In the Court's inner sanctum, dissent bloomed like rot behind polished walls. A group of elders met in secret—old blood, older grudges.
"She defies tradition," muttered one. "She speaks prophecy as if it were strategy."
"She carries the glyph of dominion," another hissed. "That is no symbol for a bride. It's a mark of conquest."
And yet another leaned forward. "If she were removed…"
There was a pause. A pulse of shared temptation.
"…the balance would restore itself."
Moriah, hidden in shadow above them, clenched her jaw. She had suspected a rebellion forming—but not this fast.
Back at the Tower, Elara sat in her office, staring at the book she had smuggled from the vault. She copied diagrams, circling pieces of ritual she didn't yet understand. Her desk was covered in notes, old contracts, symbols drawn with trembling precision.
Nathan entered, holding two coffees. "You've been down here all night."
"I'm close," she said. "This second glyph—it can rebind a Herald without destroying the Veil."
"You sure about that?"
"No. But I have to be."
Nathan sighed, then leaned down. "Just promise me you won't lose yourself to this."
"I'll try," she said, and meant it.
But her eyes never left the blood-colored page.