❖ Eastern Watch Hall – The Mage Council's Private Chamber
The walls of the chamber were lined with floating glyph-sheets and memory-rings. Maps hovered midair, annotated with arcane scripts. Magic hung in the air like humidity.
Five mages sat in curved stone thrones, arranged like a crescent moon—half council, half execution line.
Relvan, High Enchanter of External Phenomena, waved his hand through a projection of the archive.
"It's still stable," he said, voice dry. "Pulsing at predictable intervals. No outward aggression."
"Three signatures confirmed?" asked Magister Ilthen.
"Yes. Sin-type. All high-affinity. Wrath, Pride… and Lust arrived last night."
Silence.
Then another asked what they all feared.
"Has he… spoken yet?"
Relvan raised an eyebrow.
"Define spoken."
They all glanced at one another.
He clarified. "He's addressed his students. He has not issued commands. He has not proclaimed himself. The System appears to obey his passivity like it's scripture."
"And you're still recommending non-interference?"
"I'm recommending we do what mages do best."
"What's that?"
Relvan smirked. "We observe until it's too late."
❖ The Western Temple of the Flame
High Flamekeeper Veydan stood before an altar sculpted of dragonbone and obsidian glass. Flames danced along its edge without consuming.
Dozens knelt in silence behind him.
Before him: a banner had been unfurled—an artistic rendition of the sealed archive dome, with golden light radiating from the figure sleeping within.
"We have waited for this," Veydan said, voice smooth, theatrical.
"A man of ash, sleeping in the crucible of flame. He wakes not for war. He dreams until the world bends to peace."
One acolyte raised a hesitant voice. "But… isn't he unaware?"
Veydan smiled. "And that is what makes him pure."
Behind the altar, a wall scroll unfurled:
THE SLEEPING HERALDONE OF SEVEN SHALL GUARD HIS BREATHTHE OTHERS WILL BURN, BLEED, AND BUILD
They bowed.
Not to the flame.
But to the absence inside it.
❖ In the Shadows – The Red Sigil, Military Order
Steel glinted.
No torches lit this hall. Only cold lamplight and blade-oil smoke.
Commander Jeska of the Red Sigil stood with arms folded behind her back, staring at a map of the capital, archive dome circled in crimson wax.
"Three Sins," she said. "Two of them registered threats. One's a noble. One's a fire hazard."
A soldier muttered, "And the third?"
"Lust," Jeska said. "Which means distraction. Which means he's already spreading influence."
Another officer asked, "Do we engage?"
Jeska smiled thinly. "Not yet. Let the cults kneel. Let the mages twiddle glyphs."
She pulled a dagger from her hip and stabbed it into the map.
"We'll watch. And when one of those Sins leaves the dome…"
She twisted the blade.
"We'll see how divine they bleed."
[System Alert: External Observation Spikes Detected. Five Factions Active in Proximity.][Passive Status – Dormant. Defensive Perimeter Holding.][Host Status: Light Snoring.]
Inside the archive, Kairon muttered in his sleep.
"…tell the chickens the taxes are due…"
Brix didn't blink.
Lio didn't smirk.
Mav whispered, "I'm starting to think the real power is in whatever he dreams about."