A murmur rippled through the chamber. Several councilors leaned forward, squinting.
Kailorien and Auryn shared a look—one of recognition and of dread.
“For now, let Us call this a Blightsphere,” she suggested, quiet enough that the room had to bend towards her to hear. The words landed and stayed. “If they can make one, they can make a second. And an improved third.”
Sevrion’s mouth thinned. “You intend to frighten the Council with a name.”
“We intend to name what already frightens you,” Auryn countered. She looked up, and the line of her jaw was steady. “We cannot treat this as an aberration. The bomb was placed in the Han where Crafters live, work, and trade. Whoever made this understands impact. They want our hands empty and our economy starved.”
Draevan set his pen down. “You believe it was targeted to cripple supply and artisan throughput.”
“We believe it was engineered to cut us where the wound won't clot.” Auryn’s gaze swept the crescent. “There are also…rumors. Of the Cataclyss—a buried city below Krystopolis. If there is truth there—”
A scatter of scoffs, a ripple of disbelief.
Sevrion pounced. “Ah. And now we chase tales in the dark? Your Radiance, your zeal exceeds your reach. Bomb forensics and digging after fables—you propose to split a loaf that has not yet been baked.”
Kailorien angled his head, the smallest shift. Auryn caught the tilt, answered it with the faintest nod, and continued.
“We don’t have the luxury of single problems,” she said. “The temples are already overrun with the Pale Madness, starved despite support promised in the Writ of the Ninth Lattice.”
She let that statement linger.
“With the Han’s lodgings destroyed, Our Crafters have nowhere to sleep, nowhere to fire kilns, mend tools, or weave cloth. Trade stalls are ash. If We don’t secure roofs and workspaces within days, we will see supply lines seize. No thread, no brick, no plate, no salve. Citizen care comes first—shelter and the means to work. While that proceeds, the device must be investigated, contained, traced. And if the Cataclyss holds truth that intersects any of this, we cannot afford to learn it too late.”
Sevrion spread his hands. “With what resources? Shall we melt the Shields down for Gleams?”
Kailorien turned to him then, fully.
“With the resources you hoard for committee vanity projects such as the temples and effigies you planned to build for the Rite of Judgment,” he cut in, mild as frost. “And with Reskala labor requisitioned from barracks to erect temporary housing in the Han by nightfall. Manaengineers from the Shield Core offices will be redirected to rebuild critical conduits. Youwillsign those orders.”
Sevrion went very still, then reached for hauteur like a cloak. “You presume much.”
“I command what is necessary,” Kailorien countered. “There’s a difference.”
Draevan cleared his throat, stepping into the tightening line like a man inserting himself between two sparring blades. “If I may. The Blightsphere demands formal containment. My mana logistics office has the vault protocols and the equipment to measure residual mana torsion without exposing personnel. I volunteer to lead the investigation—composition, assembly method, provenance.”
Auryn studied him for a heartbeat; the council watched as her expression gentled. “Of all here, Councilor, you are most qualified. And discreet. We support your motion.”
Kailorien didn’t miss a beat. “Then it’s yours, Draevan. You’ll have Reskala detail and full security clearance.” He looked to the chamber at large. “Any obstruction of that work will be treated as interference with a counter-siege effort.”
A stir—uneasy, respectful.
Auryn returned to the table’s edge. “Immediate actions: Temporary shelters erected in the Han within two days. Workshop tents and portable kilns on the third. Food and water routes rerouted to avoid rubble choke points. Menders assigned to rotating posts in the district squares. We cannot wait for the temples to make room for beds; we will bring care outward.”
Sevrion’s gaze flicked to the sphere, then to Auryn, a hint of calculation cutting through disdain. “And the Cataclyss?”
Auryn didn’t flinch. “Preliminary survey only. Cartography and records cross-checks. If we find nothing, we lose a handful of hours. If we find something, we may save lives the Blightsphere aims to take.”
They do not know that I walked the explosion radius, and I don’t want to reveal that I know where the entrance is.
I agree. The less they know of that, the better.
Kailorien let that settle, then delivered the close like the final notch in a seal. “These measures stand. As agreed in the Glassbound Treaty—and as demanded in response to a threat of this magnitude—the Council’s vote will be bypassed by the Resh’Agar’s decree.”
He lifted the case; tucked the broken sphere carefully back inside, and closed the lid. But even sealed, the Blightsphere’s wrongness warped the light around it. The Council exhaled as if a pressure front had moved through them.
Chairs scraped again. Papers gathered. The room emptied with the wary efficiency of people who’d been given orders they couldn’t quite argue with.
