The room settled after Layla's outburst, though the tension still hung thick as smoke.
Liam sat, fingers steepled beneath his chin, scanning the others in the room. The flames of the nearby lantern flickered dimly, casting angular shadows across the war table.
"Let's get one thing straight before we pretend to cooperate," he said, voice low. "This didn't need to happen."
Belore raised an eyebrow. "Liam—"
"I wanted to launch satellites years ago," Liam cut in. "Before the collapse. Before the ash clouds. I proposed a system that could've scanned atmospheric instability, tectonic stress zones, mana disruptions—"
"You were denied," Archmage Lorien said flatly.
"Yes," Liam said coldly, eyes narrowing. "Because no one understood the tech. Because I didn't have the resources. And even with all my influence, the Royal Council only let me lay down the communication infrastructure—ground wires connecting cities, towns, and forward bases."
Layla interjected, "And even that came with chains. The network was locked down. The public banned from using it."
Ysolde scoffed. "Because only the aristocracy and the army were trusted not to abuse it."
Liam shook his head, the frustration boiling under the surface. "Now the sky's burning, the ground is cracking, and mana itself is turning against us."
He tapped the table. "The more powerful the user, the quicker the corruption. We've confirmed it. Contaminated mana induces pain, hallucinations, mental instability… then death. Slowly, or catastrophically."
Dr. Kessian Thorne folded his arms. "It's consistent with what we've seen in patients who spent too long in the Forbidden Zones. Their symptoms mirror this mana poisoning. It doesn't just affect the mind—it erodes the soul."
He paused. "We've used a compound—Suppressen—on long-range explorers stationed in those regions. It doesn't cure the contamination, but it keeps them lucid. Long enough to identify anomalies and escape before the worst symptoms set in."
"Therapy?" Ysolde Calwin snapped. "How much therapy are we expected to supply? Half the city is either dead or screaming."
"I can provide the therapy," Calra Vynn said, eyes glowing softly. "My followers are well-versed in… easing the mind. And if mana is the poison, ecstasy might be the buffer."
"Let's not turn this into a cult recruitment drive," Liam muttered.
Layla crossed her arms. "Then let's do what makes sense. We raid the noble manors."
The room fell silent.
"They hoarded food, medicine, enchanted gear. Entire bunkers of untouched supplies. And they're not sharing," she said coldly. "They never do—until we make them."
Ysolde gave her a flat look. "You want to turn civil disorder into full-on looting?"
"They abandoned their posts. Their people. Their duty," Layla said. "We're reclaiming, not stealing."
Belore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If we go down this road, there's no going back. The aristocracy won't forget. We'll be seen as rebels."
"Good," Liam said quietly. "Maybe it's time they feared something other than each other."
The Oracle of Broken Glass, who had been silent until now, suddenly laughed—soft and eerie. "Break the spires," she whispered, "and the light will crawl in from below."
Everyone turned to look at her.
Liam muttered, "I have no idea what that means."
Layla cracked her knuckles. "Doesn't matter. We have a plan now."