"Speak."
Kyriel stepped into the center of the dimly lit chamber.
"The boy is dangerous. Yes. But I agree with the Shadowmaster—if we push him too far, if we force his awakening prematurely—"
"—we may birth the very calamity we fear," Ilmare finished.
Varos crossed his arms.
"Then what is your solution?"
Kyriel hesitated.
Then she whispered:
"We kill the boy's instructors. His supports. His anchors."
Varos froze.
Ilmare's breath hitched behind the mask.
Kyriel continued, pacing slowly.
"We break him psychologically first. Remove guidance. Remove protection. Remove teachers who understand what he is or what he could be. Remove the Principal. Remove the Vice Principal. Remove the combat instructors."
Her voice grew cold as a blade forged from winter.
"Then the boy will never reach his potential. He will become powerful, yes… but directionless, unstable, perhaps even fractured."
Varos's eyes gleamed behind his obsidian mask.
"You don't fear the boy," he said softly. "You fear the prophecy."
Kyriel did not deny it.
Ilmare sighed. "This plan is… complicated. Risky. Slow."
"Better slow than suicidal," Kyriel snapped.
Varos tapped his fingers against his mask. "If we delay the attack or alter the plan without the Council's approval, the Crystal Mask will—"
He stopped.
Three pairs of eyes slowly turned toward the far side of the chamber.
Toward the empty shadows.
Toward the place where the Shadowmaster had stood earlier.
Kyriel whispered:
"…You both felt it too, didn't you?"
Ilmare stiffened. "Yes."
Varos swallowed. "He was listening even after he 'left,' wasn't he?"
Kyriel nodded slowly.
"The Shadowmaster never leaves without leaving a piece of himself behind. Always listening. Always watching. If we deviate too much from the plan, we will not live to justify it."
"So what do we do?" Varos asked.
Kyriel's gaze hardened.
"We do what the Veilborn have always done."She slipped her mask back on, the cracked-moon design glowing faintly.
"We pretend obedience…and sabotage from within."
Ilmare sucked in a sharp breath. "Kyriel—treason within the Council—"
"Is survival," she interrupted.
Varos tilted his head."Explain."
Kyriel leaned closer, her voice a whisper that barely stirred the air.
"We cannot stop the attack. The vote locked it. But we can redirect it.We can ensure the strike force is weaker than intended.We can misdirect operatives.We can leak partial warnings to the Academy—not enough to reveal our involvement, but enough that the instructors will be ready."
Ilmare whispered, horrified:
"You propose aiding the Academy?"
Kyriel's eyes flashed beneath the mask.
"No. I propose preserving the world until we know what the boy truly is."
Varos considered.
"Three members working together is enough to sway execution."
"Exactly," Kyriel said. "If we destabilize logistics, delay the Harrowed Legion's deployment, and weaken the Phase One sabotage, we can force the attack to fail—or at least fail partially."
"And when the Crystal Mask demands answers?" Ilmare asked.
"We will claim the Academy's defenses were stronger than expected. That the boy awakened prematurely and disrupted our strike forces. Or that Operative Nine misreported their readiness."
Varos slowly nodded.
"…Plausible. Very plausible."
Kyriel folded her arms.
"If the Shadowmaster suspects treason, we're dead instantly. But if we proceed carefully, quietly…"
Ilmare finished the sentence:
"…we can prevent a catastrophic war."
For the first time, Varos's voice softened.
"We do this carefully. One wrong step and the Crystal Mask will tear our souls apart."
Kyriel nodded once.
Ilmare tightened their robe.
"Then… we are agreed?"
A long moment of silence.
Finally—
Varos extended a hand.
Kyriel placed hers on top.
Ilmare, trembling, added theirs last.
Three masks.
Three dangerous minds.
One quiet conspiracy.
"We are agreed."
But before their hands could separate, an icy breath drifted through the chamber.
A whisper that did not belong to any of them.
"Agreed on what?"
The three froze.
A shadow peeled off the ceiling.
Dripping.
Contorting.
Forming the silhouette of a man.
The Shadowmaster.
He stepped forward slowly, robes fluttering like tattered smoke.
Kyriel's heart nearly stopped.
Varos's breath froze.
Ilmare trembled violently.
The Shadowmaster smiled beneath the hood, silver eyes gleaming.
"No need to answer," he said softly. "I already know."
A pause.
A cold, impossible pause.
Then—
He walked past them.
"Continue your… discussion," he murmured. "Whatever you decide… it will not matter."
He drifted to the doorway, becoming mist.
"This world has already started its descent into ruin."
"And the boy will either become its savior…or the one who destroys it."
He vanished.
The three Councilors remained frozen, masks trembling.
Kyriel whispered:
"…He let us live."
Varos exhaled shakily.
"Which means…"
Ilmare finished, voice strained:
"…he wants to see what we will do."
The Veilborn Council was already fractured.
And the attack on the Academy had not even begun.