"I submit this as my final evidence — proof that the death of Sir James of the Iron Veil arose from the Iron Veil's own desire to have me assassinated."
The words landed.
His gaze locked onto Mirell. She returned it with the faintest trace of amusement. No words were needed. The understanding between them was plain.
This was not the end.
"Are you certain you have no further petitions to raise under the Article?"
Chion's lips curved into a cold, crooked smile.
"I was once told that breaching the symmetry of seven is an omen in the sight of the Origin Blood. I have no further petitions." His gaze never wavered. "I stand ready for the Council's own uncontradicted — and undeniable — proof."
Mirell's smile tightened.
"Very well."
Her gaze shifted right.
"Elder Myra. If you would."
She bowed once, then rose — no flare, no ceremony, only the quiet authority of a woman who had been waiting for this moment since Chion first opened his mouth.
Chion watched in careful silence.
The most important act of this play.
Reality bending in real time. A system correcting itself — not toward truth. Toward preservation.
In the Evernight, truth and justice were not principles. They were instruments. Convenient words the powerful fastened over tyranny.
"For the sake of time, I will proceed directly — not with circumstance." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "But with documented evidence against the raised circumstances."
She snapped her fingers. A bundle of parchments materialized in her hand.
"First."
She drew one free.
"The witness statement detailing the encounter. Three minutes — the exact timeframe of the provocation that saw the accused draw and slit the throat of a man with a sheathed blade." Her gaze lifted. "True or false?"
"True, Elder."
She set it aside and raised another.
"Second."
A flick of her wrist — one parchment vanished and reappeared before Chion.
"The Iron Veil's official reservation order for the White Lotus. Kindly read the stated purpose and reservation date so the Council may compare it against your petition."
Chion's eyes scanned it first.
Clean. Crisp. Etched with fresh ink. The scent of a fresh blood seal.
He read aloud.
"Joint briefing exercise between the Chapter of the Veldrath Hunt and the knight ascendants of the Sovereign-Vale."
"When was the reservation made?"
"On the seventeenth, Elder."
"Then, based on protocol alone, when were notices required to begin posting before the Training Hall?"
"Today, Elder."
"Can you now infer why three knights were present early that morning?"
"I can, Elder."
"Then we proceed. What is the nature of this briefing?"
"A confidential debrief on the tactical dispersal of wild wyverns recently detected along the Silver Peaks."
"Do the Sovereign-Vale engage wyverns?"
"They do, Elder."
"And their operational range from the Vale?"
"One hundred kilometers."
"So I ask this Bearer — can a Chapteral debrief be conducted within a training hall?"
"It can, Elder."
"Thank you."
Cold. Immediate. No satisfaction in her voice — only the quiet click of a latch falling into place.
Her fingers snapped again. Another parchment appeared; Chion caught it.
"Review the scout reports verifying that this threat is present. Begin by stating the date the scouting mission was conducted."
"The eleventh of this moon, Elder."
"The distance of the Silver Peaks from the Vale?"
"Approximately fifty-one kilometers northwest."
"How long does it take for a newly established colony to begin expansion?"
"Around six moons, Elder."
"The estimated age of this colony?"
"Five moons."
Another snap. Another parchment.
"A detailed log of all scheduled activities within the Iron Veil holding on the twenty-fourth."
Her gaze fixed on him.
"Tell us, Mantle-bearer — which section of this holding was sufficiently secure for a confidential debrief during daylight hours, knowing full well that compromise would induce public distress and panic?"
Her voice lowered, measured and precise.
"Take into consideration that you — newly mantled, an outsider — managed to acquire classified intelligence from within it with ease."
The chamber grew still.
"How secure is the Iron Veil?"
He did not answer.
"From that alone, how many of your circumstances remain standing? Kindly be audible enough for the Council to hear."
"Three still remain standing, Elder. My third through sixth submissions, per the High Roa, have been effectively voided."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
"Recorded."
Her head tilted slightly.
"House Kallistyr. Elder Meris. If you would."
A brief acknowledgment, then she rose.
Like all Houses of the Wing, she bore their signature mark: hair worn long past any practical concession, silver strands falling in loose braids nearly to her heels. Faint silver eyes, steady and untroubled. White robes, unadorned. A serene expression, unbroken.
"Out of respect for the accused's reasoning —" her gaze remained steady — "I will address only one remaining statute.
"The seventh."