Night had fallen over the Fiore branch of the Magic Council.
The building, though smaller than the one in Era, carried the same air of solemn authority — marble pillars wrapped in silver runes, quiet corridors lined with crystalline sconces that burned with cold blue light. Outside, the wind brushed against the tall windows, whispering faintly through the narrow gaps of old stone.
In one of the upper chambers, light still flickered.
Ultear Milkovich sat alone behind a crescent-shaped desk, the lamplight painting soft gold over her black attire. Her council robe hung over the back of her chair, replaced by a sleeveless violet tunic and gloves that shimmered faintly when she moved. In the quiet, the faint ticking of the arcane clock on the wall mingled with the steady hum of the lacrima placed before her — a sphere of pale light slowly pulsing like a living heartbeat.
Her violet eyes glowed faintly in the dimness as she leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.
"Let's begin," she murmured.
The lacrima flared to life, projecting four ghostly figures into the air — the transparent visages of three fellow councilors and the faint shimmer of a sealed connection ward.
Michello, thin and sharp-featured, leaned on his cane even through the projection, his eyes hard with suspicion.
Leiji, graceful yet stern, stood with her arms folded, her tone cool as her expression.
And Yajima, older and calmer, his weary patience a fragile balance between the two extremes.
The air seemed to thrum faintly with secrecy.
Ultear's voice cut through the stillness — smooth, unhurried, but every word deliberate. "Thank you for answering my summons. I believe we all know why we're here."
Michello clicked his tongue, the motion visible even through the projection. "You mean Crawford."
Ultear's lips curved faintly. "Of course. Our honorable Chairman has been… busy, lately. Moving funds through auxiliary channels, establishing private correspondence through red-coded archives, and—" her tone dipped ever so slightly, "—holding private meetings with Siegrain."
That last name drew silence.
Leiji frowned. "You have proof of this?"
"Proof? Not yet," Ultear said softly. "But patterns don't lie. Too many unexplained authorizations, too many erased records. And tell me—how often do you think the Chairman and Siegrain discuss 'security measures' without involving the rest of the Council?"
Yajima's brow furrowed. "You think they're hiding something."
"I know they are," Ultear replied. "And I suspect it may involve external forces."
Michello's voice cut in sharply. "External, you mean… dark guilds?"
Leiji turned her head toward him. "Careful with your accusations, Michello. This kind of talk—"
"Oh, save your caution," he snapped, tapping his cane against the floor so hard it cracked the projection for a second. "That old man's losing his grip. He's turning a blind eye to the filth crawling under his own Council. And what do we do? Sit politely and pretend not to see?"
He leaned forward, sneering faintly. "I've said it before — Crawford doesn't deserve that seat. The only reason he still holds it is because of you, Miss Ultear. More than half of the Council's funds come from your Mitsugochi company. Without your donations, this institution would have crumbled years ago."
Leiji shot him a glare. "Enough flattery, Michello. That's not why we're here."
But Ultear only smiled faintly, swirling the glass of red wine she had yet to sip. "He's not wrong," she said softly. "Money holds power, just as much as magic does. And right now, both flow in dangerous directions."
Yajima exhaled slowly. "If what you suspect is true… the integrity of the Council could already be compromised. Crawford and Siegrain working together—" he shook his head. "That's no small threat."
Ultear's gaze sharpened, her tone lowering to a quiet, commanding rhythm. "Precisely why this conversation never leaves this room. For now, we watch. Crawford's network is expanding. I want every irregular order, every unexplained movement of funds, and every contact made under his authority reported directly to me."
Leiji frowned. "That sounds a lot like you're creating your own division."
Ultear's smile was serene. "If the Chairman can act independently, then so can I."
For a moment, none of the others spoke. Then, reluctantly, Yajima nodded. "Very well. I'll cooperate. But we tread carefully, Ultear. If Crawford realizes what we're doing…"
"…then he'll realize we're already too close to the truth," she finished smoothly.
Her tone didn't waver — it never did. But behind the calm of her eyes, something colder stirred: a calculation that extended beyond the Council, beyond politics, beyond Fiore itself.
Michello broke the silence again, his smirk returning. "Whatever happens, I know this much — if anyone deserves that seat, it's you, Miss Ultear. You have the mind, the influence… and the results."
Ultear gave a soft, noncommittal hum. "Flattery aside, the Chairman still serves a purpose. For now, we let him believe he holds the reins."
Leiji's eyes narrowed. "And when he overreaches?"
Ultear's faint smile glimmered in the lacrima light. "Then we tighten the leash."
She leaned back slightly, her voice soft but final. "Maintain discretion. I'll contact you again when the next phase begins."
One by one, the projections flickered and vanished, dissolving into mist.
The chamber grew silent again.
Ultear remained seated, eyes fixed on the fading glow of the lacrima — until, at last, her hand moved. With a graceful gesture, she reached beneath the desk and pressed her palm against an engraved sigil.
Another crystal, hidden beneath a false panel, began to hum. Its light was darker — a violet glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Her lips curved faintly.
"So even here," she murmured, "the darkness seeps into the light. How fitting."
The hidden lacrima pulsed once — then answered with a faint echoing voice:
"Alpha-sama, awaiting further instructions."
Ultear's eyes softened, almost fond. "Continue monitoring. If the Council begins to move… we'll move faster."
The voice replied, "Yes, Alpha-sama."
The crystal went dark again.
Ultear exhaled slowly, gazing at the city lights through the window — the perfect picture of serenity.
But the faint smile that lingered on her lips was not one of peace.
It was the smile of a woman who already held the next three moves of the game in her hand.