The doors had barely closed behind Thal when the chamber exhaled. The absence of his massive presence was palpable, like the sudden silence after a thunderclap. Yet the weight of him lingered, a ghost carved into the polished wood of the round table and the taut air of the vaulted hall.
High Canon Voren settled back in his chair, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as though Thal's departure had been foreseen, even welcomed. His fingers brushed the sigils at the head of his staff, polished glass catching the torchlight in fractured gleams.
Eric leaned forward, his jaw clenched, the lines of his face etched sharp in the glow. "You mishandled him," he said, his voice even but taut, like a bowstring drawn near breaking.
The veiled priests along the walls stirred faintly, their heads shifting as though to gauge Voren's reaction. Elira's hand tightened slightly around the shaft of her glaive but she did not interrupt.
Voren arched a brow, his voice smooth as silk. "Mishandled?"
Eric's palm struck the table, not with fury but with controlled force that made the wood tremble. "You sat here and dressed your words in sermons when all you needed to do was listen. That man is no priest, no acolyte. He's a blade forged for war. Treat him like a verse in your scripture and you will snap it across your knee."
For once, Voren's smile dimmed, his lips pressing thin. "You think I should bow to him, Commander? To a stranger the gods themselves have not measured?"
"I think," Eric growled, "that the King of Lions Gate does not need more enemies." He jabbed a finger into the polished surface, his voice carrying iron certainty. "The Dwarves have already cut communication. The Elves have vanished from these lands for decades. The Beastkin are scattered to the wind, too few to matter, and the Orcs" he spat the word like a curse "have bent their knees to the Kruul. Our allies thin with every season, and our enemies grow. If you think we can afford to drive away the one giant who tore the tide of Kruul apart with his bare hands, then you're a fool cloaked in crimson."
The words snapped like a lash through the chamber.
Nyra's eyes widened, her posture stiffening. She had seen Thal fight, seen him stand against rot and fire alike but hearing Eric lay bare the state of the world in such stark terms twisted her stomach. The world she thought already crumbling sounded now like it was held together by threads.
Valen leaned back in his chair, brows lifting with something caught between interest and disbelief. "The Dwarves?" he muttered, smirking faintly. "Cutting ties? That's rich. They used to send letters demanding steel tariffs before their ale even got warm."
Eric's eyes snapped toward him, sharp enough to cut. "This is no jest. Their envoys are gone. Their forges silent. Not a word has left their stone halls in months and when silence comes from beneath the mountains, it means only one thing: war, or collapse."
Valen's smirk faltered, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper now interest piqued, his roguish charm cracking to reveal the mercenary beneath.
Luken's brow furrowed, confusion shadowing his features. "And the Elves? You mean to say not a single one has been seen?"
Eric gave a curt nod. "Not in years. Not a scout, not a rider, not even a whisper through the trees. Their borders are sealed. Either they've abandoned us to whatever fate brews in their desert, or they prepare for something we will not be invited to stop."
The chamber fell into a tense silence, the flicker of torches filling the space where words failed.
Elira finally spoke, her voice calm but heavy. "The balance is shifting. We all feel it. What we do not need," her eyes flicked toward Voren, "is division here."
Voren inclined his head slightly, as though granting her point but his dark eyes still gleamed. "The Three will guide us. They always have."
Eric leaned back slightly, his fists curling atop the table. He exhaled hard through his nose but he held his tongue for now. Instead, he pressed forward with what weighed heavier still.
"There is worse."
The words landed with the gravity of iron. The others turned toward him, even Voren's brow lifting faintly.
Eric's voice dropped lower but it carried clearly across the chamber. "There is something in this city. A sickness, or a curse. Men and women, highborn and low, nobles in their silks and cutthroats in their hovels it doesn't matter. They are found the same way." He paused, the words tasting foul. "Exploded. Their bodies burst apart, nothing left but a pool of blood and their organs and skeleton. No blade. No poison. Nothing natural."
The chamber froze.
Nyra's hand tightened on the edge of her chair, her crimson eyes narrowing. "Exploded?" she repeated, her voice low with disbelief.
Eric gave a sharp nod. "Pools of blood. No pattern to the dead. Some from the Four Houses, some thieves from the gutters. Some priests, even. All reduced to the same ruin. Whatever it is, it strikes without warning."
Luken shifted, his knuckles whitening against the table. "Sorcery," he muttered. "Has to be."
"That was my first thought," Eric said. "But no one has seen it. No sign of spell fire, no mark of glyph or rune. Only blood, and silence after. If it is magic, it is a kind that none here have ever named."
Valen whistled low under his breath, shaking his head. "Gods. That's a new one."
Nyra's eyes flicked toward Voren, sharp and cutting. "And what does the Church say of this?"
All heads turned.
Voren's lips curved faintly, his composure unbroken. "The answer is plain. The Kruul infest the undercity. Their filth breeds filth. These… deaths are the rot of their kind seeping upward."
Eric's fists slammed against the table hard enough to rattle the chalices set there. "Do not twist this into another sermon, Voren. I have fought Kruul in every trench and field. I know their ways. They butcher. They burn but they do not make men burst like ripe fruit. This is no warband's trick. No pit-born sorcery. This is something else."
The silence that followed was thick with unease.
Nyra sat forward, her crimson gaze sharp. "And you let this fester in your city?"
Eric's eyes met hers, unflinching. "Do you think we've been idle? Patrols double each night. Streets scoured, witnesses questioned and yet no one sees the hand that does it. No one hears the words, if words there are. Only blood left behind. It is a killer. A predator hiding in our walls."
Valen's smirk returned faintly, though it was darker now, his tone carrying a mocking edge. "A killer who hunts nobles? Sounds like someone finally decided to trim the fat."
Elira's glaive rang softly as she set the blade-end against the floor, the sound snapping like judgment. "Enough."
Valen leaned back with a shrug, though his eyes still gleamed with restless curiosity.
Eric continued, his tone steel. "The Four Houses tear at each other over land, squabbling while their own heirs burst in the night. The King holds them in check by the width of a blade but if this continues…" His voice trailed, the implication heavy.
Voren leaned forward now, his voice slipping into its familiar cadence, smooth and certain. "Then all the more reason to rally the city behind faith. When walls tremble, it is faith that steadies them. The people need to believe."
Eric's eyes burned toward him. "The people need answers. They need action. Not words. Not parables."
The chamber trembled with silence, the torches guttering in the draft.
Nyra finally spoke, her voice cool but carrying steel. "Then tell us. What are we walking into? Kruul at the gates, Archons stirring, Harbingers in the dark and now men turned to blood in their beds? Is that the city you'd have us save?"
Her words cut deep, even Valen falling silent. Luken shifted, uneasy, his hand unconsciously drifting toward the axe at his side.
Voren's lips curved faintly again. "Save, or purify. The Three do not always draw lines where you would wish them."
Eric's chair scraped against the stone as he pushed himself to his feet, his eyes blazing. "Careful, Voren. Kings fall when priests forget their place."
The chamber stilled, every breath caught.
Elira rose as well, her glaive sliding against the floor with the sound of iron drawn across stone. "Enough." Her voice cracked like a whip. "We will not let division undo us before the enemy even knocks. Eric is right the city bleeds. Voren is right the people need faith but neither alone will hold Lions Gate."
Her eyes swept them all, sharp as the edge of her weapon. "We need both and more besides. So sit. Speak sense. Or leave."
The silence stretched but slowly, Eric sank back into his chair. Voren leaned back as well, his expression a mask of composure, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his satisfaction at the storm he had weathered.
Nyra glanced at Valen, then Luken, then back to the High Canon, her mind racing. The city was far worse off than she had realized. Enemies outside, enemies within, and now something no sword could cut waiting in the shadows.
And she couldn't shake the image of Thal walking out, silent and grim, as if he had already known.
The heat in the chamber slowly ebbed. The torches hissed in their sconces, smoke curling upward like the remnants of a battle not fully finished. Eric leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, breathing slow through his nose. The steel in his voice remained but the edge had dulled into something more deliberate.
He looked across the table at Voren. "You need to cool it with Thal."
The words weren't barked like before but stated, calm, blunt, undeniable. Eric steepled his hands, his eyes never leaving the High Canon. "You don't know what he is. None of us do but I've seen enough to know we cannot treat him like one of your acolytes to be lectured. He is something else entirely. Something we don't understand."
Nyra's crimson eyes flicked toward him, then down at the table. A tension pulled at her shoulders, as though part of her bristled at hearing her name wrapped up in the conversation.
Eric's gaze shifted briefly toward her, his voice softening only a fraction. "What I do know is this: he's known Nyra since she was a child. From her own words, he's more than just an ally almost a father figure."
Nyra's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing but she didn't deny it. Silence was answer enough.
Eric continued, his voice regaining its weight. "That is no small thing. I've seen what bonds like that can make men do and then there's his strength." He shook his head slowly, the memory still too raw. "I've fought alongside giants. I've watched druids twist the earth, seen sorcery split stone but I have never seen anything like him. Not in all my campaigns. He's something beyond."
Valen leaned forward now, smirking faintly. "And that bothers you?"
Eric's gaze cut to him, cold. "It doesn't bother me. It worries me. There's a difference. You don't survive as long as I have by ignoring what you don't understand."
Valen raised his hands, conceding the point with a crooked grin.
Elira rested her glaive against her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "He carried us through with the Archon of Rot, through Kruul and fire both. You saw it. You all did. Whatever else he is, his blade is ours at least for now."
Eric gave her a small nod. "Aye. Which is why I'll say it again: cool it. Don't push him. Don't twist his words into sermons. He won't bend like your flock and if you try…" He let the weight of silence finish the sentence.
All eyes shifted back to Voren.
The High Canon sat perfectly composed, his fingers laced together, his dark eyes reflecting the torchlight. For a long moment, he said nothing, only watching them as though their outburst had been the storm, and he was the calm left in its wake. Finally, he inclined his head, slow and deliberate.
"Your concerns are… noted," he said, his voice smooth as ever, carrying the cadence of concession without the substance. "The stranger walks among us, yes. His power is undeniable. His presence… disruptive." A faint curve of his lips followed, though not quite a smile. "But if the gods have seen fit to weave him into this moment, then he is part of their pattern. We will not break the loom by pulling at its threads too harshly."
It was not admission, not truly but neither was it dismissal. It was the closest the High Canon would come to agreement an acknowledgment without ever giving ground.
Eric exhaled slowly, shaking his head but letting the matter rest. "Fine. See it how you want. Just remember what I've said when next you find yourself staring into those golden eyes."
Nyra shifted, her arms crossing over her chest. She didn't speak but her gaze lingered on Voren, sharp and unblinking. Valen glanced at her, brow arched, catching the flicker of emotion in her silence but saying nothing. Luken's knuckles tightened against his chair.
Elira tapped the haft of her glaive lightly against the marble floor, the sound snapping the chamber back to its rhythm. "Enough for tonight. We've said what needed saying. Tomorrow, we act."
Voren inclined his head once more, as though he had orchestrated the meeting to land precisely here. "Tomorrow," he echoed softly, "the weave continues."
The council fell into uneasy silence, each mind carrying away more weight than they had brought in.