"And when they strike," Nolan said calmly, "they'll reveal everything we need."
Celia swallowed.
"You're saying… we let them make the first move?"
"Exactly," Nolan replied.
"When they act, we'll know their goal, their method—and how to undo whatever scheme they're planning."
Nolan folded his arms slowly, his gaze fixed on the distant sky beyond the tall stone windows of the Earth Tribe's hall. The wind outside shifted—subtle, unnatural—like something vast had just stirred.
"We're not moving," he said calmly. "Not yet."
Linda frowned. "But Master… if what you're sensing is true, then—"
"I know," Nolan interrupted, his voice firm. "That's exactly why we stay."
The room fell quiet.
Lyra stepped forward, her expression troubled. "You're saying Prince Zohar hasn't fallen yet… but he's close?"
Nolan exhaled slowly.
"He's standing at the edge," he said. "Between reason and ruin. Between being a man… and becoming something else entirely."
