The messenger's words fell into the council chamber like stones into a deep, silent well. The echoes of his report, a weaver in his home, a life extinguished for no reason, faded, leaving behind a silence heavier and more terrible than any that had come before. This was no longer a historical crisis or a theological debate. It was an active threat. The enemy was on the move.
Captain Eva watched as King Valerius, his face a mask of iron control, dismissed the terrified guard. The moment the door was sealed, the facade of royalty fell away, and he was simply a man cornered by a monster. But he was a king, and a cornered king was still a dangerous thing.
"The chamber is sealed," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "No one enters. No one leaves. The sun will rise on my new decree, but the real work begins now. Tonight."
The atmosphere in the room shifted. It was no longer a council. It was a war room. The great map of Aethelgard on the central table was no longer a symbol of a peaceful domain; it was a battlefield.
General Kyrus, a man more comfortable with swords than with shadows, took a step towards Praxus. His gaze was intense, analytical. "You. Scholar. I need intelligence. The King has his kingdom to run. The High Priest has his… grief. You and I, we are now soldiers in a war we do not understand. So you will tell me everything you know about the enemy."
Eva watched, approving. The General was cutting straight through the horror to the practicalities of conflict.
"I only know what the ancient texts say," Praxus replied, his voice weary but clear. He was no longer the desperate heretic; he was their only expert.
"Then the texts will have to be enough," Kyrus pressed. "What is its nature? This Ghra'thul. Is it a being? A force of nature? Does it have a form?"
"The Lament calls it the 'Carver of Silence'," Praxus explained. "It describes it as a consciousness, a will. The other half of creation. It implies its nature is not to build, but to dominate. To enforce a perfect, silent order. As for a form… I do not know."
"Weaknesses?" Kyrus's voice was sharp. "Does the lament mention any weaknesses?"
Praxus hesitated. "Only in allegory. It speaks of the 'Builder of Light' winning the first war because his creation was 'a song of many voices.' It says the Carver's 'single, perfect note' could not overcome the chorus. It seems to suggest its weakness is… free will. Unity in defiance. The collective, unpredictable spirit of humanity."
Kyrus grunted, clearly dissatisfied with such a philosophical answer. "So we must fight a god of tyranny by being… stubborn? There must be more."
"There is nothing more… yet," Praxus admitted.
King Valerius, who had been listening intently, stepped back to the map. "Then we will work with what we have." He looked at the faces in the room, his expression grim. "We are fighting a war on three fronts. Until we find a way to strike our enemy, our entire strategy must be to endure, to understand, and to prepare. We will divide our labors."
He pointed a finger first at Praxus, then at the broken figure of High Priest Theron.
"The First Front is the War of Knowledge. This is yours, Praxus, and yours, Theron. I am stripping the Great Observatory of all its ceremonial duties. Its new, single purpose is to be our center of intelligence. Praxus, you will lead the effort. Theron, you will assist him. You know the archives better than any man alive. Scour every scroll. Re-translate every fragment. Find every mention of the Progenitors, of the Carver of Silence, of any ritual or artifact that speaks of a time before the Age of Grace. Find me a weapon in the dust of history."
For the first time that night, a flicker of purpose returned to Theron's eyes. He gave a slow, somber nod. He had a new duty: not to preach a lie, but to uncover the truth that had destroyed him.
The King then turned to Lord Emmon and Captain Eva.
"The Second Front is the War of Order. This falls to you. Lord Emmon, your concern for the economy is valid. You will ensure the granaries are full and the supply chains, however damaged, do not break. A hungry populace is a riotous one. Captain Eva, your task is the most difficult. You will enforce my Declaration of Silence. You will disperse the prayer circles, but you will do so with a careful hand. We need compliance, not martyrdom. Furthermore, you will begin a covert census. I want every single death from this 'reaping' recorded. The victim's name, location, profession, time of death. Look for a pattern. The enemy's actions may seem random, but nothing ever is."
Eva met the King's gaze, her own reflecting his grim determination. "It will be done, Your Majesty."
Finally, the King looked at his oldest friend, General Kyrus.
"The Third Front is the War of Strength. This is your burden, General. The army is useless if it cannot meet a foe. But you will prepare them nonetheless. Double the patrols. Fortify the garrisons. Let the public see the strength of the Royal Guard. Let them feel protected, even if it is a lie." The King leaned closer, his voice dropping. "And you will begin a secret directive. I want your most trusted officers to travel the kingdom. They are to look for… anomalies. People who are not succumbing to the general despair. People who display unusual resilience, strange luck, or unexplainable abilities. The scholar says our defiance is our strength. Find me the strongest among us. Find me the sparks in the darkness."
The council was silent, the weight of their impossible tasks settling upon them. They were no longer just governing a kingdom; they were organizing a secret, global resistance against a god.
The meeting did not end. It bled into the dawn. They argued strategy, allocated resources, and drafted secret communiques to be sent to the regional governors.
As the first grey light of the new day filtered through the high windows of the chamber, Eva was finally dismissed. She walked through the silent palace, her mind reeling. She bypassed her own quarters and ascended to one of the high, open-air balconies on the western battlement.
She looked out over Aethelburg. The city was just beginning to stir. The smoke from a thousand hearths curled into the cool morning air. The sounds of a waking populace, a distant blacksmith's hammer, the rumble of a cart's wheels on cobblestone, drifted up to her. It was a beautiful, peaceful sight.
But she no longer saw a city. She saw a fortress. She saw half a million souls, unaware that they were under a silent, invisible siege. She saw the weavers' district, and thought of the fresh corpse lying in a cold home.
The King's decree, her new orders, would be announced at midday. She had a war to fight. A war not with swords and shields, but with whispers, with secrets, with the desperate hope of keeping a kingdom from collapsing into the abyss of truth. She drew her cloak tighter around her, the morning chill a poor imitation of the cold that had settled deep in her bones. Her war had begun.