The council chamber smelled faintly of incense and old stone. Tall windows let in streams of colored light, painting the marble floor in shifting patterns of gold and crimson. Seven high-backed chairs stood on a dais, each occupied by a robed figure whose face was half-hidden in shadow.
Dillon stood at the center of the hall, flanked by Tory and Victor Croft. His friends — Chris, Talia, and Zain — waited near the door, their expressions a mix of pride and wariness.
The eldest councilor, a woman with silver hair braided into a crown, spoke first.
"You fought well, Dillon Gray. You, and those who aided you, proved yourselves worthy of standing in Brackenreach. The Trial of Blades was… instructive."
Her voice carried the weight of unspoken meaning. Dillon couldn't tell if it was praise, a warning, or both.
Another councilor, a thin man with ink-stained fingers, leaned forward.
"You used shadow magic," he said bluntly. "And yet, your control was… impressive. Most untrained mages of your age would have lost themselves in the pull."
Dillon's shoulders stiffened. The shadows still hummed under his skin, like something alive that hadn't quite settled back into silence.
"I didn't lose myself," he said quietly.
Victor's gaze flicked toward him — a small, almost approving glance.
The silver-haired woman continued.
"The creature you faced yesterday was not merely a beast. It was brought from the borders of the Blacklands, where necromancers gather their strength. Its presence in Brackenreach is… troubling."
That word — troubling — felt far too small for the weight it carried. Dillon's mother had told him to seek his father here, but she had never mentioned the Blacklands reaching so far into the kingdom.
Councilor Three, a stout man with a voice like rolling stones, folded his hands.
"You must understand, boy — the kingdom is balanced on a blade's edge. Necromancers and holy orders have kept their distance for centuries. But lately… there are whispers of a shadowed alliance, something that defies both law and history."
Tory shifted, her arms crossing.
"Why tell him this? He's just passed his first trial."
The silver-haired woman's eyes fixed on her. "Because the boy is at the heart of it."
Dillon felt the air leave his lungs.
"I don't even know what you're talking about," he said, though the words rang hollow even to him. He knew. Or at least, he suspected. His mother's magic. His father's light. Two worlds that should have destroyed each other — living inside him.
The thin councilor's lips curved into a humorless smile.
"Soon, you will have to choose which half of yourself to follow. But for now, you will remain in Brackenreach under our watch. The trials are not over, Dillon Gray. They've only just begun."
The council dismissed them, and the great doors closed with a heavy boom. Dillon and the Crofts stepped back into the sunlight, the city's towers rising like spears around them.
Tory glanced at him, her sharp eyes softened by a hint of curiosity.
"You've got more enemies than you think, shadow-boy. And more eyes watching you than you'll ever see."
Victor said nothing, but the set of his jaw suggested he agreed.
Dillon looked toward the skyline, where dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon — unnatural, twisting against the wind.
Something told him the next trial wouldn't be in an arena.
A/N:how did y'all like this part