Elder Mirell drew a slow breath. The old man's words had always had a way of crawling beneath her skin.
Not today.
Today he had given her two things: perspective, and a whip with which to bring her cohort back into line.
"The Council," Mirell said, her voice a measured, rhythmic toll, "hears and respects the wisdom offered by Valor. And it would do well to reflect upon that wisdom before a final verdict is rendered. We are the Law. Or we are nothing."
Her gaze swept the ring of thrones, pausing just long enough on each Elder to remind them of her station. Then she turned toward Zerus.
With a flick of her fingers, light returned to his throne in a slow, reluctant pulse.
"House Peryn."
The crimson mask tilted forward. Even through the frozen snarl of the carved visage, his disdain was palpable.
"I take heed," he muttered.
The words dragged out like a grudge being swallowed. The blood-light of his throne flared in sullen acknowledgment.
"House Draco."
Zhaeryn's jaw tightened until the muscle leapt in his cheek.
"I take heed."
The words tasted like ash, but the sigils at his feet reignited nonetheless.
"House Nox."
Nariel's shadow writhed along the floor — a dark mimicry of her frustration — as she exhaled a sharp breath.
"I take heed."
Every syllable resisted the admission, but she inclined her head.
One throne remained dark.
Mirell's gaze shifted to House Artyr.
Riven did not look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Talan — sharp, venomous, fractured. His hand, white-knuckled against the obsidian armrest, trembled until a fine spiderweb of cracks spread through the stone.
"House Artyr." Her tone sharpened.
A long, strained breath rattled in Riven's chest.
"I… take heed," he finally forced out, his voice thinned by suppressed rage.
Light returned to his throne — pale, flickering.
For a fleeting instant, a ghost of a smile threatened the corner of Mirell's mouth: the dark satisfaction of a tamer who had forced a lion back into its cage. She strangled it before it could surface.
"Good. Then deliberation shall continue with the clarity we previously lacked."
She turned her attention to the quietest presence in the chamber.
Elder Elaris of House Solen sat wreathed in the faint, cloying scent of crushed lilies and rain, her robes shimmering like moonlight on disturbed water.
"Elder Elaris." Mirell's voice dropped, cool as cut crystal. "Elder Talan aptly inferred that you possess the gift of prophetic sight. You are the eye that sees the threads before they are woven. Yet you have remained the most silent throughout this entire ordeal, when your words may carry the greatest weight of all."
She leaned forward.
"Is your silence a shield — or a hiding place? Has your vision revealed nothing of the boy's fate? Or does it show you something you would rather the rest of us not see?"
Every eye in the chamber turned.
Predatory. Expectant.
Elder Elaris did not move. Her fingers tapped slowly against her blindfold.
The scent of lilies thickened around her, curling through the chamber in slow, deliberate waves.
A slight tilt of her head.
"I have nothing to hide. Nor shall I ever."
Her voice was unhurried, carrying no need to fill the silence.
"My silence is not a shield. It is an observance of the Law. Justice is forged through tangible truths — facts, not visions. The Law forbids such indulgence."
Her blindfolded gaze did not waver.
"The gods are dead. Prophecy is a lie told to the desperate and worshipped by fools. What I see — or do not — remains at my discretion, and at the discretion of those who still walk Umbrelith temples."
A slight tilt of her head.
"Which, to my knowledge, includes no one in this chamber."
Mirell inhaled to speak.
No words came.
Something moved behind her eyes — a recoil so brief it was almost nothing.
Almost.
She pressed forward.
"The Law still demands that an Elder act as a Councilman and provide some form of contribution toward resolving the present crisis."
A beat shorter than she intended.
"Anything helpful would be appreciated."
That earned a smile.
Brief. Faint. Gone.
So eager to tear into her moments ago, now clothing herself in civility. How predictable.
"Read, Elders."
Elaris's voice was soft, unhurried — neither question nor concession.
"Read the Scriptures."
The fingers stopped tapping.
"The Book of Dorn would be rather insightful."
She let the silence stretch until it strained beneath its own weight.
"Don't you agree?"