The air in the Council Hall was thick with the weight of Rowan's words. He had declared himself the Keeper, and now there was no going back. The Book pulsed at his side, alive with the power of the city, the power of his choices. His breath came in shallow bursts as the room stood still, the silence pregnant with tension. Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath, as though waiting for Rowan to make his next move.
Blyth, who had always been the calm center of the Council, stood there, his face unreadable. But Rowan could see the change in his eyes—he saw the doubt, the uncertainty, the flicker of fear. Fear of what Rowan had become. Fear of the power he now held.
"You speak as though the city will bend to your will." Blyth's voice broke the silence, his words like a knife slicing through the air. "But power is not so easily commanded. The city is not yours to control."
Rowan's eyes locked onto Blyth's. The old man was right—power was never truly controlled. It was wielded, shaped, manipulated by the hands that held it. And Rowan's hands, calloused and bloodied from the weight of the Book, had learned how to wield it.
"I know." Rowan's voice was steady, unwavering. "But I don't intend to control it."
The room shifted at his words. Council members exchanged uneasy glances, the tension thickening. They had expected him to be like the others—like the men before him who tried to hold the city in their grasp, who sought to tame it with laws and force. But Rowan was different. He was the Book, and the Book was him. His power was not in domination, but in understanding. His authority wasn't earned through force; it was drawn from the city itself, from its pulse, its rhythm.
Rowan stepped forward, the Book held firmly in his hands, its weight grounding him. The chamber seemed to grow quieter with each step, the city's heartbeat thrumming through the air as if it too were listening. The Book pulsed in his hands, a reminder of the price he had paid, the sacrifices yet to come.
"The city will not bend to my will." Rowan's voice echoed through the hall, sharp and resolute. "But I will bend with it." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the room. "I will walk with the city, guide it, and let it guide me. We are bound, all of us. The Book and the city—both are a part of me, and I am a part of them."
The Book hummed as he spoke, the power of it thrumming in his bones, in his very soul. He could feel it now, not as a burden, but as an extension of himself. The power of the city, the law that had governed it for centuries, was now his to interpret. His decisions would shape its future, but they would be shaped by the city's pulse as well.
Blyth's face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed something deeper—an understanding, perhaps even a grudging respect. "And what will you do with that power, Rowan?"
Rowan's gaze hardened, his jaw clenched. He had already made that decision. He would not be a tyrant. He would not rule with an iron fist, nor would he cower before those who sought to control him. He would be the city's heart, its voice, its balance.
"I will protect it." Rowan's words rang out with an authority that sent a ripple through the room. "I will protect the city from the forces that would tear it apart, from the lies that would choke its heart, from the men who would twist it to their own ends."
The Book seemed to answer him, its pages vibrating with a surge of power. Rowan could feel the weight of its knowledge, its history, settling in his chest. The city's heartbeat quickened, as if it too were ready for the battle that was about to unfold.
"You speak of protecting the city," Blyth said, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. "But what will you do when the city fights back? What will you do when the very people you seek to protect rise up against you?"
Rowan's eyes flashed, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. He knew what Blyth was asking. He knew the weight of the question. The city was not a single entity—it was a collection of people, of factions, of interests, all pulling in different directions. The forces that had always controlled the city would not simply step aside. They would fight to maintain their power, and Rowan's every decision would be a battleground.
"I will fight for it." Rowan's voice was steel now, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. "I will fight for the people, for the truth, for the heart of this city. I will not back down." He turned, his gaze sweeping over the Council members, each of them now holding his gaze. "And if I must break the law to protect it, then I will."
There was a moment of stunned silence in the room. The air seemed to freeze, the weight of Rowan's declaration hanging like a storm cloud over them all. They had expected him to be a ruler, a tyrant, a man who would use the Book to bend the city to his will. But what they had not expected was this: a man who would bend with the city, who would protect its heart at any cost, even if it meant breaking everything they had built.
Blyth's expression softened, and he nodded slowly. "Then you are ready."
Rowan's eyes flickered, his chest tightening with a mixture of uncertainty and resolve. He was ready, but for what? He knew the battles ahead would not be fought with words alone. They would not be won through politics or diplomacy. The forces that had taken root in the city were deep and powerful, and they would not be easily displaced.
But Rowan had made his choice. He had embraced the Book, and he would embrace the city along with it. He would fight for it. And he would fight until the very last breath, if that was what it took.
The final battle was coming. And Rowan was ready.