Having spoken her mind, Enya softly closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer, using the moment to settle her rapid, fluttering heartbeat. To stand her ground so publicly before the realm's highest leaders was a first for her.
Though her pulse raced in her chest, Enya felt no fear. Perhaps after a few more times, she thought to herself, I'll actually get used to this.
Noticing the heavy silence lingering in the air, she cracked her eyes open to observe the tense expressions around the long table. A stray doubt crossed her mind—were they so opposed to her stance that they were silently plotting how to refute her?
"The Saintess speaks with great wisdom," Ratatos broke the silence, her thoughts crystal clear. "We must dispatch search parties immediately to locate those missing workers. Whatever official reason we give to the public, the populace must see us taking decisive action."
Ratatos understood that their paramount duty right now was stabilizing the public sentiment of Kjerag before the regional unrest worsened.
It was the exact policy she had enforced in her own lands. The Browntail Clan had worked tirelessly to reassure the families under their care, preventing localized disputes from escalating into outright riots.
Unlike the heavy-handed methods of the Paleroches Clan, the gentle, pragmatic governance of the Browntail Clan won over the locals, making civil management vastly easier.
"However, we cannot bow our heads to those rioters," Arctosz grunted, leaning back in his seat. In his mind, superior physical force was absolute, and a high clan need never bow to commoners. "If we show weakness now, everyone will assume we are easily cowed, and this anarchy will only spread."
"This is no longer a crisis you can crush with raw force!" Ratatos snapped, slamming a palm onto the table as she stood up to glare at the massive Ursus. "How many times must I repeat myself before it penetrates that thick skull of yours, you muscle-brained fool?!"
She was practically shaking with fury. "I have never met anyone like you! When you realize your methods are causing disasters, you correct them! You don't sit here barking threats, driving even more people straight into the arms of the enemy!"
"You might as well hand leadership of the Paleroches Clan over to Valais right now before you completely drag your family's honorable reputation through the mud!" Ratatos spat, her tail whipping the air. "Speaking of which, where is she? Why hasn't she stepped up during a disaster like this?"
"That is an internal matter of the Paleroches Clan, and frankly, none of your concern!" Arctosz growled back, his eyes bulging. "Our clan possesses extensive experience in handling unrest, and we will resolve this in our own way without your unsolicited advice!"
"You—!!!!!"
"Both of you, enough!"
As the onlookers sat in stunned silence, the Grand Elder knocked his heavy wooden walking stick against the stone floor, interrupting the shouting match. The sharp thud brought an abrupt end to the noise, forcing both clan heads to begrudgingly take their seats.
"Ratatos makes a valid point," the Grand Elder rasped, resting his thin hands atop his cane. "We cannot afford to escalate tensions any further. Reassuring the displaced workers is paramount—they are currently the most volatile element in the realm."
"Yet Arctosz is also correct," the old man continued. "We must maintain dignity while preserving order. How to strike that delicate balance is something you young leaders must carefully figure out. I shall take my leave now—my frail bones can no longer endure these endless debates."
The old man pushed himself up from his chair. Seeing him wobble slightly, several attendants rushed forward to offer support, terrified the senior leader might fall.
"Stand back, I can manage on my own," the Grand Elder grumbled, waving them off. He swept a tired gaze across the room before turning his eyes toward the head of the table. "I must trouble the Saintess to accompany this old man back to his quarters."
The request caught everyone off guard. Surprised glances were exchanged before all eyes turned to Enya. The young Saintess rose gracefully from her seat and escorted the frail leader out of the council chamber.
"You performed admirably today," the Grand Elder noted quietly as they walked down the stone corridor. "Your demeanor has shifted remarkably compared to before. I take it something significant transpired during my convalescence?"
He didn't truly require physical support to walk—his pride would never allow it. Inviting Enya along was merely an excuse to speak with her in private.
"Not at all, Grand Elder," Enya replied, keeping her head slightly bowed. Despite her growing resolve, speaking face-to-face with the venerable leader still stirred a lingering sense of deference within her.
The sheer authority the old man had projected over Kjerag for decades was intimidating, even when his tone sounded like casual conversation.
"I simply witnessed too much over the past few days," she added softly. "Certain truths simply became clear to me."
"And what, precisely, compelled you to step out of the shadows and take a stand?"
"Perhaps... it was for my family," Enya answered, her voice regaining its firm, unwavering edge. "I have no desire to interfere with Enciodes's grand vision, nor do I wish to be used as a pawn in his games. But Ensia is my little sister. I must possess the strength to protect her."
Her expression turned so resolute that the Grand Elder glanced sideways at her in surprise. A faint, almost imperceptible trace of relief flickered deep within his weathered eyes.
"I see... To protect your family," the old man mused softly. "A noble sentiment. Yet perhaps... still a bit too simple."
Enya blinked, unable to fully grasp the meaning behind his words. There was an inexplicable quality to the old man's tone, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what felt amiss.
She escorted him all the way to his private chambers and took her leave. Even as she walked back through the courtyard, the lingering confusion remained unsolved.
Inside the quiet room, the Grand Elder let out a heavy breath. He sat at the edge of his bed, rubbing his aching lower back. After a long silence, he gazed out the tall window toward the bright sky, murmuring to himself: "I truly am getting old... I can barely manage even these basic affairs now."
Outside, a rare burst of brilliant sunshine bathed the valley. The sky was pristine, completely free of clouds. In Kjerag, citizens cherished such golden afternoons, stepping outdoors to bask in the mountain warmth.
Far out in the deep snowscapes hidden between the jagged peaks, the escaped workers were doing the exact same thing. Armed with crude weapons supplied to them, they were undergoing basic combat drills, their faces flushed with newfound purpose.
Standing atop a high ridge, Enciodes quietly observed the growing body of infected laborers who had fled to his banner, feeling a sense of satisfaction at his expanding influence.
These were native Kjerag citizens, bound by shared hardship. Had it not been for the Browntail Clan stepping in with relief supplies to stabilize the rest of the workforce, even more laborers would have joined his cause, making the overall political transition far simpler.
"How stand affairs on Gnosis's end?" Enciodes asked softly, his voice cutting through the crisp mountain air. "It has been quite some time since we last received a report from him."
He spoke as if casually remembering an old friend—one who had gone completely dark since their last major move.
Beside him, Courier stood ready. He understood why his master was asking today—a long-awaited message from Gnosis had finally arrived.
"Master Enciodes, Mister Gnosis indicates his situation has grown somewhat precarious," Courier reported respectfully. "Once Chief Ratatos realized the true scope of your plans, she identified him as an insider and placed him under strict house arrest. He is currently confined to a secluded residence, guarded around the clock by more than five elite members of the Browntail Clan. He is effectively unable to move."
Enciodes's expression remained completely unreadable upon hearing that his longtime comrade was captive. Ever since their attempt to capture Sciurus failed and Yucatan suffered severe injuries, he had already prepared for the worst.
In a land as traditional as Kjerag, once someone was exposed as a traitor, finding their frozen corpse displayed in the town square the following morning was a common outcome—and under Arctosz's brutal hands, the fate would have been far grimmer.
Being placed under mere house arrest was, in truth, the best possible outcome. Enciodes gave a subtle nod, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Though his master uttered not a single word of distress, Courier knew how deeply Enciodes valued Gnosis's safety. His silence was merely self-control, refusing to let emotion compromise his judgment.
"Master, should we arrange an extraction?" Courier offered quietly. "If we strike under the cover of night, our elite squads can infiltrate the Browntail Clan estate and pull Mister Gnosis out of danger."
Courier understood Gnosis's weight in Enciodes's grand design. If possible, rescuing him from the enemy's stronghold was the logical step.
Enciodes stood motionless against the freezing wind, contemplating the proposal for a long moment before finally shaking his head.
"Not yet. We cannot afford to alert our opponents prematurely," Enciodes instructed calmly, turning his back to the sunlit valley. "Ensuring our final preparations are flawless takes precedence over all else. Signal the men to pull back for now—it won't be long before the forces of the Paleroches Clan come searching these mountains."