A week later, Osculi Iudæ stood before the heavy doors of the Paladixtus war room. He pushed them open, the faint creak of his travel-worn armor announcing his arrival.
Inside, the hum of discussion ceased. Bellavius, Iraetius, Libinea, and Avorlas turned from their maps as one, their focus shifting to the newcomer. Osculi Iudæ crossed the room and dropped to one knee before Ezmelral's lookalike. With reverent hands, he withdrew an Essence Scroll from his side.
Meryal stepped forward, accepted the scroll, and passed it to her leader. The lookalike's fingers were steady as she untied the ribbon and unrolled the parchment, her eyes scanning the encoded script. The silence in the room thickened, stretching taut as the Consilium watched, searching her impassive face for any hint of the news within.
She finished, rolled the scroll with a crisp motion, and handed it back to Meryal, who placed it on the table. The lookalike's expression remained an unreadable mask, the prolonged silence piling tension upon the assembled warriors.
Then, two words, clear and definitive, cut the stillness.
"Well done."
A collective exhale of relief swept through the room. Shoulders loosened; the rigid anticipation dissolved into quiet, earned pride. Osculi Iudæ rose. "Thank you, m'lady," he said, taking his place beside Bellavius, his posture squared with accomplishment.
"The eastern leaders," the lookalike announced, her tone measured, "will arrive in three weeks to sign the unification treaty."
"Three weeks..." Meryal murmured, the unspoken warning about the impending corruption backlash hovering on her lips. The lookalike raised a hand, a gentle but absolute gesture that stifled the words before they could be spoken.
Internally, the lookalike acknowledged the concern. But a heavier weight pressed upon her: the passage of time spent away from her master. There were still words left unspoken, lessons left to learn. The sooner this was concluded, the sooner she could return to the Great Temple. Impulse crystallized into resolve.
"Libinea," she commanded, her voice regaining its edge. "Contact the southern rulers. Extend them an invitation to witness the signing."
"Yes, m'lady." Libinea inclined her head, the flicker of her Fire Essence betraying her readiness.
"Avorlas," she continued, her gaze sharpening. "Instruct your network in the north to leak the scroll's contents. Let the rumor of this treaty spread like a grassfire."
A subtle swirl of Air Essence accompanied Avorlas's nod. "It will be done." He understood the order was not just an announcement, but a provocation—a calculated move to flush their hidden enemies into the open.
One by one, the Consilium Disciplinae filed out, their footsteps fading down the corridor until only three remained. The war room felt suddenly vast, the air thick with the echo of departed voices and unspoken words.
Meryal was the first to break the silence, turning a sharp gaze on Osculi Iudæ. "Do you have something else to add?"
"I—" he began, hesitation silencing him for a moment. Then, the memory of the thriving eastern town, the laughing children, the grateful woman—it all fortified him. "While I was in the east, I... encountered certain rumors."
"Are you questioning our leader's integrity?" Meryal cut in, her tone icy, the air around her growing cold with the ripple of her displeasure.
"No," Osculi Iudæ said, his voice finding a steadier ground. "I wish to hear the truth from her directly. I will not let the whispers of others cloud my judgment."
"They are lies."
Ezmelral's lookalike's voice was absolute, a clean blade severing all doubt. Her expression was a mask of resolute calm.
Osculi Iudæ held her gaze for a searching moment, then gave a single, deferential nod. "I see. I knew they could not be true." His voice was flat, all emotion carefully locked away. "I will take my leave."
He rose and exited. The soft click of the door closing was unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
"I still don't trust him," Meryal said, the words a low, immediate verdict.
"Has his service not been flawless?" the lookalike countered, her tone even, probing the rigidity of Meryal's stance.
"And yet he doubted you to your face."
"That is precisely what sets him apart from the others," she replied, her voice softening with a note of pity. "You forget, Meryal. He was once at 89% corruption. That level of decay leaves scars on the soul. Paranoia isn't his flaw; it's his survival instinct. It's what made him strong enough to be reclaimed."
"Which is exactly why I believe it was a mistake to elevate him to the Consilium," Meryal argued, her Water Essence coiling like a guarded serpent.
A faint, knowing smile touched the lookalike's lips. "All will become clear in time. There are layers to this game that cannot yet be revealed."
Meryal's defiance melted into devotion. She bowed her head. "I trust you."
With a final nod of acknowledgment, Ezmelral's lookalike rose. She moved toward her chamber, her steps measured and purposeful, each one echoing with the weight of secrets kept and burdens yet to be shouldered.
---
The moment she crossed the threshold into her chamber, the world froze. The very air solidified, and the flicker of a candle flame hung motionless in the stillness. From this suspended silence, the Keeper of Time and Fate materialized—a vision of golden sand and starlight. It was her first visit in all these long years, a breach of protocol that signaled the gravity of the moment.
"Grandmaster," the lookalike breathed, swiftly rising from the chair before her mirror. She dropped to her knees, bowing her head before the Keeper's awe-inspiring presence.
"So, you near the end of your path," the Keeper spoke, her voice the soft chime of countless turning ages.
"The unification is within reach," the lookalike confirmed, her voice steady despite the sudden tightening in her chest. "In three weeks, the treaty will be signed. A few years to secure the peace, and my duty here will be fulfilled."
"So swiftly," the Keeper mused, her sands swirling in a slow, cosmic dance. "Are you certain this haste is wise?"
"I—" The lookalike's certainty wavered, a crack in her resolute armor.
The Keeper raised a hand, her gesture gentle yet absolute. "Remember, the GodKing is eternal. His existence is measured in millennia, not moments." Her gaze, profound and all-knowing, seemed to pierce through the veil of time itself, acknowledging the unseen observers before returning to the disciple. "Whether you return to him tomorrow... or in a thousand years, his side is your destiny. Time is the one adversary you need not fight."
The lookalike understood the warning perfectly. She was forcing the timeline, recklessly scheduling the most critical moment of her mission for the very day her body would be at its weakest, ravaged by the corruption's backlash. Yet, the logic was drowned out by the hollow ache of separation—a void that grew with each day, making her feel more a stranger to her own people and more desperate for the one presence that felt like home.
Aloud, she offered disciplined acquiescence. "I understand your counsel. I will proceed with caution." Then, the discipline fractured, and a raw, vulnerable hope whispered through. "Has he... asked after me?"
The Keeper of Time did not answer with words. She began to dissolve, her form unraveling into a cascade of golden light. As time stuttered back to life—the walls breathing, the candle flame resuming its dance—her final, fading words drifted on the air, a gift and a balm to a weary soul:
"Every night."
A soft, genuine smile touched Ezmelral's lookalike's lips, a warmth kindling in her chest that momentarily outshone the cold weight of her burdens. In that smile was a renewed vow—to finish her task, to endure the pain, and to cross the cosmos back to the one who, even across the vastness of space and duty, held her in his thoughts.