Evening cloaked the valley in soft blue shadow.
The flames lining the council ring flickered with low, steady light, but inside the chamber, tension buzzed louder than any wind outside.
The council wasn't at full strength.
Of the twelve seats once carved for unity, only eight were currently filled—and only four of those were considered solidly in Echo and Vaya's favor. The rest had grown… uncertain.
Tonight's meeting wasn't scheduled.
It had been called in whispers.
Not by Echo.
Not by Kaelen.
By Toran.
A long-standing elder, advisor to the former Flamekeeper, and one of the valley's most trusted diplomatic voices.
Echo entered the council circle with Vaya at his side. Orah was there too, standing by the flame brazier with her arms folded, expression unreadable.
Toran sat near the center, his silver hair tied back, eyes sharp. He wasn't smiling. He usually did. That was the first sign something had shifted.
Echo gave a polite nod. "You called this?"
