The chamber did not echo, for the walls had been built long ago to swallow sound rather than carry it, and even now the faintest rustle of robes or the slow drag of a chair leg dissolved into the air before it could gather strength.
The council sat in a half-circle, their bodies stiff with age and position, their hands resting either on carved armrests or clasped together as though discipline alone could still the unease that had crept into the room.
Light filtered through narrow panes set high above, thin and cold, painting the stone floor in dull bands that failed to warm the space or the faces within it.
A heavy ledger lay open upon the central table, its pages yellowed with time, the ink dark and deliberate, each word etched with care by hands long since gone.
"…the seal is weakening," one elder said.
His voice was dry.
The words did not rush.
They landed.
