The rain did not stop.
It fell through the night like the sky was trying to erase something.
By dawn, the Citadel glistened cold and watchful. Guards rotated in tighter formations. Servants whispered with lowered eyes. The corridors felt like veins carrying tension instead of blood.
Aria walked them alone.
Not because she lacked protection.
Because she refused to look protected.
Whispers followed her anyway.
Not fear exactly. Not yet.
Speculation.
The Council had adjourned without resolution. No formal vote. No decree. Which meant the war was no longer verbal.
It was procedural.
And procedural wars were the most dangerous.
She entered the eastern wing without announcing herself.
That was where Elder Varin's faction had been gathering.
The doors to the strategy hall were slightly ajar.
Voices inside.
Measured. Calm. Calculating.
"…if she performs the Rite publicly, the instability will become undeniable—"
"And if she refuses?"
