Twelve hours after Ironclaw's triumph in the Obsidian Gauntlet, Kaelen's gauntlet throbbed beneath the Champion's sash as he paused before the Sovereign's Council's ebony doors. Outside, masked nobles huddled under torchlight, ivory chips clicking on obsidian railings as they wagered on his mercy or ruthlessness. A herald in sable and gold stepped forward, voice echoing off marble: "Champion Ironclaw, you are granted passage. Two aides bearing Convener Passes may accompany you—access limited to the Gallery of Witnesses and the private antechambers." Jonah and Liora exchanged tense glances, slipped their passes into place, and followed Kaelen through wards that shimmered to bar any hidden blade.
The chamber yawned wide: concentric Aether runes spiraled across its vaulted ceiling, marble columns shaped into lions caught mid-leap, and a great oaken table stretched before a tiered semicircle of benches. Lanterns swung from iron chains, their amber glow fracturing in crystal consoles set into the walls. Velora sat at the central dais, crimson robes pooling around her and runes still pulsating on her arms. Around her, Tier III Masters in masks of ivory and obsidian murmured, shifting in anticipation.
At precisely 8 PM the herald's gavel rang thrice, and a hush fell. "By decree of the Conclave," the herald proclaimed, "Marult's Ten-Point Bounty on Ironclaw is suspended across all territories under Conclave protection—including the road to North Spire—until the Champion's return." A ripple of relief passed through the chamber: no assassins tonight, no ambush on the expedition route.
Velora rose, every inch the strategist. "Councilors, we convene to decide two items. First: allocation of Aether Wells in Dragon's Teeth. Second: tremors detected at North Spire. The Champion's Voice may formally sponsor one motion per session, subject to veto by a majority of Tier III or higher. The Champion may also offer one non-binding recommendation." Her gaze cut through the benches as she finished.
Sertham the Gaunt, mask pale as bone, stood first. "Dragon's Teeth bears half the city's burden yet reaps none of its bounty," he declared. "I move that one-third of our Aether reserves be allocated to reactive protocols—reactivating those Wells, stationing Watchers, and funding local guardians." He gestured to Kaelen. "Champion, do you second?"
Kaelen rose, heart steady. "I second the motion," he said, voice ringing clear. "And I propose that my Pride serve as provisional wardens—mentors for Watchers drawn from Dragon's Teeth's own ranks." Murmurs of approval rippled through the chamber. Sertham scowled but offered no counter.
Velora inclined her head. A clerk dipped quill in violet-tinted Aether ink, inscribed the ledger, then announced, "Motion carries. One-third of reserves reallocated; the Bonecrusher's Pride will lead provisional guardianship." Emerald runes flared on the scrying orb beside her.
Before the applause died, Velora turned. "Now, the second item: North Spire tremors." The orb's violet ripples pulsed faster. Harrowen of the Azure Mask—a wiry Master whose robes trailed cobalt light—leaned forward. "It could be natural faultline shifts," he allowed, "or Iron Council experiments draining a dying Well."
Kaelen felt that familiar thrill of the hunt. He stood again. "As a recommendation, I offer to lead a Conclave–Council expedition at first light. My Lionheart resonance tracks core echoes, however corrupted. Send two squads—each twenty wardens led by a veteran Captain—and four Aether-sages (a Master of Runes, a Seer, and two Ritual Adepts) in support; I will guide them to the source." He paused to let his words sink in. "This is not my formal sponsorship, but a guiding counsel."
Velora nodded. The ledger clerk recorded his recommendation. At 9 PM a vote confirmed it. The herald then declared, "Recommendation ratified. Expedition departs at 4 AM under Conclave protection."
Velora raised her hand. "Session adjourned at 9 PM. The Champion and aides will dine in the guest wing until midnight. A debrief follows until 1 AM. Muster in the courtyard at 2 AM. Departure at 4 AM sharp." With that she swept from the dais, robes whispering like a blade drawn.
Jonah and Liora led Kaelen to the Gallery of Witnesses—a high balcony overlooking the empty benches. Jonah tapped his gauntlet twice; the warded floor thrummed in reply. "No hunters in these halls," he noted. "And along the protected road, they risk exile."
Liora's lantern cast dancing runes across her pale features. "Our passes expire at muster," she reminded him. "After that, it's Ironclaw versus the wild." She traced a carved relief of a lion stalking antelope. "I've seen darker traps woven in velvet halls than any battlefield."
Kaelen watched the silent benches below. "Three hours for feasting and rest, one hour for debrief," he said. "Then to the courtyard at 2 AM." His fingers brushed the Champion's sash. "Tonight, strategies and wine; tomorrow, echoes and ice."
In the guest wing, silent attendants laid a spread of spiced breads, smoked fish, braised legumes, and dark wine infused with calming Aether. Strategists in muted robes clustered at long tables, debating supply lines, guard rotations, and barge schedules. Kaelen listened, noting each hidden agenda: suggestions to limit his patrol radius, proposals to reassign wardens to test his loyalty, and offhand mentions of "urgent research" that spelled diversions of his Aether barrels.
He spoke only once, requesting extra warding charms for Liora's lantern and emergency Aether vials for Jonah's blade. Some strategists nodded in approval; others exchanged wary glances, dismissing his concerns as slum-born sentimentality.
At midnight, wardens escorted them down a spiral staircase to private antechambers. Jonah stowed his blade; Liora murmured a recovery chant as her runestone glowed green, restoring her half-point of Aether. Kaelen leaned against the cool stone, tasting the chamber's after-echoes. "Rest if you can," he said. "We muster by 2 AM."
Jonah sank into an armchair, fingers drumming on his gauntlet. "I'll keep watch," he promised. Liora arranged pillows on Kaelen's cot. "Dream lightly," she said. "Tomorrow, we chase corrupted echoes."
At 2 AM he rose, strapped on his gauntlets, and adjusted the Champion's sash. Stepping into the courtyard under a pale sky, he found two squads of wardens forming a ring around twelve horse-drawn wagons heaped with provisions and Aether barrels. Four violet-robed sages stood by lanterns, their runes pulsing softly.
Velora emerged at the wrought-iron gate, flanked by Crystal-Mask Wardens. She stepped close and pressed a leather gauntlet studded with a single crimson rune into Kaelen's palm. "This beacon will summon me if all else fails," she whispered. "Use it only in your darkest hour."
Kaelen closed his fist around the rune, feeling its faint pulse. "I will not fail Dragon's Teeth or North Spire," he vowed.
Velora inclined her head and slipped back into shadow as the gate swung open.
At 4 AM the convoy rolled out beneath a sky paling to dawn's first light. Kaelen sat tall in his saddle, Jonah at his flank, Liora's lantern nested in the saddle's cradle. The first rays of sunrise glinted off polished armor and scarlet silk, turning the Champion's sash molten.
As the Obsidian Hall's spires receded, Kaelen felt every vote, every whispered plot, every silent prayer from Dragon's Teeth pulse through his blood. He was Ironclaw—Champion, Councilor, and hunter of echoes—ready to carve his legend anew in ice and Aether.