The Sovereign Court was a cathedral of whispers. Every word echoed twice—once in truth, and once again in schemes woven behind the veil of silk smiles.
Kael entered the high hall beneath towering pillars of blackstone, his crimson eyes drawing every gaze like fire draws moths. The chamber was vast, carved with histories of kings who once bent nations with their will, and yet it reeked now of decay. Nobles in jeweled cloaks leaned close to one another, speaking from behind painted masks and fans, their words hidden but their intentions sharp.
Lyra walked at Kael's side, her hand resting subtly on her blade. She leaned in close enough for only him to hear.
"Every second glance is a dagger. Every whisper is poison. These are not rulers, Kael—they're carrion birds circling a feast."
Darric chuckled darkly, folding his scarred arms. "At least carrion birds don't pretend to be saints."
Kael said nothing, but his silence was iron. His gaze swept the chamber and saw what the others missed. The nobles were not arguing over how to face the Veil or protect their people. They were calculating power—measuring whether he was weapon, pawn, or threat.
From the dais, the High Regent rose. His voice was smooth, but Kael caught the rot beneath it.
"The boy with the crimson eyes. The survivor of Rivenhart. The one the peasants whisper of as a savior. Yet… what is he, truly? Hope, or herald of ruin?"
A wave of murmurs rolled across the chamber. Masks turned, eyes gleamed.
Lyra stiffened, but Kael placed a hand on her wrist before she spoke. His voice cut across the hall, steady as a blade drawn from its sheath.
"I am no boy. I am Kael Rivenhart. I bleed, I fight, I stand. While you sit in gilded halls debating, my companions and I carve down the darkness clawing at your borders. Tell me—who here has raised a blade against the Veil?"
The silence was sharp enough to draw blood.
One lord coughed behind a silver mask. Another fanned herself to hide the sneer curling her lips. Not one spoke.
Then, from the shadows at the edges of the chamber, Isryn moved like smoke. She had left their side earlier, hunting whispers. Now she returned, her steps silent, her expression unreadable. Leaning close, she murmured for Kael's ears only:
"They plan to test you. Tonight, the Court debates whether you should be caged—or destroyed. Some call you savior. Others… call you the next Sovereign reborn."
The words struck like thunder.
Kael did not answer at once. He turned back toward the assembly, crimson eyes flaring, and for a heartbeat, every mask seemed brittle as glass.