A sort of auditorium, holding no fewer than five hundred people, rose before him. At the bottom, in the center, a large circle bore the symbol of what Eiden now knew as Solace, laid out across a space wide enough to host an arena.
At its center, twelve chairs formed a ring—though only five were occupied at the moment.
"The idiots brought their entire entourage," Tilda muttered, glancing around as they descended.
Many heads turned in their direction. Murmurs spread like the chirring of cicadas in summer.
"And your division?" Lyra asked, throwing a quick glance at the tightly packed crowd in the stands.
"I gave them a few days off. I wouldn't bring them to this yawn factory," Tilda replied with disdain.
"You've got people under your command too, Lyra?" Eiden asked, just as several heads from the inner circle turned to look at them.
"They're not here either. They've got more important things to do," Lyra answered, earning a quick kiss on the cheek from Tilda.
When they reached the edge of the illuminated circle, nearly all eyes landed on Eiden.
"Stay here. Remember what we talked about—you'll be fine," Lyra told him, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his hand.
Eiden nodded, convinced she said that more to reassure herself than him. As he watched her walk away toward the chairs, a bitter pang of abandonment crept over him.
Five people waited for them in the lit circle. All stood up as Lyra and Tilda approached.
Most of them, however, had their eyes fixed on him.
A middle-aged man with a broad build and stern face, his short hair streaked with gray, stepped forward. He wore a kind of ancient-looking armor made of carbon-fiber polymers in shades of black and crimson.
He approached Lyra with firm steps and, without a word, slapped her across the face—a blow that instantly silenced the entire auditorium.
Eiden stepped forward at once, eyes wide, fists clenched.
His reaction was lost in the collective gasp of hundreds of shocked spectators.
"Impulsive, treacherous child!" the man thundered, his voice echoing across the hall.
"Osric, you damned old bastard! How dare you lay a hand on Lyrita?!" Tilda shouted, ready to lunge at him.
She was immediately held back by another man—stocky, bearded, and wearing an eye patch. He whispered something into her ear, trying to calm her down.
"Typical behavior from the savage Umbral Tilda," Osric spat, eyeing her with contempt.
"Savage?! You useless fossil, I'll—!" Tilda growled, her wristbands beginning to glow with fire.
"Enough!" a sharp voice cut through the tension.
A thin, severe-looking woman stood up. Her blonde hair was cut short, and the fine lines on her face betrayed her proximity to sixty. She wore ceremonial robes with golden trim.
"I will not allow this assembly to devolve into a seedy bar brawl."
"My apologies, Luminar Cireya, but the Grand Vesper has violated the principles of our dogma," Osric replied smugly. "This was merely a small taste… of what's to come."
Eiden clenched his jaw, miserable at not having intervened. He was supposed to protect her. But the composure on Lyra's face after the slap had frozen him in place. She sat down without a word, as if nothing had happened.
"If there are no more temper tantrums, I'd like to proceed with explaining my actions," she said calmly, addressing Cireya and completely ignoring Osric.
"You'll speak only when asked, Grand Vesper. Others have yet to arrive," Cireya replied, taking her seat again.
Lyra nodded, offered the Solace salute, and motioned to Tilda—who was still squaring up to Osric—to do the same.
With one last glare of pure threat, Tilda flopped into her chair with visible reluctance.
Osric, however, remained standing. Smirking, he pointed at Eiden.
"Are we seriously going to pretend a foreigner is allowed in a core council meeting?" he asked, raising his hands in mock disbelief and laughing. "Wardens, remove him."
At his command, Eiden heard hurried footsteps closing in. A group of at least fifteen guards emerged from the stands, beginning to surround him.
"I invoke the Law of Protection," Lyra declared from her seat, speaking to Cireya.
"As do I!" Tilda shouted, practically spitting at Osric's feet.
"Seconded," said the man with the eye patch, nodding.
"I want to see what happens! I didn't expect such an entertaining meeting," chimed in an androgynous, bald individual with pale skin and glowing tattoos. Raising a dramatically poised hand, they added, "I support the girls!"
"Hey!" the man with the patch protested.
"Sorry, Vek, did I hurt your masculinity?" the other replied with a mocking grin.
Eiden recalled Krev and Pierre mentioning someone named Vek, Krev's brother. So that was him. He was supposed to be one of Lyra's allies.
"The Law of Security has been invoked. Wardens, stand down," Cireya ordered from her seat.
The guards looked at each other, confused, but obeyed and slowly returned to their posts. Eiden, watching them go, realized he'd unconsciously begun to harden the black blade in his hand.
"Shouldn't we wait for the others before beginning the votes?" asked a young man with a lost gaze, his tone laced with irony. He had a dark, almost funereal aura, and didn't seem to blink. His arms bore implants—steel spines that jutted in and out erratically as he shuffled a deck of cards between his fingers.
"Only the two dumbest leaders are missing," Tilda replied, sparking a chorus of boos and disapproval from the stands. "Where are their daddies?"
"Umbral Tilda…" Cireya scolded, as Tilda responded with obscene gestures toward the divisions of the other leaders.
"As childish as ever," came a sudden voice—soft, melodic, and unmistakably smug.
Eiden looked up the staircase. A young woman descended with graceful poise, assisted by what looked like a ceremonial butler. Behind her, the Wisp division began settling into the stands.
The rest of the divisions broke into applause at her arrival.
The young woman smiled graciously, clearly relishing the attention. She wore an elaborate gothic lolita ensemble in red and black, with high twin-tails of spiral-carved crimson strands, perfectly styled. At the base of the stairs, she completely ignored Eiden—something he was quietly grateful for—and glided directly to her seat.
"Sorry for the slight delay," she said in a high-pitched, saccharine voice. "My little ones told me about a rather… intriguing event."
"Did BDSM gear go up in price?" Tilda asked mockingly, drawing a loud laugh from the bald androgynous one.
"You're on fire, girl," they said, clapping with delighted approval.
Nika gave a false laugh.
"Maybe Grand Vesper Lyra can tell us about her inappropriate behavior in the officers' elevator," she added venomously.
"She'll talk about that later, Grand Vesper Nika. For now, let's wait for Grand Umbral Kai," Cireya interjected, shutting the moment down.
"That's actually the most interesting part," Nika said with a sweet chuckle, her gaze locked on Lyra. "Grand Umbral already heard what my little ones saw… and he's on his way here. Rather upset. His men… were armed."
Lyra clenched her fists in fury, returning the stare as if she could kill her with it.
Then the door burst open. Fast footsteps echoed through the chamber.
"Terrorist scum! You will not bring ruin to Solace!" bellowed a man's voice from the top of the staircase.
A man descended furiously, flanked by a squad of armed soldiers. His hair was long and red like flame, his figure imposing—tall, athletic, with a square jaw and piercing, almost white, ice-blue eyes burning with rage. He had the heroic air of someone ripped from an epic.
He wore a combat outfit—sober and functional: a fitted tactical suit made of armored polymer, reinforced at the shoulders and chest. Several short-range firearms hung from his belt, alongside a nanocarbon-edged sword slung at his hip, marking him as a warrior prepared for battle, not for council.
Without a word, he drew his sword and hurled it at Eiden in a furious slash. Eiden barely sidestepped, dodging the blow. The blade struck the metal floor with a muffled thud, vibrating as it lodged deep.
An uproar burst through the auditorium like a thunderclap.
Eiden, more annoyed than surprised, took a few steps back, calmly eyeing his attacker, who was now struggling to pull the blade free.
"That's the problem with uncalibrated nanotech," Eiden said coolly, as if speaking to a trainee. "Blades adapt to whatever surface they touch. If they can't pierce it, they mold and anchor… and if you don't have a release switch, which seems to be your case, you're screwed."
Kai growled, abandoning the sword. He drew a firearm from his belt and leveled it at Eiden.
"Insolent bastard! I won't let you corrupt our leaders and drag us into a war we don't need!"
"Don't move, Kai!" Vek shouted from his seat, aiming a strange, makeshift-looking weapon with a handcrafted scope straight at the leader's head.
Eiden barely turned his head as Lyra and Tilda appeared beside him, shielding him.
"You dare point a weapon at a superior? For this outsider?" Kai spat, his voice a growl.
"He's under protection law, boy," Vek growled back, still aiming. "And from this range, I won't miss. You know that."
"You'd threaten me over a stupid law?" Kai asked, stunned.
"No. I'll just blow off your hand. Maybe the forearm too, if I get lucky."
Kai clenched his jaw. He stared at Eiden with burning hatred, then at the still-embedded sword, and finally brushed past them. As he passed Lyra, he looked at her like he didn't even recognize her.
"I can't even look at you right now," he hissed bitterly.
"That's easy to fix," Tilda cut in, her wristbands flaring to life. "I'll melt your eyes and you won't look at anyone again."
"I'm starting to tire of this little show," the somber young man said suddenly, retracting the steel spines from his arms as he tossed his cards into the air and caught them again with hypnotic precision. "We're threatening superiors now? That's not right."
"You're right. I'll have to get involved too. Before things get really fun," Nika chimed in with her sing-song voice, rising to her feet. As she raised her hands, fine metallic threads—sharp and gleaming—uncoiled like snakes ready to strike.
"The way you lie to everyone's faces is almost admirable, Nikalethia," Lyra snapped, drawing her plasma blade. "But if none of you plan to shut up, I'll do it for you."
The moment Lyra used her full name, Nika's smile vanished. For a second, her eyes radiated pure, visceral hatred.
Eiden stood frozen, watching them all. Solace teetered on the brink of civil war—and it was all because of him. The tension was suffocating; followers rose from the bleachers, shouting, surging toward the aisles, ready to defend their leaders.
Then it happened.
A red alert flashed across Eiden's vision. Suddenly, it felt like he was submerged in water. His ears went deaf. He turned his head and saw everyone clutching theirs, writhing in agony.
Only one person remained upright and untouched: Cireya.
She held one hand aloft, palm upward, as if cradling an invisible sphere. Her gaze was unshaken, her expression frozen.
Eiden ran instinctively toward Lyra, who had fallen to her knees, hands over her ears, her face twisted in pain. He caught her in his arms.
"What's happening?" he asked, though he didn't hear his own voice. He was completely deaf—either that or his implant had shut everything down.
He looked around. Everyone was suffering. Everyone but Cireya.
Instinct kicked in. Gritting his teeth, he moved toward her, cradling Lyra. With each step, Cireya's expression grew more uncertain.
Seeing Eiden advance with Lyra in his arms, she lowered her hand. She stepped back—and the pressure vanished.
The ringing stopped. Sound came flooding back all at once.
"That's enough!" Cireya shouted, this time with a trembling voice.
Eiden stopped. He looked down at Lyra, who was slowly catching her breath.
"Did she hurt you?" he whispered.
She shook her head faintly and pulled away, standing on her own.
"I'm fine," she said firmly. "It was the right call."
The others began to rise. Some were still groaning. Others in the stands were unconscious. Chaos rippled through the ranks of followers.
Cireya, pale and rigid, raised her voice again:
"I will not tolerate further violations of the code! None of you have the right to raise a hand against another leader!"
No one dared respond.
Kai, on his way back to his seat, froze when Eiden—seemingly nonchalant—pulled the embedded sword from the floor as if it were a dry twig. He twirled it elegantly in his hand, then offered it back.
Kai spat on the ground, turned without a word, and dropped into his seat with fury.
Eiden shrugged, handed the sword to a nearby Warden, and resumed watching the meeting. Tilda shot him a wink, amused.
Lyra couldn't help but smile at him, even through her fatigue.
The truth was, Eiden hadn't shown any supernatural strength. He'd simply sent a signal from his ocular implant to deactivate the nanos in the blade. But no one needed to know that.
The leaders took their seats one by one, exchanging no words—only daggered glances.
The chaos slowly ebbed.
Eiden took a deep breath. He knew the real conflict hadn't started yet. Everything until now was only a skirmish… a prelude to the true fracture.
And one thought echoed relentlessly in his mind:
Soon, he would have to tell the truth.
And pray Lyra wouldn't hate him for it.