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"Six forty-one."

"Witness?"

"None."

"Depletion?"

"Confirmed."

"How many missing now?"

The man hesitates. "Twelve." Oh. Twelve. One night.

Then morning. Still moving. A Council representative swears. My father looks toward the map. The Headmaster closes his eyes briefly. Professor Vayne starts rewriting response assignments.

Rhyven doesn't react visibly at all. Just: "Mark it."

Nyra does. The map now has four red marks. Three from the night. One from this morning. Southern Elarion. Growing.

Then another message arrives. Not a report. A formal request. The Council aide reads it twice before speaking. "Elarion's Crown Council requests Varethian military assistance." Nobody moves. Not advice. Not protocols. People.

My gaze goes toward Caelen before I can stop it. He's already looking toward Rhyven. Rhyven looks at my father. Then The Headmaster. Something passes through the entire room. Not decision. Possibility.

"Requested personnel?" Headmaster asks.

The aide reads. "Ward specialists. Senior Riders. Combat instructors. Response-command personnel with direct experience of the current phenomenon."

Direct experience. That describes almost every Chief in this room. My stomach tightens. No. Not yet. Nobody said deployment. Nobody even used the word. Still. I see it now. What Dax said on patrol.

Don't depend on the Chiefs being there. They can be injured. Separated. Sent somewhere else. Rhyven notices me looking. Our eyes meet. Only for a second.

Then he looks back toward the Council. Work. Always work.

My father folds his hands over the table. "We will consider the request."

"Consider?" One representative asks.

"They need help."

"They do."

"Then—"

"We do not strip Varethia's defenses without assessment." Good. Yes. Correct. I cling to that.

The Headmaster looks toward the map. "The Academy continues current readiness protocols. No training reduction. No patrol reduction. No movement changes. Third- and fourth-year preparedness evaluations move forward." There it is.

Caelen's jaw tightens. Rhyven says nothing. Neither does any other Chief. They all know what that means. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But the Academy has spent months training its oldest students for war. I think some part of me believed that meant defending these walls. I was wrong.

The Council meeting finally breaks after eight. Not finished. Paused. There is a difference. Rhyven is immediately intercepted by two Riders. Caelen stays with my father. Nyra follows Professor Neris to update the route map. Cassian is pulled toward a siren briefing. I am suddenly standing alone in the middle of the chamber. Strange.

Through the windows, Varethia is waking. Students walking toward breakfast. Training fields opening. Dragons crossing the morning sky. Normal. Still normal. No one outside this room knows twelve people vanished in Elarion while they slept.

They will soon. Then nothing will feel normal again.

I look toward the map one last time. Varethia. Quiet.

Elarion. Red. Tiravell waiting beyond it. Lyssara farther still. The old library called it a route. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But one thing is no longer theory. The Hollowborn did not stop. They didn't disappear. They didn't lose interest. They simply stopped taking from us. For now.