The faces of the elders were filled with awe, fear, and curiosity. The light from the brass lantern struck their wrinkled visages, revealing the subtle ripples of emotion they desperately tried to suppress. The heavy silence was an unwilling acknowledgment that the power they had cursed for so long had returned.
Seraphim's gaze met hers, a silent reminder that she was not alone. His sharp eyes held no hesitation, only loyalty laced with an understanding of her heavy burden. He didn't have to say a word; Elizabeth recognized the blood pact they had made for a greater goal: No retreat and every decision from now on must be for survival.
Elizabeth's hand tightened on the ancestral scepter. The path ahead was not just a gorge filled with danger, but a labyrinth paved with razor-sharp knives. She knew these elders would become merely pawns compared to the true menace—the challengers.
Challengers who were not just one, but a dark shadow that had dominated the Council for centuries.
She could hear their whispers—the condemnations masked by etiquette, the voices filled with the envy that came with lost power.
Elizabeth scanned the circle of elders again, realizing she was not fighting this group of people, but was instead fighting Lord Varlen and his allies. Varlen was the one waiting for her to make a split-second mistake to declare her unworthy of what she had inherited.
"My lords," her voice was calm and steady, yet it resonated in the stillness. "What you have witnessed today is a display of intent, not a mere show of power."
She paused, allowing the words to sink deep into their minds, before delivering a final sentence that served as a formal declaration of war against those watching from the shadows:
"If you believe this is the end, you are gravely mistaken. This is only the beginning of the truth's unfolding, and anyone who dares to obstruct it—no matter where they hide—will face the consequences."