Orator Moon spoke with us briefly, excusing Premier Sinclair’s dismissal of the public’s questions. “Premeir Sinclair’s duty is the protection of our world, not to comment on politics. That priviledge lies with me. Currently there is no validity to Keitl’s claims, most modern Magicals aren’t even certain they believe in this prophecy, let alone a power hungry Militia Captain’s delusions of grandeur. As our friends in the PMO say, ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’.
Maeve set the paper down and looked up at Fawley. He slipped off his dark grey blazer with sapphire stitching and leaned back in his chair. His fingers drummed against his knee.
Maeve’s eyes scanned over the moving photograph of Kietel at the top of the page. He was dressed in his Magical Militia uniform.
Neither of them spoke.
Students were buzzing about the headline as she and Fawley walked to Defensive Magic. Headmaster Rowan was leaned back in his chair, his eyes down at the Daily Divination.
The class was silent. Finally, Rowan tossed the newspaper aside and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk.
“So then,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Thoughts?”
No one moved or made a sound. Until Randolph Grisham spoke. “What does it truly matter?”
Rowan’s brows slowly raised. He nodded slightly. “Are you asking me?”
Grisham nodded.
Rowan stood from his desk and rounded it, making his way to the center of the room. His boots clicked across the hushed classroom.
“It matters, validity aside,” began Rowan, “because we are on the verge of war. Division creates chaos. Chaos yields war.”
“Is it true that he will take all of us away?” Violet asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Rowan didn’t answer right away. “Some interpret the prophecy that way, yes.”
Grisham spoke again. “But it doesn’t seem like he’s getting support. I thought the prophecy spoke about the Dread Descendant being praised by the Magicals.”
“I don’t believe that’s exactly it,” said Rowan.
“They will be drawn to him,” said Maeve.
Rowan looked towards her.
“Yes, that,” said Grisham.
“He makes a point surprisingly,” said Maeve.
A low chuckle bounced across the room. Grisham eyed her.
“They are drawn to him,” argued Rowan. “Or have you not heard many Magical Militia have abandoned their oaths and are now under his command?”
Maeve swallowed. “I don’t mean them.”
“You mean us?” Asked Fawley.
Maeve nodded.
“And that’s your only argument?” Asked Rowan. “Ah.”
Maeve avoided Mal’s gaze, burning into her from across the classroom.
“I mean, he is a very powerful Supreme. And his claims of his lineage have been verified.” Said a voice.
“Actually there is a break in the line,” said another.
“But isn’t that to be expected?” Asked the first.
