Shadows inched under the tall stained-glass windows of the council hall as flickering candlelight illuminated anxious faces arrayed in gilded seats. Rumors of the Heralds and Selene's growing influence wafted through the marble chamber like a chill draft.
Lady Mirabel rose, silk rustling, her voice sharp:
"So the fox repays kindness with secrets. Are we prepared to open our gates to serpents?"
Aro's jaw clenched at the insult, but Selene reached for his hand, her calm anchor.
Selene (soft yet unwavering): "They bring no secrets—only alliances. Should we not listen before we judge?"
A hush rippled through the hall: distrust battling curiosity in every noble's gaze.
Far to the west, in the murk of the Westmoor Marshes, a different council sat clustered around a glowing rune-stone. A hooded patron's whisper carried on damp air:
"She embraces commoners, elves, dwarves—and dragonkin. She violates tradition."
Another societal leader countered:
"And those fox-runes… legends say they unravel destiny itself. We cannot afford such chaos."
Their plot thickened—a plan to discredit Selene, and resurrect Corvex's power.
Back in Valencrest, Baron Thaddeus stood firm opposite Selene:
"Your reforms are bold, Princess—too bold. Without safeguards, you court instability."
Iris stepped forward with conviction:
"Then help draft them. If you support her, prove it."
The hall's atmosphere shifted as nobles nodded in agreement. Support crept into the court's core.
Later, Selene and Aro walked through hallowed corridors—the archives now restricted.
Aro reached for the key at Selene's side:
Aro (quiet determination): "If they lock this door... what else might they silence?"
Selene squeezed his hand:
Selene: "Then we'll open them."
He met her gaze—steadfast, as if he would move mountains by her side.
At midnight, Iris waited in a backroom of the library, dusty ledgers spread before her under a single candle:
Iris (urgent whisper): "They've compiled lists—people close to you, places they fear."
Selene studied the scroll—names she trusted, sites she honored.
Her gaze drifted to the fox‑rune carved above the door—its glow barely pulsing, alive and watching.
The candle's flame shivered.
Selene (soft steel): "Then we must write our own history."