The Grand Hall of Arvenholt's Council gleamed under the light of crystal chandeliers, but Kaelen could feel the rot beneath the gold. The air was thick with perfume, power, and lies.
Council members sat in their high-backed chairs, their jeweled robes flowing like rivers of wealth. They smiled warmly at Kaelen—the hero who had destroyed the Heart—but their eyes held the weight of suspicion, and something colder.
Lord Veyran, the oldest of them, leaned forward. "Your service to the realm is beyond question, Keeper… yet rumors reach us. Whispers that the Abyss still clings to you. Tell me—should we trust you with the safety of our world?"
The question was a dagger wrapped in silk.
Kaelen met his gaze, steady. "The Abyss may have touched me, but it no longer controls me. My only loyalty is to the realm."
Across the hall, Liora stood silent, studying the councilors' faces. She saw it—the faint nods exchanged, the subtle movements of hands beneath the table. They were plotting something, perhaps already aligning themselves with forces outside these walls.
When the session ended, a scribe slipped a folded note into Liora's palm. The ink was hurried, the words urgent:
> "They have struck a deal with the Veilmaster. Leave the city at once."
Her heart sank. The shadows weren't only outside Arvenholt—they were seated in its highest throne.
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