The circular chamber hummed with muted tension as the eight seated generals adjusted their postured. A mosaic of the Sovereign Tree shimmered on the ceiling above, its roots sprawling in golden arcs that mirrored the seating arrangement below. But the shimmer was fractured.
General Vanith said, his voice gravel and command, "As the Queen remains… unwell, and the Council incomplete, authority rests with Her Highness. Your orders, Your Grace."
The Princess inclined her head slightly. "I've already acknowledged the four who aren't present. We move forward with what we have."
A pause.
Then: "General Vorren. What about the eastern front?"
A man in polished steel armor, his cloak stained in midnight blue, stood up. "Greywood Pass remains sealed. The fog has thickened over the last week. We've lost another four scouting parties. Only a single horse returned – riderless, and bleeding from its eyes."
Murmurs stirred around the table.
"We should seal the pass completely. Brick it shut, if we must. No one who walks in returns," continued Lord Hadrek.
"Have we attempted another scrying?" the Princess asked.
Vorren hesitated. "We did. But the mage was barely able to last five seconds before collapsing completely."
General Daal leaned in slightly, adjusting his spectacles. "The same glyphs found under the Sealing Temple's ruins in the Karethian range. It's all… connected."
"We still don't know what it's sealing," Vorren muttered.
Silence fell again – like a ripple in a frozen lake.
"And what else, Lord Hadrek?" the Princess asked, shifting focus deliberately.
Hadrek took a deep breath. "Worse. Kessel, Yura, and the lower vineyards have all risen. Grain caravans are being torched. Burned in broad daylight."
General Rythe laughed bitterly. "Burning their own food? Then let them starve."
Lady Nara replied, "It's not about the food. It's about the fire. They're making a symbol. We should ask what they're trying to say."
A few generals stirred at that.
"But that's not the only concern," he added. "There's something wrong with the farms in the outskirts."
All eyes turned to Hadrek.
"It started near Yura," he continued. "Wheat turning black at the root and stalks becoming brittle like ash. Crops dying overnight. At first, we assumed it was blight – but the decay didn't follow natural patterns."
He paused, and then added. "And now , it's no longer just the fields. Trees bear the outer farms are losing bark in stirps. The soil itself is turning grey. Even the livestock is turning nervous and aggressive. Some who had ventured too far were found dead, eyes glazed black, as if something had seeped into them."
A low murmur ran through the chamber.
"It's spreading like a rot," Vorren said.
Vanith nodded. "What about the few remaining stockpiles?"
Hadrek continued. "Merchants, fearing both the revolting farmers and the spreading rot, have begun refusing orders bound for the kingdom's outposts."
The Princess frowned. "It's a sabotage. Someone's trying to starve our kingdom into collapse."
General Rurik grunted. "Without doubt. And now there are whispers in the south – entire silos gone empty overnight. No break-ins. No sign of theft."
Then came General Rythe – the oldest present. He tapped a scroll open and laid it flat.
"Viremont has recalled its High Clergy. They've sealed the Cathedral of the Hollow Saints. Rumors claim the tombs below have emptied."
Lady Althea grunted. "The Dead March."
The Princess frowned. "My last correspondence from the Viremontian Bishop reported success in relocating the relic."
Rythe shook his head. "The Sanctum Lattice is destabilizing, Your Highness. And with it, the spells keeping the Veil taut on their end. It may find another gate through Viremont. We won't be capable of handling so many dangerous fronts with the number of troops we have."
Althea cleared her throat. "Unless we can find the original key…"
Rythe interrupted. "That's the issue though. The original Concordant Seal is missing…"
Vanith answered for him. "The Dream Market."
Another pause.
Rythe whispered, "The Dream Market's spreading fast. But we have no idea where the Dreamcatcher could be."
The Princess remembered the rumor Renna had mentioned just days ago – about a blind man wrapped in ribbons, trading pieces of people's pasts – the Dreamcatcher.
"Collapse isn't coming from one direction," she said softly. "It's crawling from every side."
"But that's not all," General Daal said, hesitating. "Our western scouts have reported lights not far off from the border."
"Lights?" Vanith leaned forward.
"Pale green. Like phosphor. Moving across the hills in lines. The scouts thought it might be some rogue research group testing suppression prototypes."
"I thought these things couldn't operate beyond their static grids?" Nara muttered.
"So did we… precisely because of which we didn't pay much attention to them. But these weren't like the early Suppressors. No noise. No magic signature."
The Princess leaned forward. "You're saying they were field-testing a new type of suppressor?"
"Or perhaps," he said. "They could be up to something far worse."
A pause. A tense silence followed.
Then the Princess spoke: "Triscia."
The single wood seemed to tighten the air in the room.
Lady Althea let out a low breath. "We intercepted one of their couriers a few nights ago. He was carrying a hollow ring, packed with dusted obsidian and blackened tree sap."
The Princess' eyes narrowed. "Sovereign Tree sap?"
Althea nodded once. "Refined. Processed. And blackened."
"We'll quarantine their envoy quarter. Double-check every incoming shipment," she ordered. "I'll speak with their ambassador personally. Everything… will be fine... we just need to be cautious… and wait…"
Vanith's jaw clenched. "You're still pretending they're only watching?"
The Princess folder her hands. "We don't have the strength for war on two fronts."
As the reports piled upon the table like the weight of a dying kingdom, so did the tension in the chamber.
Voices rose in chaotic bursts of arguments. The Princess tries to hold her ground, her hands steady on the table.
Until Vanith stood.
"The kingdom is falling to rot, war and shadow," he said. "And we sit here… debating abstractions while our people choke on ash and rats."
"Enough," the Princess said.
But Vanith wasn't done.
"Your Majesty, you speak of strategies. Of hope. But hope is a poor substitution for strength. Leadership," he snapped. "Your Majesty, I've seen villages burn under the weight of delayed decisions. You want to wait. I say we act. Or we die."
A long pause followed.
Then, the Princess replied.
"We are acting. But not blindly. Desperation shouldn't overshadow us."
Vanith took a step forward. "You've barely worn the crown. Don't pretend you know what it means to lead a dying kingdom."
That hit harder than intended.
Something flared behind the Princess' eyes.
Her chair scraped sharply against the marble as she stood. Her fingers trembled slightly as they curled into fists at her sides, but her voice pressed forward, slamming her hand against the table.
"You dare question my resolve while sitting at my table?"
Vanith's eyes narrowed. "This table was never yours, Your Highness. You're merely sitting in their shadow."
The room fell silent.
Vanith's nostrils flared. His fists clenched.
Then Hadrek stepped between them, voice like ice. "Enough. This is neither the place nor the moment."
Lady Althea followed. "Vanith. Stand down. You've said your piece. Your Highness, I apologize on his behalf."
Vanith finally exhaled, stepping back. "…As you will."
The Princess' chest heaved slightly. Her jaw was tight. But she nodded once – regaining composure inch by inch. "We will not break before they even breach our gates."
The tension didn't vanish. It lingered like smoke.
"There's… one more item."
Althea placed a small velvet box onto the table, trying to shift the topic and alleviate the tense atmosphere.
"We managed to retrieve this from the courier before he escaped," she said. "We interrogated him, but he remained completely silent. And despite the chains… he just simply… vanished."
Though hesitant, she opened the box.
Inside lay the ring – obsidian black with faint spiraling grooves etched into its surface.
"Be careful, Your Highness," General Daal warned quickly. "It may be reactive. Please refrain from touch-"
But the Princess had already reached forward.
Her fingers brushed the ring.
And the room twisted.
A soundless thrum surged through the chamber – like pressure snapping her mind. Shadows lengthened. The scrolls on the table flared with frost. The candles dimmed.
The Princess gasped.
Her eyes rolled upward, turning pitch black and then slicked red. Veins flared against her skin.
Vanith moved with blinding speed, knocking the ring away and catching her before she could collapse.
The room snapped back to stillness.
She slumped forward, unconscious.
"Medic!!" Vanith shouted.
Two guards burst in.
"Get her to the infirmary," Althea ordered. "NOW!"
"I'm fine," the Princess rasped. "I just need a moment –"
"You've had enough moments," Vanith said with a tight jaw.
The chamber's heavy doors groaned opened again as she was carried out. Her hand trailed in the air for a moment, then dropped.
Silence swallowed the war room.
No one moved.
The windows of the chamber cast long shadows across the floor.
The generals watched the door with unease.
General Daal crushed the velvet box shut, glancing at the ring which was still glowing. "I think it's safe to say Triscia is no longer 'observing'."
General Rythe's gaze lingered on the bloodied seat where the Princess had sat, his fingers curled into a quiet fist.
"Do you think," he muttered, "it's already too late?"
No one answered.
And the chamber stayed still. Watching. Waiting.