The circular chamber beneath Knight Headquarters had changed in subtle ways since the first gathering—a deeper silence clung to the stone, a weight shared among those present. Above them, the surface darkened further each day, and the wind that howled through Nondicci carried more ash than air.
Twelve figures stood or sat in the ring of crystalline thrones, their silhouettes carved against pale runelight and suspended sigils. The Council of Twelve had convened again.
Liam Passart stood at the southern arc, flanked by Layla Ackerman on one side and Garron Kest—brought in at Liam's request—on the other. Garron, visibly uncomfortable in the presence of such power, still stood tall with his arms crossed, dust still clinging to his vest.
Commander Belore Bart opened the meeting with a steady voice. "It has been one month since our first gathering. Each of us was tasked with the survival of our domains and the stabilization of the capital's key systems. Now, we share what progress we've made."
One by one, they began.
High Inquisitor Seraphin Vale spoke first, her tone like a blade on glass. "The Order has cleared the last remaining insurgent enclaves within the inner districts. The city's laws are intact—barely—but holding. My Black Watch patrol the border perimeters. There is unrest, but no uprising. For now."
Archmage Lorien Quavek, eyes pale with fatigue and mana strain, followed. "Of the 27 remaining mage towers, 19 are stabilized. Five have gone dormant. Three… are unstable. I've sealed the worst. Leylines continue to splinter—we're working to redirect flow through temporary weaves, but the magic of this city is becoming feral."
Lady Ysolde Calwin gave a curt nod. "Noble estates have been repurposed into relief shelters. Those who refused to cooperate have been… persuaded. My retainers now coordinate food distribution alongside General Vorn's supply lines."
Dr. Kessian Thorne, his monocle gleaming coldly, spoke next. "Medical triage zones have been expanded beneath the old university halls. We've lost more than I'd like. But we've also saved more than I expected. The disease rate is rising—mostly respiratory—but manageable for now."
Marquess Vaelros Nightbane, ever draped in shadow and silk, leaned forward with a faint, unsettling smile. "The underways are mine again. My people have cleaned out the rats—literal and otherwise. Smuggling routes now serve as food and resource conduits. You want movement without questions? You come through me."
General Hadrek Vorn grunted. "Army is scattered, but functional. Six battalions still reporting in. We're training civilians where we can. Morale's... thin. But orders are followed. The city's defenses stand."
Magister Orvax Grimm, his robes tattered but eyes burning bright, rasped, "I've restructured the Academy's remaining arcanists into task forces. Alchemical batteries, protection runes, mass warding—functional, if crude. We've begun soulstone fabrication. Desperate measures, yes, but time is not our ally."
Mistress Calra Vynn's voice echoed unnaturally, woven through illusion and charm. "The citizenry are holding on—for now. I've spread calming wards throughout the denser sectors. Panic breeds faster than plague. I won't let it spread."
The Oracle of Broken Glass gave no report—only tilted her head and whispered a single phrase:"Five paths. Three lead to ash. One to war. One to silence."
Silence lingered until Layla Ackerman stepped forward, her voice crisp. "I've relocated my team to Leraine's subterranean vaults. Genetic stock has been preserved. Hydroponic systems are stable. We've begun distributing spore-based protein cultures to supplement nutrition in the southern zones."
Finally, Liam spoke.
"We've completed eight underground habitation sectors. Self-sustaining, sealed, and growing. Alchemy has allowed us to reclaim more than expected—structural alloys, filtered mana, food cultivation infrastructure. We've housed five thousand so far. Twelve sectors remain under construction."
He turned to Garron beside him. "The Builder's Guild is operating at full capacity under Garron Kest's leadership. He's the reason we're still moving material faster than we lose it."
Garron gave a half-shrug. "Still standing. Still stubborn. And yeah—we're building. Fast. But even stone needs time to set."
Liam's voice hardened. "Time is what we don't have. Tambora's ash spread is accelerating. Four months left, maybe less. When the sun dies behind that curtain, the surface won't just be unlivable. It'll be forgotten."
He paused, letting the weight of those words settle over the council.
"We need to unify efforts—link tunnel systems between sectors, share energy sources, and redistribute knowledge. This can't be twelve plans. It must become one."
Belore Bart nodded slowly. "Agreed."
And so, the council moved from updates to strategy—twelve powers and one builder, laying the foundation not just of a city's survival, but of what might come after its death.