The summons came late the next morning. He had spent the hours in his chamber, reviewing his mental notes from the Wayfinder's Cairn, meticulously organizing the evidence of the Sleeping One's pervasive corruption. His Resonance Crystal lay on his desk, its faint, unsettling hum a constant reminder of the alien power he'd touched. He knew the Elders' skepticism ran deep, but the subtle tremor of corrupted mana he'd felt in their halls, a cold thread weaving through Emberhold's vital ley lines, gave him a sliver of hope. They had felt something.
Joric helped him prepare, his quiet efficiency a stark contrast to his youthful worry. Lysander noticed the way Joric's hands, usually quick and steady, trembled slightly as he fastened his belt. Joric felt it too, Lysander realized, the unease in the city, even if he couldn't name its source. He met Gareth and Elara in the corridor outside. Gareth's grim expression was firm, his hand resting instinctively on his axe. Elara's sharp eyes held a new, cautious respect, tinged with a deep-seated apprehension. They had trusted him in the wild; now they watched to see if Emberhold would trust him in the halls of power.
The Council chamber felt colder than ever, despite the glowing heat from the molten pool behind the Elders. The air smelled faintly of ancient incense and ozone from the powerful magic that flowed here. He felt a chill that wasn't from the mountain air. This time, only Elder Theron and Elder Lyra were present, their faces unreadable masks of ancient wisdom. High Commander Valerius stood to the side, his presence a silent pillar of support. Kaelen Alden was conspicuously absent; perhaps his direct, action-oriented nature was deemed ill-suited for this delicate political maneuvering.
"Private Thorne," Elder Theron began, his voice devoid of emotion. "We have indeed sensed the 'dissonance' you described. It is... unsettling. Our seers are attempting to define its nature, but it resists our every traditional method."
Lysander felt a surge of triumph, carefully masked. They felt it. The Sleeping One had, inadvertently, served his purpose. "Elders, what you sense is not a mere dissonance. It is the signature of the Sleeping One's influence, its tendrils reaching, slowly corrupting. It is a force that doesn't just attack, but twists. It warps not only minds, but the very magic that flows through this world." He kept his voice calm, confident, presenting facts rather than theories.
Elder Lyra, her eyes piercing, finally spoke. "You claim to have seen its influence, to have gained an 'illusion of clarity.' This is a bold claim, Private. One that defies all known arcane principles for one of your… background." There was a hint of curiosity in her tone, but primarily a challenge, and he could almost hear the unspoken words: For one like Lysander Thorne, known for little but frivolous pursuits. She was testing him, assessing the truth of his impossible abilities against the shadow of his past.
He met her gaze evenly. "Elder, the threat defies known principles. My ability is born from direct observation and necessity, not traditional study. I believe this 'clarity' can reveal deeper truths about the Sleeping One's methods, details your traditional scrying cannot penetrate." He took a calculated risk, stepping forward slightly. "I propose I accompany Emberhold's most skilled diviners. I will guide their sight through the layers of corruption, showing them the true face of what stirs in the north. We need to understand how it operates, how it directs the Horde. And for that, you need eyes that can pierce its veil."
Elder Theron scoffed. A faint sneer touched his lips, as if remembering a less impressive version of Lysander. "Guide our Master Diviners? You, Private, a noble with a strange knack for old plans? This is arrogance. We recall the Thorne family's... traditional inclinations." The unspoken accusation of laziness and self-indulgence hung in the air.
He felt a bitter flash of frustration, a burning heat in his chest that momentarily threatened to break his composure. The original Lysander would cower now, or lash out in petty pride, he thought, feeling the familiar urge to shrink back. But Alex Chen's will clamped down hard. I won't let their old image of this body define me. My life there, in that cubicle, felt like a cage. This world, for all its dangers, feels terrifyingly real, and I won't lose it by being trapped by outdated perceptions. "No, Elder. It is necessity," he countered, his voice firm, refusing to back down. "Your scrying can sense the presence. My clarity can see the mechanism. Combined, we can map its influence, predict its actions, and perhaps, find a way to counter its insidious corruption, rather than just react." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "The Northern Hordes are moving with unnatural speed and precision because they are being guided. We need to see the conductor, not just the orchestra."
Valerius, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. "Elders, Private Thorne has proven himself capable of seeing what others miss. His insights have averted disaster more than once. His dedication to this task is... profound, a change from what many might have expected. If his 'clarity' can truly reveal the enemy's true command, it is a risk we must consider. Our own scryers are blind to the details he claims." Valerius's words, carefully chosen, acknowledged the past without dwelling on it, highlighting Lysander's current, undeniable value.
Elder Theron and Elder Lyra exchanged a long, silent look. The atmosphere in the chamber thickened. He felt a wave of the original Lysander Thorne's anxiety, the urge to shrink back from their intense scrutiny, but Alex Chen's will was unyielding. He stood his ground, maintaining eye contact. Elder Lyra's gaze seemed to pierce his very soul, as if sensing the anomaly of Alex's mind battling Lysander Thorne's old impulses, a quiet understanding passing between them, unspoken but felt.
Finally, Elder Theron let out a slow breath. "Private Thorne, your proposal is unprecedented. To ask our Master Diviners to follow the guidance of an unproven... courier... It is a radical departure from our methods." He looked at Lyra. "However, the 'dissonance' is indeed growing, and our seers remain blind to its source. His claims about the Veil Weavers have proven true, and his earlier insights at Thornwood were undeniably critical. While we remain cautious, the risk of inaction is now greater than the risk of this unconventional approach."
"Very well," Elder Theron continued, his voice heavy with reluctant concession. "You will be granted this opportunity. Elder Lyra will assemble a small team of our senior diviners. You will attempt this 'guided scrying' ritual tomorrow at dawn, within the Heart of Emberhold itself. Failure will have severe consequences for you, Private. But if you succeed, if you reveal what you claim, Emberhold will acknowledge your unique value."
Lysander felt a surge of triumph, sharp and cold, shot through him. He had done it. He had navigated the political minefield, using Emberhold's own growing fear against its stubborn pride. He had convinced them. The next test, to prove his "illusion of clarity" to the most powerful mages in the realm, was set. He was about to reveal the true face of the world's most terrifying threat, and in so doing, solidify his own indispensable role. His path stretched before him, filled with both immense danger and unparalleled opportunity.