A minister spoke first, loosening the grip of his tie.. "You spoke of four nations," he said, voice clipped, "yet you claimed there were five."
Saelrix inclined his head. "Yes," as he flicked two keys. The map behind him tightened and slid south; tremors from the ongoing quakes made the projection jitter for a heartbeat before it settled.
Aderfel glowed at the center, beneath it: a wide band of borderland coast and broken highlands came into view. "The fifth lies below Aderfel, Youmk… But I couldn't secure reliable intelligence from it. The region's records are fractured, travel is restricted, and every operative I sent was either turned back by local patrols or lost in Nether fog. I have no confirmed data, only blanks."
A ripple of discontent moved through the chairs, papers straightened, rings tapped wood, a cough quickly stifled.
A councilor from the Legislative body spoke up next, chin high. "Which of these countries," he asked, letting the question hang like a noose, "has been conducting illegal Nether activities?"
Saelrix's yellow eyes swept the semicircle of faces. "I can't say with certainty," he replied. "If I had to estimate, Aderfel shows the highest concentration of Netherkin presence and activity."
Chairs scraped as a judge from the High Judiciary snapped. "Saelrix," he said, each syllable polished and cold, "does this feel like a guessing game to you? He asked a question, and you answer with a guess."
This is the problem with the Judiciary… Saelrix thought, jaw tightening. They want proofs laid out like corpses on marble; labeled, measured, blood wiped clean.
The judge's gaze didn't blink. "Show us your proof, then."
They want logic with teeth, Saelrix thought, staring up at the map's pale glow. On everything.
He straightened, the room's heat pressing in, torches guttering, the clock's arm faintly ticking while the five bodies watched him like a single, unmerciful eye. The Military's commander folded his arms; a Local Assemblywoman pressed her lips to a thin line; two ministers traded whispers that died when Saelrix looked their way.
He tapped the console again. The southern borderland dimmed and Aderfel brightened, district by district blooming in muted red. Street grids overlaid the rivers, then flickered into hubs and corridors. Even from the back rows, the pattern was visible: threads.
"I can show patterns," he said, voice steadying. "Nether residue spikes near shuttered warehouses in the river wards. Unlicensed shard exchanges in three markets – Tavern Row, the Glass Bazaar, and the Southern Docks – prices rising while supply supposedly falls. Fourteen disappearances tied to the same two freight lines. Summoning circles scrubbed, but the burn rings remain under the floorboards. None of this, alone, is a verdict. Together, it's a trail."
He let the picture hold. In the quiet, someone's pen clicked once and did not click again. The judge's expression did not soften but he did not ask again, either.
"I'm not asking you to trust a guess," Saelrix finished. "I'm asking you to see what the city is already telling us."
A voice broke the silence, deep and deliberate from the Military Body.
"So then, should we assume the strongest country, the one gifted most with Generation abilities, is behind this disaster?"
Murmurs rose instantly; agreement in some corners, suspicion in others. Saelrix parted his lips to respond, but before he could shape a word, a figure from the Legislative Council cut him off sharply.
"Let's not leap to conclusions," the councilor snapped, tone edged with authority. "We must consider other possibilities."
The words stilled the room.
From the Grand Ministry, a man leaned forward, his fingers drumming lightly against the polished wood. "Other possibilities?" he asked, voice wary. "Like what?"
The councilor's eyes narrowed, scanning the chamber, then landing back on Saelrix before speaking.
"Like the Ashenhive kid… or anyone beyond these five nations. I think you all have heard the whispers from the selection exams."
The name struck like a hammer: Ashenhive.
A ripple of unease coursed through the hall. Coat buttons opened, ties loosened, papers rustled, eyes darted to one another in alarm. Even the Military commanders and the Hunters; men and women hardened by battlefield scars straightened in their seats.
The mention of the boy carried weight heavier than foreign borders or fractured alliances. It wasn't just rumor, it was a name tied to fire, chaos, and a history none of them wanted to drag into the open.
For a heartbeat, it felt as though the entire chamber had turned away from the maps and charts and instead toward a single shadow: the Ashenhive child.
And in that moment, more than one mind whispered the same thing—
Have we been searching in the wrong place all along?
The chamber had begun to tilt dangerously, suspicion knotting itself around the name Ashenhive like a noose. That was when Ms. Lowlan cleared her throat, the sharp sound cutting through the whispers and breaking the tension like glass.
"Let's not rush to that conclusion either," she said firmly, her gaze sweeping across the rows of officials. Her voice carried the calm authority of someone who had seen too many false accusations end in blood. "Yes, it's true. Sixteen years ago, the boy was able to summon what even an entire gathering of Exo-hunters could barely achieve together." Her words were measured, but they stung. The reminder drew a flicker of unease back into the room.
"But this time, the gates of the Nether have been opened wider than ever. Unknown creatures; things no records speak of, things no one has seen or heard of are crawling into our world. That changes the battlefield entirely."
The murmurs shifted. Her words dragged them back from the edge, from pointing fingers at a single name, to staring at the larger shadow looming over them all.
"First," Ms. Lowlan pressed, leaning forward slightly, "we should be asking ourselves: What exactly are Grenchimsponk and Youmk hiding? And in this battle, can we truly count on Dravenloch or Xyzew to stand beside us or will they leave us to burn alone?"
The chamber quieted: The officials shifted in their seats, the rigidness in their expressions loosening. For a brief moment, their unity returned, the memory of why they had gathered here at all resurfaced.
The aching question hung over them all, heavy and unanswered:
What exactly is Grenchimsponk and Youmk hiding?
"Besides…" Saelrix added, his tone steadier than the flicker in his eye, "the boy has been watched closely. He hasn't made a move, hasn't done anything yet…"
He paused. His throat tightened as though he meant to swallow the thought, but another voice, colder, whispered inside him: These humans need to be shown their place. Their minds are as clear as glass. It's all their fault, yarning for powered than they already have.
His lips curved faintly as he went on. "Except… that time when two among you had me take him to some doctors to peel off his skin." The words struck the chamber like a whip crack. "And he ended up killing four men."
The silence that followed was jagged, unbearable.
Saelrix turned his head slowly, his yellow eye gleaming, a faint smile tagging at the corner of his lips as he caught the darkening expressions around the chamber. Faces stiffened; whispers crawled between seats like fire through dry leaves.
"Someone did that…?" one voice muttered, incredulous.
"How unbelievable…" hissed another, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
From the Council's bench, an official spat bitterly, "It's you, you all who are provoking him!"
The chamber fractured in noise, low arguments rumbling across the five bodies, the weight of accusation thick as smoke. For the first time, the name Ashenhive hung not only as a threat from outside, but as a wound of their own making.