultures.
That one day had given these dogs ample time to prepare their hunt.
And yet her master stood there as though attending a mildly inconvenient meeting.
The Speaker banged her gavel and unfolded a parchment.
"Lord Alaric Dukker," she began formally, " The charges will now be read. Shall we proceed accusation by accusation?"
Alaric smiled.
"No."
His voice carried effortlessly through the chamber. A few Lords stiffened slightly.
"Read them all, Madam Speaker. Let us not waste time."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Some lords exchanged glances. Others smirked. The Speaker hesitated before nodding.
"Very well."
She adjusted the parchment.
"Lord Alaric Dukker stands accused of the following:"
The chamber grew still. The speaker continued, her voice was flat and clinical.
"First— You are accused of being the Revolutionary and secretly leading and financing the Revolutionist movement with intent to destabilize the throne and claim ultimate authority over Aerthos."
Murmurs spread instantly.
"Second—the orchestration of Hunter Chief Roric Thorne's death during the Blackhaven incident."
Gyan remained expressionless.
"Third—unauthorized dealings with Nordhelm resulting in the alleged recent invasion attempt."
Several eyes shifted.
"Inquisitors Layl Al'Zharani, Dmitrius Lesley, and Pei Yulan were assigned to examine the matter."
'Interesting. They brought in competent names. The Rising Stars of the Inquisition huh?' Gyan thought.
"Fourth—manipulation of recent tax reforms for personal financial gain."
"Fifth—the assault of royal messengers dispatched to retrieve him for questioning."
"Sixth—conspiracy with Paragon Ortis Mellou against the stability of the crown."
Silence followed.
Then Gyan blinked once.
Not because the accusations surprised her.
She herself had gathered intelligence regarding possible angles of attack and presented them to Alaric beforehand.
No.
What surprised her was how… weak it was.
'This...This was their grand strategy?'
Several accusations actively contradicted each other.
For instance, if Lord Alaric truly was this Revolutionary who sought supreme authority through the Revolutionist movement… why aid Nordhelm's invasion? Why surrender territory he supposedly wanted to rule?
'Sloppy.'
Unless—
'Ah...'
Understanding clicked into place. They were not relying on logic, they were relying on procedure.
The questions.
Fourteen Lords.
While not all of them were in in this attempt, it was safe to assume that majority would be coordinated lines of attack.
They would force contradictions themselves.Through pressure and manipulation of phrasing.
Gyan almost sighed.
'Humans truly love turning systems into weapons huh?'
The Speaker set down the parchment.
"The Council will now question the accused on each charge."
A chair scraped loudly.
Every eye turned.
Ortis Mellou rose to his feet.
He had been leaning back in his chair, his head tilted, his eyes half-closed. He had not moved during the reading. He had not reacted.
Till now.
Immediately, unease spread through the chamber like spilled ink. Even confident expressions tightened slightly.
Because unlike political influence…
Ortis possessed actual power.
The kind of Power that ignored titles.
The kind of Power that made human authority feel childish.
He stretched lazily.
"Now hold on," he said.
His tone was mild.
"Why are you accusing me too?"
One of the lords—Lord Gide Baiden, his weathered face creased with irritation—spoke up.
"We are accusing you because you are a suspect in this case Lord Mellou. Isn't that obvious?"
"'Suspect in the case'?"Ortis repeated. His voice was light. Almost amused.
"I am accused of conspiring with a man who is also accused of... what was it again? Being some Revolutionary? Invading his own territory?"
He smiled.
"Forgive me if I find the logic... lacking."
"Your defensiveness does not inspire confidence, Lord Mellou." said Lord Rivas Oberoi with a polite smile.
Ortis tilted his head.
"Defensiveness?"
"That's right." Lord Baiden affirmed.
The chamber blinked.
And Ortis vanished.
No.
Not vanished.
Moved.
By the time thought caught up with reality, he was already beside Baiden with an arm draped casually over the Lord's shoulders.
The hall erupted.
Several Lords half-rose instinctively.
Baiden himself froze pale and rigid.
It took a full second for everyone to realize what had happened. Gyan observed quietly.
Ortis smiled pleasantly.
"That," he said lightly, "was a demonstration."
His eyes swept the chamber.
"I'm essentially a demigod compared to the rest of you."
No one laughed.
"Now explain something to me."
His smile widened slightly.
"If seizing power were truly my goal…"
"…why would I need Alaric Dukker?"
Silence.
Pure silence.
"Why would someone like me," Ortis continued softly, "require politicking?"
He released Baiden and stepped back.
"Lets all gather sense and apply it. Assuming there was something I really wanted that I wasn't supposed to take but decided to do so anyway, who's gonna stop me?"
Lord Rivas rose from his seat, his voice sharp.
"This is an abuse of power!"
"This is intimidation!" Lord Ki Lin Feng added.
Ortis blinked innocently.
"What power?"
He spread his hands.
"No, Serious question, what power are you reffering to?"
His smile disappeared completely.
"Without the Council, I am still Ortis Mellou. I am still a Paragon."
The air grew heavier.
"So ask yourselves honestly…"
His gaze swept across them.
"Do I look like a man who needs your permission for anything?"
The Speaker slammed her gavel repeatedly.
"Enough!"
The echoes cracked through the hall.
"Lord Mellou, for violating TATC Rule Twelve, you are excused from the proceedings!"
Ortis stood still and stared at the speaker. She shuddered and looked at tha gaurds. They had readied themselves for action the moment Ortis made a move but none of them seemed ready to move beyond rediness and act. Ortis noticed this and smiled. If he chose to stay, no one would be able to stop him, just as he said.
But...
Ortis pocketed his hands.
"Wonderful."
He turned toward the exit.
"This place was getting noisy anyway."
Behind him, there was a loud dramatic sigh and another chair scraped against the floor. The other Lords tensed again. Lord Wendy Vaughn closed her book.
"A girl can't even read a book in piece."
"Your too old to consider yourself a girl though." Ortis thought out loud.
"Huh?! What did you say?"
"Huh? Did I say something? Must have been the wind."
The doors closed behind them.
Several opposition Lords visibly relaxed.
Tiny smiles appeared.
Small.
Brief.
But unmistakable.
Gyan nearly laughed.
'How laughable. How absolutely laughable.Humans truly were easy creatures to manipulate.'
Because while they celebrated—she saw it.
The subtle nod Ortis gave Alaric as he walked past.
And Alaric's almost imperceptible response.
Understanding passed silently between them.
The fools in opposition thought they had removed a dangerous variable.
In reality—
Ortis had merely changed positions on the board.
A crystalline butterfly fluttered gently before Gyan's face. It was small, delicate, its wings shimmering with iridescent light.
She lifted one finger calmly.
The butterfly landed gracefully.
Its wings shimmered softly before it dissolved into particles of crystal light and merged with the earring on her left ear.
A small blue crystal formed there.
Gyan closed her eyes briefly.
Then sighed.
'So you really did want to watch…' she thought.
Of course he did.
Ortis Mellou never truly left anything interesting behind.