The hall didn't breathe at first. The light from the shattered ward still sizzled in the air, the smell of scorched silk and burnt magic hanging heavy. Nobles pressed against the walls, their jeweled sleeves shielding pale faces. The wounded envoy was carried out, her groans sharp in the stunned silence.
Then the whispers began. A flood of them.
"Sabotage."
"The Archwitch has gone too far."
"The hybrid… I saw her near the altar…"
Jamyd stood at the center of it all, his voice loud enough to cut through panic. "You all saw it. Gadmyne's experiments have poisoned the sacred rite. And worse—" he lifted the planted token high, the silver charm catching the torchlight— "her pet hybrid meddles with powers she barely understands. The realms are not safe."
Gasps spread like wildfire. A few voices cried agreement. Daphane clutched Lymid's arm theatrically, as if protecting her son from unseen harm. The twins whispered venom to nearby nobles, their smiles sharp.
Nystrix froze, heat flooding her chest. Every eye in the room turned on her—curiosity, fear, disgust. The ground felt like it was tilting beneath her.
Before she could speak, Gadmyne stepped forward. Her golden eyes blazed, her presence towering though her voice was calm. "You dare throw shadows on me with parlor tricks, Jamyd? A ward collapse can be staged. Evidence can be planted. But intent—intent leaves a stain."
Murmurs rose. Some hesitated, caught between accusation and loyalty.
That was when the Noctarii moved.
Zanre sneered first, his disdain cutting the air. "I warned you she was a mistake," he said coldly, nodding toward Nystrix. "A hybrid standing among us is an insult to every tradition."
Niven, however, folded her arms, her tone smooth. "And yet, Zanre, she stood through the Nexus without burning alive. You forget that little miracle."
Lynch chuckled, her acceptance laced with mischief. "If she wanted to destroy the realm, she would've done it with less flair. This? Too sloppy. Not her style."
Fenrith said nothing at first, his expression carved from ice. Then, finally: "The truth doesn't bend to shouting. I will wait."
The neutrality was deafening.
Jamyd bristled, but pressed harder, trying to sway the wavering crowd. "You all saw what happened. I'm sorry to say, but... The Archwitch cannot protect us—she endangers us. She clings to an abomination that weakens our realm. Must the festival's blood run thicker before you act?"
He thought he had them—until Illus laughed.
It was a slow, dangerous sound, rolling like smoke across the room. His eyes glimmered as he leaned forward in his seat, his voice honey-smooth but sharp enough to cut. "If Gadmyne wishes to burn the witches' realm to the ground, Jamyd…" His smile curled wider. "It is her business. Who are you to question her?"
A ripple of uneasy laughter burst among the Noctarii. Some smiled outright, others smirked behind their goblets.
Jamyd's face went pale.
The sarcastic dismissal gutted his momentum. Nobles exchanged glances, unwilling to openly oppose the Noctarii when their amusement was so clear.
And then, the worst blow—Luthien entered.
Not with a storm, not with fury. With silence. With a smile that promised ruin. He strolled past Jamyd without a word, standing beside Nystrix as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His presence alone was enough to tip the scales—panic turned to hesitation, hesitation to quiet obedience.
Jamyd's carefully orchestrated trap cracked under its own weight.
Yes, whispers would still spread. Yes, nobles would still wonder. Seeds of doubt had been sown. But the spectacle had slipped out of his control. The Noctarii's mockery and Luthien's silent stand turned his grand plan into nothing more than smoke.
For now.
Jamyd smiled tightly, hiding the fury beneath. He would not retreat. Not truly. He would wait, sharpen, and strike again—because once a seed is planted, even shadows can help it grow.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The festival lights still flickered outside, but the chamber Gadmyne pulled Nystrix into was cold, quiet, and stripped of celebration. The door shut with a heavy thud, and for the first time that night, Nystrix felt the weight of everything crash over her.
Her pulse still hadn't steadied. Every whisper, every glare replayed in her mind—the planted token, the nobles' gasps, the word abomination ringing like a curse.
Gadmyne's back was to her at first, golden eyes fixed on the black windowpane. Her voice, when it came, was low and sharp.
"Do you understand now?"
Nystrix blinked. "Understand what?"
"That this realm isn't just blades and magic. It's whispers. Shadows. Poison passed hand to hand until it looks like wine." She turned, and the intensity in her gaze nearly made Nystrix flinch. "Jamyd didn't fail tonight. Not truly. He opened the door. And now every coward in the realm will peek through it."
Nystrix swallowed hard. "But—Luthien stopped him. The Noctarii—"
"Mocked him," Gadmyne cut in. "That's not the same as silencing him. Tomorrow, every noble who feared him tonight will repeat his words behind closed doors. They'll tell their servants. Their servants will tell the market. By sunrise, half the realm will question me. And you."
The truth stung worse than any blade.
Nystrix crossed her arms, trying to mask the heat in her chest. "So what do we do? Prove them wrong?"
For a heartbeat, Gadmyne almost smiled. Almost. Then her expression hardened again. "We don't prove. We endure. We watch. And when the time comes, we strike where it hurts."
She stepped closer, tilting her head. "Tell me, little hybrid… did you notice who didn't defend you?"
Nystrix blinked, replaying the scene in her mind. Zanre's sneer. Fenrith's cold silence. Niven's sly acceptance. Lynch's laughter. The queen's venom. Jamyd's fury.
Her stomach sank. "Too many."
"Exactly." Gadmyne's voice softened for the first time, though her eyes remained sharp. "This is the game, Nystrix. Not just survival—but proving yourself in a world that wants you to fail. Every room you enter, half of them will want you gone. The other half will wait to see if you fall."
Nystrix's throat felt dry. "And you?"
For once, Gadmyne didn't answer immediately. Then she placed a hand lightly on Nystrix's shoulder—warm, steady, grounding.
"I don't train children to fall," she said simply.
The words hit deep, heavier than comfort, heavier than command. Nystrix's chest tightened, torn between gratitude and the urge to snap back with defiance. But nothing came.
Only silence.
Gadmyne released her, already turning away. "Rest. Tomorrow the whispers begin, and you will not hide from them. If they call you abomination, you will stand taller. If they spit in your path, you will walk straighter. Do you hear me?"
Nystrix nodded once, firm. "I hear you."
But inside, her resolve was a storm—fear, anger, determination twisting into something new. Something stronger.
Because Gadmyne was right. This was only the beginning.
"Also, the Luminara festival lasts for a week and there would be plenty of time to clear out names, bit the last day is when we strike." Gadmyne added.