The Command Base's meeting hall was lit only by the great ancient torches.
There was a different air in the room: lighter than before... but also tenser.
Kael observed the gathered group.
He knew the celebration had left its marks.
Good ones.
And dangerous ones.
—
Seated at the head of the long stone table, he began:
— From today onward, new functions will be formalized.
— And new responsibilities will be demanded.
His eyes turned to Patricia, impeccably aligned in her light gray gala dress.
— Patricia, from now on, you will serve as our official Chancellor.
— You will oversee internal communication, curatorship of the records, and mediation with any League cells—should formal relations be restored.
Patricia bowed her head solemnly.
— With honor, Stone.
Kael simply nodded.
—
Then he proceeded to list, one by one, the adjustments and confirmations of functions, meeting each witch's eyes as he spoke.
Each of them understood this was not just a structural change.
It was a pact.
A new pact.
Among themselves.
Against forgetting.
—
After the meeting, many lingered, talking.
Discrete smiles appeared.
The music of the celebration still echoed in some minds.
The atmosphere once again seemed to move toward hope.
—
But not everything was so serene.
In a corner of the main hall, near the arched windows, Marie watched Nikita laughing at something Kael had said.
The brightness in Nikita's eyes did not go unnoticed.
Marie squeezed her wine glass.
She said nothing.
No one did.
But the first thread of jealousy wove itself through the air, invisible like smoke.
—
Kael, for his part, did not notice.
Or pretended not to.
He simply enjoyed that rare moment of peace, knowing that soon, the time of calm would come to an end.
Very soon.