The rain fell with the discipline of soldiers.
Each drop struck the tall panes of the Council Hall in neat, even lines soft yet relentless, as if the heavens themselves were conducting a quiet military march.
Trilla leaned against the cold edge of the long glass window, watching the reflection of her own face blur into the storm outside. The city below looked almost… manageable that way softened, reduced to shifting silhouettes of towers and carriages, guards on patrol, and the ever-busy clerks scurrying like insects before dawn.
Her gloved fingers traced the condensation on the window's surface.
Five minutes until the council meeting.
Five minutes until she'd have to listen to the same old men argue about troop shortages, rations, and their precious political positions.
"Five minutes until I lose another piece of my sanity," she muttered under her breath.
The guards at the door both statues in spirit and posture said nothing.
Of course they didn't. They never did.
Trilla straightened her uniform, adjusted the silver clasp on her collar, and exhaled slowly. She hated this part not the responsibility, not the discipline but the politics that stained everything beneath it. Strategy and honor used to mean something before the Council of Glass turned it all into performance and posturing.
She pressed her thumb against the sigil ring on her hand a habit she'd picked up ever since her father's passing. It steadied her nerves, or so she told herself.
The double doors opened with a low groan. A page peeked through nervous, as all pages were around her.
"L–Lady Trilla, the council is ready."
She nodded once. "Then let's get this circus over with."
(The council chamber..)
The chamber was circular, its ceiling a massive dome of transparent crystal that refracted the pale morning light into thousands of shards. Each shard glittered with faint blue runes, pulsing like veins in the sky. Beneath it sat twelve council members, each dressed in the same ceremonial white, their faces arranged in varying levels of arrogance, concern, and boredom.
Senior Officer Edna Acdovitch sat closest to the high seat, sharp-eyed and severe as ever, her dark hair pinned into a coil so tight it looked like it could cut glass.
Across from her was Strategist Furi Wetland, his broad shoulders and dark skin contrasting the pristine surroundings. His voice carried calm authority and sarcasm that could slice through marble when he wished.
"Lady Trilla," Edna said, acknowledging her with a curt nod. "You're late."
Trilla smiled thinly. "Good morning to you too, Edna. It's lovely weather for an ambush."
"Ambush?" one of the older members blinked. "What do you mean?"
Trilla took her seat. "Just referring to the sky's mood. Don't worry, it's only raining outside not enemies falling from it."
Furi chuckled quietly. "You'd be surprised how often those two things align."
A few of the councilmen frowned at the humor. Trilla didn't care. She wasn't here to impress them she was here to make sure their decisions didn't doom an entire regiment.
(The report)
Edna wasted no time. "Let's begin. Reports from the western barracks indicate instability among the new recruits. One deserter was caught trying to cross the marsh border last night. Lieutenant Brentford's division seems unable to maintain discipline."
"That's what happens when you draft boys barely old enough to shave," Furi said dryly. "Or when your quartermaster keeps feeding them soup that tastes like boiled socks."
"Discipline," Edna repeated sharply, "comes from leadership. Not cuisine."
Trilla leaned forward slightly. "And yet morale feeds discipline, doesn't it, Edna? You can't expect loyalty from starving soldiers."
That earned her a brief, annoyed glare. The two women had a history of clashing, Edna favored the rulebook; Trilla favored the reality it ignored.
Furi broke the silence with a lazy grin. "So what's your solution, Lady Trilla? Send that bastard Brentford a cookbook?"
A few quiet chuckles rose from the side benches. Even Trilla allowed herself a smirk. "No," she said. "Just a reminder that starving men don't fight well. And that loyalty isn't something you demand it's something you earn."
Edna crossed her arms. "And what of the border defenses, Lady Trilla? We received word that the northern scouts spotted movement beyond the ridge."
Trilla's eyes flicked toward the large map projected on the table.
Tiny glyphs glowed faintly over terrain lines green for safe zones, red for contested, and a cluster of yellow dots blinking just near the ridge.
"Movement, yes," she said. "But not yet an army. My guess scouts. Testing our response. Whoever they are, they're smart enough not to cross first."
Furi raised an eyebrow. "You sound almost impressed."
"I'm a strategist," Trilla said with a shrug. "I respect intelligence, even from enemies."
.....
The debate dragged on, voices overlapping numbers, logistics, warnings of supply delays. Trilla found herself tuning in and out, her attention drifting to the rain-streaked dome above. She'd been through a hundred meetings like this, all talk, no movement.
Her thoughts wandered to the recruits.
To the barracks she'd inspected just days ago.
To Vector that strange, almost ridiculous soldier who'd spoken his mind without flinching.
She hadn't decided yet if he was brave or stupid.
Maybe both.
Probably both.
"Lady Trilla?" Edna's voice snapped her back.
"Yes?"
"I asked if you'd reviewed the tactical recommendations from Vector's squad leader."
Trilla hesitated a fraction too long.
She could almost see Vector's smug face in her mind, arms folded, probably saying something like 'You overthink too much, ma'am.'
Damn it. The man was infectious in the most annoying way.
"I've reviewed them," she said coolly. "And I'll handle the deployment myself."
Furi tilted his head. "You'll handle it? Personally?"
"Why not?" Trilla replied. "I'd like to see firsthand what kind of 'ridiculous soldier' manages to cause this much chatter."
"Ah," Furi murmured. "So you do think he's ridiculous."
Trilla looked away, trying not to smirk. "Don't put words in my mouth."
(The end of the meeting...)
By the time the council dispersed, the rain had thinned to mist.
Trilla remained seated, fingers drumming lightly against the table. Edna had already left to inspect her troops; Furi lingered a moment longer.
"She's right about one thing," Furi said quietly. "Something's moving near the ridge. Bigger than scouts, smaller than a battalion. Weird pattern too like someone's testing our lines."
Trilla nodded. "Keep it under observation. I'll head to the western barracks tomorrow."
"Alone?"
She glanced at him. "What, you think I need a babysitter?"
Furi grinned. "No, I think the recruits need a warning. You're scarier than most of our generals."
"Good," she said, rising. "Maybe that'll keep them alive."
Later That Night
Trilla returned to her quarters past dusk. The rain had stopped, replaced by a cool breeze that slipped through the balcony curtains. She removed her gloves, set her saber aside, and stared out at the fading horizon.
For a long time, she said nothing.
Then, almost to herself: "Vector… what are you really hiding?"
The wind didn't answer but a faint flicker from the barracks lights below caught her attention. A group of silhouettes moved across the courtyard one of them distinct, posture relaxed, gait uneven. Even from this distance, she recognized him.
Vector.
He laughed at something one of the recruits said loud, careless, completely out of place in the rigid silence of military order.
And yet… there was a warmth to it. A rare, irritating warmth that reminded her the world wasn't all strategy and scars.
Trilla sighed, shaking her head.
"Ridiculous man," she muttered.
But her gaze lingered longer than she'd admit.
...