Dawn arrived cloaked in unease. The castle bells rang thrice—an ancient, sacred call, reserved only for blood or birth of new eras.
Sharath convened a Grand Circle in the Hall of Assemblage. No titles barred entry. No rivalries excused absence. Enchanters, dwarves, elementalists, artificers, arcane historians, power-weavers, even a disgraced summoner still under probation—all arrived, some out of curiosity, others out of fear.
Sharath stood at the center, his voice steady but brimming with the raw steel of urgency.
"The fire took what it had no right to claim. This kingdom has too long relied on tools that hurt those they serve. I seek a solution—not a workaround."
He laid out the scorched parchment from Eren's desk, next to the blackened core of a once-brilliant idea.
"Light without fire. Power without pain."
A silence deeper than judgment followed. And then—agreement. Not by vote. But by posture. By purpose.
The Circle had been summoned. And it had answered.