The Conclave had not been convened in eighty-seven years.
Not during border collapses.
Not during demon incursions.
Not even when a dragon sovereign had gone silent without explanation.
Those were crises.
This was uncertainty.
Deep beneath the Covenant's primary spire, seals layered upon seals parted in precise sequence. The chamber revealed was circular, windowless, and old enough that its architecture predated several revisions of Covenant doctrine. The air inside was dry, preserved by enchantments that did not permit decay—or comfort.
Seats filled one by one.
Overseers.
High adjudicators.
Void engineers.
Archivists whose names did not appear in any public record.
No one spoke until the final seal closed.
Then the room acknowledged itself active.
"The agenda," the presiding Arbiter said, "is anomaly persistence."
No embellishment. No dramatics.
A projection unfolded in the center: Malan rendered as a lattice of influence vectors rather than geography. Most lines were rigid. Some had begun to curve.
"Status," the Arbiter continued.
An analyst stepped forward. "The phenomenon remains non-directional. No central origin. No measurable output. Yet compliance delays, environmental permissiveness, and administrative hesitation continue to rise."
"Quantify," someone demanded.
"Marginal," the analyst replied. "But consistent."
Silence followed.
Consistency without cause was the Covenant's greatest concern.
"Is this a revival?" an adjudicator asked. "A dormant sovereign principle resurfacing?"
"No," said an archivist immediately. "All sovereign frameworks tied to wind were erased. Bloodlines broken. Records burned. Conceptual anchors dissolved."
"And yet," another voice said, "the world is behaving as if it remembers something it was told to forget."
That earned looks.
Careful ones.
The Arbiter steepled his fingers. "We are not here to debate metaphysics. We are here to determine response."
A void engineer spoke next. "Anti-magic escalation would be ineffective. The anomaly does not register as magic. It does not push. It does not overwrite. It waits."
A pause.
"Like a ruler who does not issue commands," someone muttered.
The Arbiter ignored the comment. "What of the individual?"
All eyes shifted.
"Designation remains Vale Sonarys," the analyst said. "Sound-aspected lineage. No confirmed awakenings beyond expected thresholds. However—"
"However," the Arbiter prompted.
"He demonstrates priority alignment. When he acts, the environment resolves faster. When he hesitates, systems stall."
"So the world is… deferring?" an adjudicator asked.
"Not deferring," the analyst corrected. "Consulting."
That word landed badly.
Consultation implied legitimacy.
"Recommendation?" the Arbiter asked.
The room hesitated.
Finally, an archivist spoke. "Do not name it."
Heads turned.
"Naming stabilizes myths," she continued. "Stabilized myths become identities. Identities invite memory. If this phenomenon is allowed a title, it will inherit continuity."
"Then what do you suggest?" the Arbiter asked.
"Observation without acknowledgment," she said. "Increase listener density. Maintain suppression through friction. Avoid direct opposition."
"And if silence fails?" someone asked.
The archivist met their gaze. "Then we will know it was never silence keeping us safe."
The Arbiter considered this, then nodded once. "Directive stands. Emergency status remains internal. No public action. No sovereign language."
The projection dimmed.
The Conclave adjourned without resolution.
Above ground, far beyond the spire, Vale walked through a valley where the wind did not guide him—but neither did it resist.
He felt something shift.
Not pressure.
Attention.
Far away, systems tightened their grip on definitions they no longer fully controlled.
And in the space between restraint and recognition, history leaned forward—waiting to see who would speak first.