Location: The Crystal Spire Hall, Polaria — recently liberated from the Devil King. The room still bears the scars of war. Cracked marble slabs run beneath the council’s feet, their seams glowing faintly with new enchantments laid hastily in the aftermath of the battle. Arcane repairs shimmer like mist across the walls. Light pours through the shattered dome, now patched with prismatic warding runes. The air hums with tension, a weave newly freed from the Spell Engine’s grip, yet no one dares to breathe deeply. The world had only just begun to heal, but already a new fracture had formed — not in stone or sky, but in the hearts and trust of Solare’s leaders. The greatest powers of Solare stood encircling a floating crystalline dais, carved with runes of warding and judgment. A war-forged silence had settled among them, brittle as glass. [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]’s voice was the first to cut through the stillness, sharp as a blade of ice. "The Spell Engine is gone. The weave is open. Planar magic, restored. And in the ashes of our liberation, you unveil a weapon fit to _unmake the world_, Cyrill." [[Queen Cyrill]] stood serene as ever, silver and white robes flowing like moonlight, but her knuckles had turned white against her staff. Her deep blue eyes burned, and for the first time, that fire was not soft. "I unveil nothing," she said, voice low but resonant. "I reveal what I was _forced_ to create. Because I alone saw what lay ahead. The Behemoth stirs again. You all feel it." [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]] slammed her palm on the crystal table, the impact sending an arcane vibration rippling through the chamber. Her silvery braid whipped over her shoulder as she stepped forward, eyes blazing. "Don’t lecture me about foresight! I’ve _walked the ley fractures_ this spell is already warping! I’ve watched the weave recoil from its very existence!" King Leon Talbain lifted a hand, his voice rough from recent wounds. "[[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]—" But the half-elf cut him off, fury breaking through her normally measured cadence. "No! No more royal appeasement. _This spell is not a safeguard—it’s a spear aimed at the spine of reality!_ And she refuses to let us examine it, test it, even _understand it?!_" Cyrill’s composure wavered only slightly, but her voice gained an edge like steel. "Because knowledge is not always power. Sometimes it is a curse. _[[Last Light]]_ cannot fall into the wrong hands. Not yours. Not mine. Not even the gods’." [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]] strode toward her now, eyes narrowed, voice shaking with restrained desperation. "Then you admit it — _you’ve created something worse than the Spell Engine_. You’ve shackled the sun to your wrist, and now you _ask us to trust your hand never slips?_" Whispers rose from around the chamber. Eyes darted between the two women like spectators at a duel. Elven Ambassador Sylvaen leaned forward, voice quiet but urgent. "Is it true, Cyrill? That you felt movement in the Woodlands? That the Behemoth—" "It moves," Cyrill confirmed grimly, gaze steady. "Slowly. But I feel it breathing again beneath the world." King Talbain swore under his breath. "Gods..." [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]] took a trembling breath. Her voice turned softer, but no less fierce. "You could have come to us. Let us work together. Instead, you hid it. You _lied_ to us." Cyrill took a step forward. Her presence filled the room like sunlight through stormclouds. "I did what no one else was willing to. I carry the burden of the end, not because I want it — _because someone must be ready to make the decision no one else will._" [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]’s voice cracked — not from weakness, but raw emotion. "You are not _chosen!_ You are not above consequence! You think your divine blessing gives you the right to decide the fate of us all? _You’ve become the very thing we feared when we built the Conclave!_" A voice, soft but piercing, rose from the side of the chamber. A Daughter of Serenity — tattooed and bare-skinned, unshaken — stepped forward. "And yet if she did nothing, and the Behemoth rose... would you have stood in its path, [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]? Or would you be studying its footprints while your cities burned?" [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]] turned, eyes glittering with tears and rage. "Don’t speak to me of cowardice. I’ve buried apprentices who thought like her. _Legends waiting to ignite the world._" Cyrill raised her chin. "Then bury me if I fail. But until then, _I will not unmake the only hope we have left_." King Talbain’s voice broke the silence like a ghost. "And if you die, Cyrill? Who holds the flame then?" The room seemed to inhale. A tremor rippled beneath their feet, subtle but undeniable. Even the stones remembered the Behemoth. Cyrill closed her eyes, then opened them with fierce resolve. "Then Solare had better find someone else with the strength to carry it. Because the Behemoth is waking. And we are out of time." [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]] took a step forward, her expression cold and commanding, her staff humming with restrained energy. "Then you have _two weeks_, Cyrill," she said, voice sharp as glass. "Two weeks to come before the Conclave, willingly, and reveal the workings of [[Last Light]]. Not to replicate it—gods help us if we do—but to understand how it might be contained, neutralized, or _prevented_ from destabilizing the very world you swore to protect." She held Cyrill's gaze. "If you refuse, then I will bring the full weight of the Conclave and every arcane power still loyal to balance and order against your reckless brilliance. Because _no one_ wields power like this unchallenged—not even you."" From the shadows behind the storm giant envoy, a lilting voice purred like silk sliding over steel. "How delightful," came the voice of [[Krynvia]], Queen of the Abyssal Court, stepped forward with languid grace, completely nude save for the shimmering infernal sigils etched into her flawless skin—symbols that pulsed faintly with demonic magic. Her form was unashamed and arresting, divine in its confidence, each step echoing with the soft chime of unseen power. Crimson eyes gleamed with amusement and veiled menace, her long black hair cascading down her back like living silk. Her presence filled the chamber like incense and poison, intoxicating and undeniable. "The Conclave shrieks, the queen blazes, and the rest of you tremble. How... mortal." Her smile lingered on Cyrill. "You did what no one else could, my darling. Created something that _even the gods_ flinch at. Perhaps you should be applauded. Or worshipped." [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]] bristled, voice a razor’s edge. "And now the succubi speak? You are not even part of this council, abyssal witch." [[Krynvia]] chuckled, stepping closer to the center. "Ah, but I _am_ part of this world. More than you know, dear [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]. I stood against [[Anam]]’s legions when this world nearly broke beneath his will. And if Cyrill’s fire can keep it from happening again, I say let her keep it." Her eyes turned sharp, icy. "But if any of you try to _take_ it from her, you’ll have to walk through more than a flame. You’ll walk through _me._" [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]] stared at her, fury momentarily stilled by caution. [[Krynvia]] smiled wider, then turned her gaze to Cyrill. From the far side of the chamber, the storm giant envoy finally stepped forward, towering above most, clad in sky-steel and robes of woven cloud. His deep voice rolled out like distant thunder, reverent yet grim. "We storm-born know power. We live above the world, and yet even we bow when it quakes. This spell—[[Last Light]]—is not a weapon of war. It is a tear in the sky." He looked at Cyrill, then [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]. "But the sky _already weeps_, and the earth already shudders. The Behemoth rises. If this light is to be used, it must be wielded with sacred clarity, not mortal rage." Then he turned to the room at large. "We do not fear the spell. We fear the _hands_ it might pass to. That fear is just. But fear alone cannot bind what was made to burn away the dark." "Just don’t forget, flameborn queen... power always demands a price. And there are _always_ hands waiting in the dark." King Talbain, wearied not just from the war but from the image of his daughter—Princess Fey—still imprisoned in the Askaria Empire, shifted in his seat. The weight of leadership bore heavily upon him, but the ache of a father eclipsed it. He looked between Cyrill and [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]], both luminous in their wrath, both unyielding. "Enough," he said, voice quiet but resolute. "I do not speak as king now, but as a father. A man who knows what happens when power is left unchecked, and what happens when it is withheld in the hour of greatest need." He rose slowly. "There must be a path forward. One where the Conclave does not fear what it does not control, and where Cyrill does not stand alone against the end of the world." His eyes moved to [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]. "Give her the time. Let her prepare what can be shared. Do not strip her of the only weapon that might save us." Then to Cyrill. "But meet us halfway. Show enough to earn trust—not submission, but solidarity. The world has already bled enough from divided hearts." The silence that followed his words was long, but not empty. It carried the weight of compromise—or the threat of war, if compromise failed. Cyrill, unfazed by [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]]’s ultimatum, lifted her gaze slowly. The chamber's tensions clung to her like fog, but her voice broke through it, calm and defiant. "I will not be dragged into fear and control disguised as order. You may have your two weeks, [[Zerquistiss - Master of the Wizards Conclave|Zerquistiss]], but I owe you nothing beyond what I choose to give. Not because I am above consequence—but because I know what’s coming, and I will not let bureaucracy bury our last chance beneath parchment and ritual." She stepped toward the center of the dais, the light from her staff casting soft golden arcs along the polished floor. "You want to study the fire while the darkness rises. I will stand in that fire and burn, if I must, to hold the line. But I will not let your fear silence what must be done." ---