As dawn broke over the battered city of Caerleon, the first rays of sunlight filtered through a haze of smoke, casting a muted golden hue across the devastation. What remained of the skyline was a jagged silhouette of ruined spires and fractured rooftops. The streets lay still, empty, blanketed in red brick dust, shattered glass, and debris. Twisted husks of vehicles—cars, trucks, warcasters, and scorched military transports—lay scattered like the bones of fallen beasts, some still belching smoke, others frozen in flame.
The air hung thick with the scent of cinders, scorched metal, and blood. A sharp tang of ozone and raw magical energy lingered. Residue from clashing spells and crystalline discharges that had torn through the night.
The citizens of Caerleon remained hidden behind locked doors and shuttered windows, huddled in silence within the fragile shelter of their homes. Outside, the streets belonged to the monsters in black. Norsefire patrols sweeping through the city like wraiths, their boots echoing down alleys as they hunted for anyone left unaccounted for. Those caught were dragged away, unseen and unheard from again, swallowed by the cold halls of detention centers.
Each knock at the door sent hearts racing. Each flicker of light in the street brought them to a standstill, breath held.
And then—salvation.
When The Congregation arrived, blades and wands raised in defense of the people, a tremor of relief passed through the city like the first breeze after a long drought. For the first time in days, some dared to peek beyond their curtains. They watched smoke rise over broken rooftops and bodies lie still in the streets, and still—they hoped.
Even amid the blood, the rubble, and the ashes of their former lives, the people prayed. That this chaos might soon end. That those who brought darkness would finally be driven out. And that when the fires died down, there would be something left worth rebuilding.
At first light, both sides had pulled back. The resistance, the scattered clans of the Congregation, and the Visionaries had withdrawn to their strongholds. So too had Norsefire's forces, dragging their wounded with them, the sting of loss fresh on every face. It was not peace—merely pause.
The Congregation had become a makeshift nerve center. Hallways converted into triage stations. Rooms transformed into resting grounds. Even the once-roaring arena now served as a place of silence and recovery. Fighters lay on cots and slabs, some wrapped in bandages, others covered in sheets. Many of the clans had had fought with defiant fury, including Údar and her Hounds. Yet not all of them had returned unscathed.
Údar sat slouched in the curved booth overlooking the arena. Dozens of makeshift tents lined the floor below, their white canvas stained and sagging, offering meager shelter to the wounded. Her fiery red hair was matted to one side beneath a bloodied bandage wrapped tightly around her head. She ground her teeth, arms folded tightly across her chest, seething. Not from pain, but shame.
She cursed herself for letting her guard drop. Just one moment. One damned moment. A truncheon to the head for her trouble. She'd returned the favor by breaking every bone in the bastard's body. Fair trade, she told herself, though it did little to settle the heat in her chest.
Her one good eye swept the arena, settling on her Hounds. They were scattered across the lower levels, sitting or lying on cots. Bruised, bandaged, bloodied. Split lips. Blackened eyes. Some with arms in slings. A few were missing teeth. A couple had been carted off to the Hospital Wing with more serious wounds. Internal bleeds, crushed ribs but they were alive.
They'd all made it.
She knew others hadn't been so lucky.
Údar's gaze drifted to the entrance, where several stretchers lined the walls. Bodies still beneath bloodstained white sheets, their forms too still to mistake for the injured. Her jaw clenched. Her fists curled into tight balls on her lap.
She couldn't bear to imagine one of her own lying under those sheets.
But the war wasn't over.
And she knew damn well—next time, one of them might.
"Well," came a voice beside her. "Suppose we've all seen better days, eh?"
Údar glanced sideways. Cú sat an arm's length away on the same circular couch, his red spear upright between his knees, fingers resting on it like a shepherd's crook. There was a weariness in his eyes she rarely saw.
"Never thought I'd live to see the day we'd be fighting the bloody law," he muttered. "And worse yet—near losing to it."
Údar leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Speak for yourself," she muttered. "Whole thing's a mess. Children swingin' swords and castin' spells like they're trained soldiers."
She glanced around at the arena. At the injured, the blood, the shattered calm.
"It's all fecked up."
Tell me about it," Cú muttered, his crimson gaze drifting upward toward the rafters. More precisely, to the upper floor overlooking the Congregation's heart, where the High Table loomed like silent judges.
"You think they'll manage to set aside the backstabbing long enough to agree on a plan?"
Údar fingers steepled in thought. "They might hate each other's feckin' guts. Some more than others—but when the blades come out, they tend to pull together. Always have."
She gave a small shrug. "Masamune, the Knights of the Round, the other three Clans… they're not to be taken lightly. If Norsefire thinks they've the firepower to keep five clans at bay, then they've another thing comin'."
Cú nodded. His jaw tight. "If I know Genji, Arthur, and Artoria, they're already moving pieces behind the curtain. But I can't speak for the other three. Always too quiet for my liking."
His gaze darkened. "That said… how long you reckon before Burgess takes this whole thing as a declaration of war and sends his dogs marching on Excalibur?" A crooked grin touched his lips. "Not that I'd mind. I'd love the excuse to turn those bastards into human kebabs."
Údar let out a low chuckle. "So long as that arse thinks he's still holdin' the high ground, he won't move. He's too full of himself. Thinks we're nothin' more than a splinter under his fingernail. Nuisances."
Her tone dipped into a colder register. "But once that changes…"
"He'll send the whole damn cavalry," Cú finished. "The Tower's got some shiny toys they've been dyin' to test. Question is—how's that gonna look to the Council? The Tower launching an offensive on a school full of kids and teenagers?"
Údar smirked, eye gleaming. "You really think a slimy bastard like Burgess gives a shite? He's slipperier than a greased eel in a rainstorm. Bit o' lip service here, a wink and a handshake there. Those old bastards on the Council? They'll fold faster than a cheap tent in a windstorm."
"Right now," Údar said, "we're all doin' what we can. The Congregation, the High Table, the Clans, Excalibur… even feckin' Caerleon." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eye fixed ahead. "Doesn't matter who's got what banner, or who hates who. Not anymore. We've all one goal."
Cú arched a brow. "And what's that, then?"
Údar's gaze narrowed.
"Survive."
****
As the midday bell rang across the castle grounds, the deep, sonorous chime of the Excalibur clock tower echoed through its ancient stones. The sound rolled through the halls like a call to life, momentarily washing away the gloom that clung to the city beyond. In the Great Hall, the students gathered for lunch, drawn in by the rich scent of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and warm bread that drifted in from the kitchens.
Chef Gusteau had prepared a feast, not out of celebration, but necessity. He hoped that flavor and comfort might soften the dread lingering behind tired eyes. It was an offering, a brief escape from the weight pressing down on every young soul seated beneath the enchanted skylights.
For Godric and his friends, it was a welcome pause. A heartbeat of peace amid the unrest that festered in the streets of Caerleon—the city they now called home.
The students slowly settled into their meal. The usual clatter of cutlery and low hum of conversation filled the space, subdued but familiar. In the far corner of the Great Hall, beneath a tall arched window that let in soft afternoon light, the four friends gathered around their usual table.
"I've never seen Excalibur so wound up," Helga cut into her roast beef with practiced ease. "Everyone's on edge. Even Lucian and the Prefects." She paused to take a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Truth be told, I've never seen him this tense. Especially with the way he's been turning a blind eye to Clan members slipping out at night."
"As much as it pains me to admit," Rowena said, setting her teacup down with a soft clink, "even Lucian understands that, should push come to shove, the Prefects wouldn't just be outnumbered—they'd be overwhelmed." She leaned back slightly, gaze distant. "Given his clear contempt for the Congregation, I imagine it's eating him alive."
She took another sip before continuing. "Even the professors are being run ragged. Professor Lagduf and Professor Rasputin have been working through the night brewing potions and draughts for Doctor Adani, while the rest are pulling double shifts on patrol."
"It's tragic," Jeanne murmured, her fork absently pushing lettuce and cherry tomatoes across her plate. "I only wish we could do more. Not just for the students… but for Caerleon."
Rowena looked up, her eyes softer now. "You've done more than enough," she said, glancing between Jeanne and Godric. "I won't say I fully condone what the two of you did—running straight into the dragon's den—but those students owe you their lives."
"Speaking of which," Helga said brightly, "I'm glad to see the old you again, Godric. It's been far too long since I've seen that fire in your eyes. I've missed it."
Godric blinked, caught off guard for just a moment. Then he smiled, slow and warm. "Well…" He turned his gaze to Jeanne, a quiet glint in his eyes. "I had some motivation, even if she was rather insistent."
A faint blush touched Jeanne's cheeks, but her smile lingered, soft and genuine.
Godric was mid-sentence when a ripple of murmurs stirred through the Great Hall. Heads turned toward the entrance, voices falling into hushed awe. He glanced to the side and saw why. Salazar and Helena had entered together, both clad in their house uniforms. Salazar in Ferrum's deep green, Helena draped in the crimson of Ignis. Bandages peeked out from beneath Helena's sleeves and hem, small ones across her face and arm, but she walked with steady steps, undeterred by the injuries.
Rowena's teacup clinked hard against its saucer, her hands trembling. The chair scraped harshly across the stone floor as she stood abruptly and rushed forward. Godric, Jeanne, and Helga were right behind her. Rowena reached Helena first and threw her arms around her with sudden, fierce urgency, her breath catching as tears welled in her eyes.
"By Hecate… Helena, you're alive," she choked, holding her friend tightly. "I thought we'd never see you again."
Helena smiled faintly and pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet. "I'm alright," she said gently. Her gaze shifted to Salazar, the barest blush brushing her cheeks. "Salazar found me. He saved me."
Rowena's voice cracked. "I'm so sorry. If I hadn't asked you to come with me—"
"Don't," Helena cut in, taking Rowena's hands in hers. "Please. Don't do that. I made the choice to step in. I knew what it might cost. And I'd do it again."
A beat passed before Godric stepped forward. His eyes met Salazar's, and the two exchanged matching grins—equal parts relief and pride.
Godric raised a hand, and Salazar clasped it in a firm grip. "Glad to have you back, brother," Godric said with a chuckle. "Though next time, try bringing me with you."
Salazar's smirk widened. "It's good to be back. But share the glory?" He raised an eyebrow. "No, no, dear friend—I want it all for myself."
He took a step back and gave Godric a once-over, then let his gaze slide toward Jeanne with an arch look. "Although I must say… something about you has changed. And I suspect our dear Jeanne here might have something to do with it."
Jeanne's eyes went wide, her cheeks blooming red. "W–What? No! It's not like that!"
"Oh, shove off, Salazar," Godric said with a scoff, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed the fondness beneath the words. "Let's just say things got a little chaotic while you were off playing hero."
"On the contrary," Salazar replied smoothly, his emerald eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "I'm quite aware. The streets of Caerleon crawling with those unhinged Norsefire vermin, spreading like a festering plague." He took a slow breath. "You've no idea the joy I take in wiping such filth from the face of the earth."
Godric raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, Helga elbowed past him with a bright smile and hurried to Helena's side. "Thank the Gods you're safe," she said warmly. "You've no idea. Rowena hasn't slept a wink since you were taken."
Helena blinked. "Wait… really?"
"Oh, Helga, not again," Rowena groaned, rolling her eyes. "Please, don't listen to her, Helena."
"And she even picked a fight with Director Burgess over it," Helga added with a mischievous grin. "You should've seen it—pointed her wand straight at the communicator and said—" She threw her shoulders back and mimicked Rowena's solemn tone: "I'm coming for you."
Laughter bubbled up from Helena, Godric, and Jeanne, barely suppressed. Rowena turned scarlet.
"Oh, curse the heavens, I missed it again," Salazar drawled, clearly delighted. "At this rate, Rowena's fast becoming the queen of dramatic one-liners."
"Ugh, remind me again why I'm friends with you, Helga?" Rowena groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she shut her eyes in exasperation.
Helga beamed. "Because you love me," she said, flashing a toothy grin, "and you know you do."
****
"Wait—hold on," Helga said, eyebrows raised as she jabbed her fork at Salazar. "You're telling me you straight up obliterated three separate holding facilities before you even found her?" She shoved a thick slice of roast beef into her mouth, chewing noisily. "And then broke her out by yourself?"
"Helga," Rowena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a familiar look of dismay. "Swallow. Then speak. Honestly, sometimes I think you were raised in a barn."
Helga grinned unapologetically and made an exaggerated effort to gulp her food down. "Well? Was it true?"
Salazar leaned back slightly, lifting his silver chalice with languid grace. He took a slow sip of raspberry juice, savoring it before speaking.
"My dear Helga," Salazar began. "For all their posturing and theatrics, those Norsefire brutes were a profound disappointment. Bluster without substance—like wind in an empty hall." He took another measured sip from his chalice.
"Frankly, I'd have found more sport tangling with a pack of manticores high on Shimmer." A dark chuckle escaped him. "Truly pitiful. If that was their finest, then the Tower must be dredging the very dregs of society to fill its ranks."
"In all honesty," Helena said softly, her gaze dropping to her plate as she nudged a few leaves of lettuce aside with her fork, "I didn't think anyone was coming."
Her words were steady, but distant. "Day after day in that cell, I kept telling myself it was over. That I'd die in there—forgotten. Torn apart by monsters in uniforms and sent back to my family in a box." She paused, swallowing hard. "Just like all the stories we were told would never happen."
Rowena's smile faltered, her gaze softening. "Helena…"
Helena reached across the table, placing her hand gently atop Rowena's. Her expression then darkened, briefly. "They did… horrible things to me in that place."
"W–what happened to you in there, Helena?" Jeanne asked as all eyes turned toward her. She immediately faltered. "I mean—only if you want to tell us. You don't have to. I'm sorry, that was… incredibly insensitive."
Helena shook her head gently. "No," she said, her tone firm despite the tremor beneath it. "It's best you know. People need to know. The world needs to learn what sort of filth wears Norsefire's uniform."
She took a breath, gaze steeling as she looked each of them in the eye. "They tortured us. Some more than others. I didn't suffer the worst of it, not physically, but I heard everything. Day and night. Screams echoing through the walls, some of them so raw it was hard to believe they came from human mouths."
She swallowed. "The warden in charge, Erich… he had a taste for girls. Young ones. And he liked them broken."
The table fell silent.
"Blimey," Godric muttered.
Salazar said nothing, but his jaw clenched, eyes like flint.
Helena's fingers curled around her fork, white-knuckled. "He used to say he couldn't… perform, unless they screamed," she continued coldly. "Unless they begged. I held out as long as I could. Refused to scream. Refused to cry. I wanted him to choke on my silence. But…"
She paused, breath catching in her throat.
"If Salazar hadn't come when he did…" she trailed off, unable to say more. "I was lucky," she whispered. "But I can't say the same for the others. Gods only know how many girls he hurt—how many he destroyed."
Silence hung like a blade between them.
Then Salazar spoke. "He'll never touch another soul again." He looked up, eyes narrowed, deadly calm. "I made very sure of that."
"We understand, Salazar," Godric said quietly, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "You did what you had to do. In your shoes, I'd have done the same."
Salazar exhaled. "No, Godric. This isn't the first time and it won't be the last." Setting down his chalice, he crossed his arms. "I suppose it's time I stopped pretending. Though given the state of the world, it'd be naïve to think things could've turned out any different."
He looked across the table, gaze level.
"I'm no angel. Not a savior, and never claimed to be a saint. I've spilled blood, more than I can tally. Murder is no stranger to me." He paused, then added with a bitter edge, "If anything, death and I… we're old friends."
His eyes flicked to Helena who sat beside him for a brief moment. She met his gaze with a soft nod—no judgment, only understanding.
"I've done things," he said, steepling his fingers on the table. "Terrible things. Some of those men deserved it. While others didn't. Some with regret, others without a flicker of remorse."
"I've watched the light die in too many eyes, but sometimes." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Sometimes I felt something close to satisfaction. Watching justice served. Or vengeance."
He didn't look away.
"This is who I am," Salazar said. "I won't apologize for the man I've become, nor for the things I've done—only that it's taken me this long to be honest with all of you."
He met each of their eyes in turn, gaze steady, unflinching.
"The facilities I liberated. The ones who ran them. Those who caged and brutalized the innocent—I left none alive. Not a single one. They behaved like beasts, and so I dealt with them accordingly."
A pause. No hesitation.
"I slaughtered them. As one would put down a rabid animal. And I'd do it again. It was a fate they earned in full."
Helena gently placed her hand over Salazar's. He didn't look at her, but he didn't pull away either. A long silence followed. No one moved. The weight of Salazar's confession hung heavy in the air, settling over them like fog.
"Wow… um…" Helga finally said, breaking the stillness with an awkward breath. "That's… a lot to take in, Salazar. I knew you had secrets, but—."
Jeanne and Godric exchanged a glance but said nothing. Their silence said enough.
Then, unexpectedly, a quiet chuckle slipped from Rowena as she lifted her teacup and took a delicate sip.
"In truth, Salazar," she said, arching a brow, "I'm not the least bit surprised."
Every eye turned to her.
"You hoard secrets like a dragon does gold," she continued smoothly. "And I've long suspected you weren't a stranger to bloodshed."
She set her cup down and leaned forward, her gaze level and unblinking. "I'm a Ravenclaw. My family's served in law enforcement for generations. I've walked the halls of the Clock Tower since I was old enough to read. I know the look of a man who's killed—and who's done so more than once."
She folded her hands neatly on the table.
"That being said," she added, "does this little confession, by any chance, include what really happened to Rance?"
The room tensed. Every gaze snapped back to Salazar. He stiffened. His lips parted, a flicker of something—regret, hesitation—passing through his eyes.
But before he could speak, Helena cut in.
"Come now, Rowena," she said coolly, eyes narrowing. "We all know what happened to Rance." She leaned back slightly, fingers still resting on Salazar's hand. "The boy's been teetering off the edge longer than most. More unhinged than Volg, if you ask me. I wouldn't be surprised if the thought of getting booted from the Congregation finally broke him."
"A moment of hysteria. That's all," Helena said with a shrug. "Besides, weren't you the one who confirmed they found no traces of dark magic on Salazar's wand? Rance's, on the other hand was laced with it."
Rowena's sapphire eyes narrowed as she glanced between Helena and Salazar, studying their expressions. After a long pause, she sighed and leaned back.
"You're right," she admitted. "There isn't a spell in any known archive that can force someone to cast the Killing Curse on themselves. Not even the Imperius Curse can compel it—not fully."
She folded her arms. "And if Salazar had cast it, the Aurors would've detected it. There'd be no hiding that."
The tension around the table hung thick in the air, heavy and unspoken. Salazar's expression was tight—unreadable at a glance, but the flicker of unease was there in his eyes, just beneath the surface. Helena's hand remained gently over his, her touch steady, anchoring him in silence.
Then Godric spoke, steady and calm.
"Like I said before, Salazar," he began, "I don't blame you. Not then, not now, and I never will."
He paused, his jaw tightening just slightly. "My uncle Gareth once told me the world is made up of sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. The wolves use violence to prey on the weak. The sheepdogs—those of us who stand between the two—are the ones willing to meet that violence head-on."
He took a slow breath, gaze distant for a moment. "He also said that any blood spilled defending the innocent isn't spilled in vain. Nor does it make you a villain."
A beat of silence passed before Godric spoke again, as if confessing to something he'd carried too long.
"Despite all the brutality I've dealt. All the bones I've shattered, every body I've left broken. Blimey, I'm sure more than a few wished for death after I was through with them." Godric's words dipped, quieter now. "But even so… I've never taken a life.
He exhaled, the weight of the admission settling in his chest.
"But by Charlemagne," he continued, "I've felt that temptation darken my thoughts more times than I care to admit. The belief that some people deserve death—for the horrors they've unleashed on others."
His gaze drifted, distant, unfocused, as memory pulled him back. "To think like that… it haunts me."
He could still see it—the Excalibur Clock Tower. The storm outside. The flicker of steel. Volg's blood in the air, and his own sword raised, trembling in his grip. His heart beating like war drums in his ears.
"And if not for Raine…" he murmured.
Silence followed, until Jeanne spoke.
"Godric's right," she said. "Our Lord teaches that murder, in all its forms, is a sin. And I believe that. I do. I can't pretend to condone killing no matter the cause."
She paused, her fingers curling slightly on the table. "But I also believe that defending the innocent. Standing between the wicked and the helpless is a duty. And sometimes, duty demands more of us than we ever wanted to give."
"Bottom line is, we're still your friends, Salazar," Helga said with a bright, unwavering smile. "Doesn't matter what you did. Or what you've had to do." Her amber eyes shifted toward Helena. "She's here because of you. And I'd wager everyone you pulled out of those hellholes feels the same. You were the hero they needed—and deserved."
"Ugh, there it is again," Salazar groaned, rolling his eyes with theatrical disdain. "What an utterly nauseating title."
Yet despite his protest, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked around the table, at the warmth in their faces, the trust in their eyes. "Still… thank you," he said, quieter now. "All of you."
Helga's grin turned sly. "By the way…" She leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Did something happen between you and Helena?"
Her gaze dropped pointedly to Helena's hand, still resting atop Salazar's. "You two seem a little closer than usual. Normally, you'd be trading barbs by now—sarcasm, smug remarks, the usual." She arched a brow. "Instead, we're getting… hand-holding."
Instantly, both Helena and Salazar flushed scarlet, pulling their hands away like they'd touched fire.
Rowena's eyes narrowed, her smile curving with mischief. "Now that you mention it… there is something a bit off about you two." She tilted her head. "Care to enlighten us?"
"There's nothing to enlighten!" Salazar blurted, stiff as a board. "It's entirely your overactive imagination, Ravenclaw. Nothing happened. There's absolutely nothing going on between us!"
"Y-Yeah…" Helena added as she twirled her fingers and looked away. "What he said."
Godric and Jeanne chuckled softly, but their laughter tapered as the others turned their attention toward them—especially Godric.
Helga's gaze lingered on him, warm and gentle. "But most of all," she said softly, "I like that there's finally a bit of sunlight shining down on you, Godric."
"She's right," Rowena added. "It suits you, as it always did."
Godric's smile faded as his eyes dropped to his plate—half-finished roast and cooling pasta. He stared for a moment, jaw tight. "I won't pretend it's gone," he said at last. "That weight—it's still there. The pain, the rage. It's quieter now, in moments like this, but it always comes back."
His hand curled around the locket beneath his shirt, gripping it tight as he clenched his jaw. "I miss her," he whispered. "Gods, I miss her so much it hurts."
He exhaled sharply. "Every morning, I wake up half-hoping to see her there—smiling, teasing me. To feel the warmth of her fur against my fingers, even just once more." He paused, breathing raggedly. "But Jeanne's right about one thing," he continued. "I've spent so long hating the world, when the truth is… the person I hated most was myself."
"Godric…" Jeanne said gently, her eyes soft with sorrow.
"The world took Raine from me," he said. "And I let them. I pushed you all away—not because I didn't want help, but because I didn't deserve it. I thought if I just faded out, if I wasted away, maybe that'd be punishment enough."
"All those fights in the Congregation," Godric said quietly, "clan after clan, warrior after warrior—I was content to keep going. Bleeding. Breaking. Until there was nothing left of me."
He stared down at his hands. "Maybe I thought someone would get lucky… finally put me down. Maybe then I'd find peace."
Silence settled over the table like a veil. No one spoke. Helena, Rowena, and Helga watched him closely, their faces drawn with concern—grief softening their eyes, sadness threading between them like a quiet prayer none dared to speak aloud.
A weak, bitter laugh escaped him. "So much for the brave Lion of Ignis," he muttered. "Couldn't save the love of his life… and couldn't save himself either."
"But you're still here, Godric," Salazar said at last. "And that, in the end, is what matters." He leaned forward. "It doesn't take a genius to see it. We all did. Those little scraps of yours in the Congregation? They weren't just fights. They were history's longest suicide note, penned one duel at a time."
His gaze held steady. "But I daresay I speak for all of us when I say—your hatred has been woefully misplaced. It was never the world. Nor yourself. No, your fury belongs to a far more deserving target."
Godric's eyes narrowed, the name already forming on his tongue.
"Aye. Lamar Burgess. The bastard behind it all. The architect of all this suffering." His hand curled into a slow, trembling fist against the table. "Asriel warned me. That night on the roof, he said there'd be a cost. That something was coming. He was right. About everything."
"The way I see it, there's only one way forward," Godric said, lifting his gaze to meet theirs. "Nemesis has to succeed. The Tower has to fall. And Burgess along with every monster beneath him—needs to face the consequences they've spent years evading."
"I agree, dear friend," Salazar said, eyes sharp. "And I doubt the Congregation's little escapade went unnoticed. The moment word reaches our esteemed Director, you can be certain he'll be baying for retribution."
"And if I know my former uncle," Rowena added coolly, "he won't suffer this kind of humiliation in silence. He'll come for us… all of us."
"Then let him come," Helga said firmly, placing her hand in the center of the table. "Just like we did with Volg and the Calishans—we'll face him. Together."
For a moment, no one moved. Then, one by one, they placed their hands atop hers.
Godric.
Jeanne.
Rowena.
Salazar.
Helena.
Their eyes met. And they smiled—not out of certainty, but defiance.
"Together," they echoed.