The room fell still.
“The Council,” Orric Feyne finally declared, “is deadlocked. Approval shall be deferred to the Sovereign Flame.”
Murmurs, grumbling, and the shifting of robes followed.
The Resh'Agar did not step down.
“I have one additional motion,” he said.
All eyes returned to him, wary. Like he’d suggested they all sip boiling mana water.
“Effective immediately, the Sokâr is to be assigned a minimum of six elite Reskala. They will guard her space at all times. Two will follow her whenever she leaves her chamber—whether in the Lattice or the city.”
He paused.
“They will report and answer to me, and me alone.”
He took one step closer to the dais, his eyes meeting those of Tharalon Drex—Marshall of Internal Order.
“Any objections, Drex?”
Silence.
Power pressed into every soul present like the weight of a drawn bowstring. No one challenged the motion.
They couldn’t.
And the Resh'Agar knew it.
One more figure rose to stand.
Calixtan Murn.
As the Elder Voice, he had power others did not.
“If this Council is to speak of Doctrine, then I will share a concern of ours. You have not completed Estâr since your return, Your Quintessence,” he glared. “The Shields continue to face instability, and Estâr must be observed to protect them.”
Kailorien did not blink.
The breath in the chamber stilled—caught between the hanging lanterns and the fine-tuned arrogance of Calixtan’s words.
“Is that a question,” the Resh’Agar said, voice smooth as honed steel, “or an accusation?”
Calixtan didn’t flinch. His age afforded him that much. Or perhaps it was arrogance born from decades of watching the city turn beneath his feet.
“A reminder,” the Elder Voice replied. “Your Quintessence is not exempt from the rites. The Resh’Agar must kneel to Doctrine. If the Shields fail—if Krystopolis falls—it will be because the Resh’Agar defied Estâr.”
Murmurs rippled like a shallow quake across the Council dais, but Kailorien only smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes—a warning masquerading as civility.
“Doctrine,” he said, “also states the Sokâr is to be supplied with the same opportunities and resources as the Arm of the Void. That a wing should have been constructed for her decades ago. That she should be protected. Elevated. Honored.”
His gaze swept the room—icy and unrelenting.
“Instead, she’s beenneglected. Starved of light. Denied guards. Denied proper rites. Denied shelter. You speak tomeof Doctrine? Then let Doctrine rise in full.”
He took another step forward, and the Council shrank back in unison.
“Build her a wing equal to mine. Shielded. Warded. Have no worries, Councilor, I will do my duty, but I expect the same of you. Don’t force me to remind you what happens to those who blaspheme against the Destroyer.”
