The chamber was tense, the whispers of the knives rising like a storm. Armand sat rigid, the darker voice inside his blade growing louder, pressing against his thoughts. Grace Johnson's hand on his shoulder steadied him, but doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve.
The elder spoke again, his tone sharp. "We must prepare for war. Wright and the Severed Tongues will strike soon. Every blade must be ready."
But the darker whisper surged, cutting through the elder's words. Lies. One among you serves them.
Armand's breath caught. He looked around the table, at the faces illuminated by the lantern's glow. Could the Circle itself be compromised?
Grace noticed his unease. "What is it?" she whispered.
Armand hesitated, then spoke. "My blade… it says someone here is not loyal. Someone is serving the Severed Tongues."
A ripple of shock spread through the chamber. The knives hummed louder, reacting to his words. The elder's eyes narrowed. "Be careful, boy. Doubt is a dangerous weapon."
But Armand's blade pulsed again, insistent. One of them will betray you.
Grace's gaze swept the room, her jaw tight. "If the whispers are warning him, we can't ignore it."
Silence fell. Every member of the Circle looked at one another, suspicion flickering in their eyes. And in that silence, Armand realized the war outside was not the only danger — the Circle itself was beginning to fracture.