Silent Order Interlude
The chamber possessed the cavernous grandeur of a ballroom rather than the tactical austerity of a war room. A massive table of veined marble dominated the floor, bathed in light from elegant windows draped in shrouds of white and gold.
Fifty guards stood rigid along the walls, their faces hidden behind featureless porcelain masks. In the silence between shifts of armor, servants drifted like ghosts, pouring wine and attending to the fourteen members of the Silent Order’s Grand Council.
At the head of the table sat High Magistrate Saevel Dorberos. He was an ancient thing, his eyes holding the weight of epochs, the longest-tenured member of the Order.
“Order,” Saevel said. His voice was not loud, yet it suffocated the murmurs in the room instantly. “I detest abandoning pleasantries, but the era of comfort has ended. Nethyua the Unmaker has escaped. We are stretched thin. Therefore, I am authorizing a complete legacy conscription. Effective immediately.”
“High Magistrate, a legacy conscription is impossible.” Viamur Blackmarsh, a hardened human from Alamadius, leaned forward. “With scouts hunting the dormant artifacts and our knights chasing the active ones, our infrastructure will fracture. We cannot train a levy of that size.”
Saevel turned his gaze slowly toward Viamur. The air in the room seemed to drop in temperature.
“Do you require a history lesson, Viamur? Must I remind you of the cost of hesitation?” Saevel’s voice was smooth, like cold glass. “The last time the Unmaker challenged the status quo, a quarter of my kin were butchered on the whim of his consort. A Dwarven kingdom was wiped from the maps. The Beast-kin were twisted into radicals. That demon broke the world.”
Saevel leaned back, his fingers drumming on the marble. “We do not even know what horrors he released from the vaults. Scribes are currently bleeding their eyes over texts older than my own bloodline to find an answer.”
“Magistrate,” interjected Sayoko Satsuki. The Panterra beast-kin’s ears were flattened against her skull. “Such a move will shatter our network. Our operations in Doria and Vildris are already being strangled by the Spire.”
“You speak to me of the Spire?” A vein of true irritation cracked Saevel's composure.
“Pompous, arrogant children. They would sooner debate philosophy while the world burns than raise a sword to save it. Remember this, Sayoko: The Spire deals in idealism. We deal in survival.”
Saevel stood, signaling the end of the debate. “Let the regional councils manage the fallout. The thirteen continents will yield to us eventually, or they will perish. Focus on the conscription. Nethyua awaits.”