Maymun's final words still lingered in the air when the palace itself seemed to respond.
The sigils carved into the marble floor flared once gold, then white before settling into a low, steady glow. The hum of the palace deepened, slowly getting heavier.
"The world is listening again."
Maymun turned from the balcony at last. The faint glow in his golden eyes sharpened, no longer distant, no longer contemplative.
"Then we do not waste its attention."
He lifted one hand.
The palace answered.
Far below, deep within the heart of the djinn stronghold, ancient bells began to toll. Each pulse rippled outward through fire and sand, through ley and wind, through every djinn bound to Maymun's rule. Essence stirred.
Kelsey felt it immediately.
Her breath caught as the air shifted, pressing against her chest like an unseen weight. The sigils beneath her feet brightened, responding to the command that had just been issued.
Mr. Johns straightened from his relaxed lean against the column, expression sobering. "Ah," he murmured. "That's not a discussion bell."
"No," Maymun agreed calmly. "It is a reckoning bell."
Kelsey turned sharply toward him. "You're calling the council. Now?"
"Yes."
She stepped forward without thinking. "Mike isn't even here."
"That," Maymun said evenly, "is precisely why the council must convene without him."
Her jaw tightened. "You're deciding things about him behind his back."
Maymun met her gaze without flinching. "I am deciding things about the world he is reshaping."
Silence pressed in again, thicker than before.
Mr. Johns tapped his cane once against the marble. "Careful, Your Majesty. Histories have a way of punishing kings who confuse the two."
A flicker of amusement crossed Maymun's face. "And stories punish those who believe they are only observers."
The old man smiled thinly. "Touché."
Beyond the chamber doors, movement surged, djinn guards taking position, courtiers clearing halls, messengers dissolving into flame as they carried summons. The palace was no longer merely a residence.
It was a war engine preparing to start up after a long time.
Maymun turned toward the doors. "Come. You both will remain close. This council will not be blind to the forces moving around Michael."
Kelsey hesitated. "You want me in the chamber?"
"I want you near it," Maymun corrected. "There is a difference."
Mr. Johns snorted softly. "Always is."
They moved.
The council chamber awaited them at the heart of the palace.
Six large thrones blazed to life as Maymun entered, fire roaring along Shazir's seat, stormclouds coiling above Jann's, water cascading in slow orbit around Marid's. Shadows gathered where Binyai's presence manifested, swallowing light rather than reflecting it. Crimson sigils burned along Hamza's chains as he took his place, posture rigid, eyes already sharp with anticipation.
And at the center, elevated above them all, Maymun's throne ignited in full brilliance.
The chamber sealed.
Essence locked.
This was no longer debate.
"This council convenes under escalating conditions," Maymun announced, voice carrying effortlessly. "The balance is no longer theoretical. War declarations have been made."
Shazir leaned forward immediately, fire snapping along his beard. "Then speak them my king."
Maymun did not waste words.
"The Anta Court of the Andes has declared war on the American djinn."
A ripple of reaction moved through the chamber, heat spiking, storms churning faster.
"Because of the mortal," Jann rumbled.
"Yes," Maymun said. "And because djinn crossed ancient borders without sanction."
Binyai's shadow shifted. "And because Binyai was present," he added coolly, acknowledging the weight without flinching.
Hamza's jaw tightened.
Maymun continued. "The Unseelie Court of Appalachia has declared a hunt. Their skinwalkers claim the old accords are broken."
Shazir snarled. "They always wanted an excuse."
"And they have one now," Maymun replied.
Marid's voice cut through the tension, calm but razor-edged. "Two courts moving openly means the third will follow."
"The Azizian Court watches," Maymun confirmed. "They will not remain neutral once more blood spills. Michael already massacred chosen in their territory."
Silence followed that.
Binyai finally spoke. "Then the question is no longer whether Michael destabilizes the balance."
All eyes turned.
"The question," he continued, "is whether we survive the consequences of letting him continue."
Hamza rose to his feet, chains humming. "You speak as though we have a choice. You traveled with him while he commited massacres in fae territory Binyai."
Jann's thunder rolled. "We always have a choice. Bind him. Control him. Remove the variable."
"And invite the gods to finish what they started?" Marid countered. "He is the only force that has made them hesitate."
Shazir slammed a fist into the arm of his throne, fire exploding outward. "He is also the spark igniting every ancient power on the board!"
"Yes," Maymun said quietly.
The chamber stilled.
"And that," he continued, "is why this council exists. Not to decide whether Michael is dangerous. That truth is settled."
He rose.
"But to decide whether the djinn will be crushed between gods and fae… or whether we will adapt."
Kelsey stood just beyond the inner circle, heart pounding. Every word felt like it was being carved into her mind with a knife.
Mr. Johns leaned close enough to murmur, "This is the part where empires either evolve… or become footnotes."
Maymun's gaze swept the council one final time.
"Prepare your forces," he commanded. "Seal your territories. And understand this, Michael is not our weapon."
A pause.
"He is our storm. And storms cannot be owned."
Beneath a moon that refused to shine cleanly, the mountains of Appalachia woke.
Mist crawled low along the forest floor, thick and clinging, swallowing roots, stones, and the rusted remnants of forgotten roads. The trees stood twisted and ancient, their branches knitting together overhead like grasping fingers, blotting out the stars. This land had never truly belonged to humanity. It tolerated them at best.
Tonight, it answered another call.
From the hollows and ridgelines, shapes began to move.
They did not march in ranks. They flowed.
Skin walkers emerged from shadow and soil, from tree hollows and cliff faces, from the skins of animals that shuddered once before standing upright and becoming something else. Some wore the stolen forms of men, tall and gaunt, eyes glowing faintly amber or bone-white. Others walked on all fours, massive and wrong, bones bending where they should not, fur slick with mist and old blood. A few shifted as they moved, limbs stretching, spines cracking, mouths splitting and resealing as if their bodies struggled to remember what shape they preferred.
They carried no banners.
They needed none.
At the head of the procession walked the Herald of the Hunt.
Its form was tall, draped in layered hides stitched together with sinew and silver thread. Antlers crowned its skull, wide and branching, each tine etched with ancient runes that burned faintly with cold green light. Its face shifted constantly—human, wolf, stag, child never settling long enough to be known.
With every step, the forest leaned inward.
The trees creaked. The ground softened. The air thickened with the scent of iron and moss.
"This world has forgotten the old boundaries," the Herald intoned, its voice not carried by air but by the land itself. "It has forgotten who is allowed to walk freely."
Behind it, hundreds more followed.
Thousands.
The Unseelie Court did not send armies lightly. When they moved, it was not to erase their enemies.
Their destination lay far beyond these mountains.
The Temple of the Gods inside the battered walls of Sanctuary.
The Veil had thinned. The gods were stirring. Chosen were dying. Old compacts lay in tatters, broken by djinn crossing seas, by mortals devouring divinity, by gods preparing to descend once more.
And the Unseelie did not tolerate imbalance.
The forest thinned as they reached the edge of the old world. Beyond it lay places shaped by gods and mortals alike, deserts ruled by djinn, skies scarred by angels, battlefields still warm from demon blood.
They stepped forward anyway.
Behind them, the Appalachian mountains fell silent once more.
Ahead, the gods' sanctuary waited, unaware that the hunters of the oldest court had taken its scent.
And somewhere beyond the Veil, something ancient laughed softly.
The hunt had begun.