The council hall wasn't grand in the traditional sense.
There were no golden tapestries, no jeweled chandeliers—just high arches, pale stone, and a circular table of carved whitewood that occupied the center.
Aaron stood just inside the chamber, the last steps of his boots echoing against the floor. His windbreaker still carried faint burns and dust from the shrine's collapse.
Even after a wash, the air around him held the scorched tang of burned mana.
Two of the four Royal Magi were already seated.
Victor, the Life Magus, lounged in his chair, green-threaded sleeves flowing around his wrists. His easy posture didn't quite hide the sharpness in his eyes.
Rufus, the Rune Magus, sat straight-backed with his fingers interlocked over a folder of neatly stacked papers. His expression was the kind of neutral that was meant to make you guess what he was thinking.
The fourth chair belonged to the king.
And as for the fifth chair, it belonged to their newest comrade, The Void Magus.
