The Concord Hall rose from the riverbank like a cathedral of moonstone.
Its spires caught the night in shimmering prisms, scattering pale light across the dark water until it looked as if stars had fallen and floated there. I tightened my grip on the silver feather tucked inside my jacket pocket. It throbbed against my palm like a tiny, impatient heart.
Elior waited beside me at the foot of the bridge, his profile drawn sharp against the glow.
"You're certain?" he asked, voice low enough that the rush of water almost swallowed it.
"No," I admitted. "But I'm going anyway."
For a beat his green eyes softened, something like pride flickering in them.
"Then I follow only as a witness," he said. "Not a guard."
The feather pulsed again—three strong beats.
It felt like a warning and a challenge all at once.
We crossed the bridge.
The air thickened with every step, the scent of iron and roses folding around us until the night tasted metallic on my tongue. The great doors swung open without a touch, releasing a hush so profound it made the city behind us vanish.
Inside, the hall shimmered with silver fog and light that seemed to come from no single source. Shapes moved within it: tall figures with eyes of fractured crystal, wings suggested rather than seen. They were beautiful and frightening in the same breath.
One stepped forward, her hair a cascade of starlight.
"Child of the Feather," she said, her voice both chorus and whisper. "You stand at the fulcrum."
Elior bowed, the motion graceful and weary.
"Concord Keeper," he murmured.
The Keeper's gaze slid from him to me, cool and endless.
"The stray has broken wards to reach you. We would end this before it begins."
Adrian's voice answered from the far side of the hall, warm as smoke.
"Or perhaps you would end her before she begins."
He emerged from the mist like a secret revealed: black coat open to the night, gold flickering faintly in his eyes. My heart stuttered despite every warning I'd rehearsed.
The Keeper's light sharpened. "Vale, you were not summoned."
"I never wait for invitations," he said lightly. Then his gaze found me and softened. "Lila."
The single word wrapped around me like a promise.
The feather in my pocket burned.
"You claim freedom," the Keeper said, her voice tightening. "Yet you come to chain another will."
Adrian smiled, slow and deliberate. "I ask her to choose. That is freedom."
Elior stepped between us, green light threading through his hands. "Choice is meaningless if coerced."
Adrian's eyes met his, a spark of old rivalry flashing. "And what is the Concord if not eternal coercion? You guide hearts. You nudge. You call it destiny. I call it a cage."
The hall itself seemed to tremble. Silver mist curled upward as if listening.
I felt all their gazes—Concord, Cupid, exile—press against me.
The feather beat harder, matching the frantic rhythm of my pulse.
"Stop," I said, the word ringing louder than I expected.
Silence fell. Even the light stilled.
"I didn't come here to be a prize," I continued, voice steadier with each breath. "I came to speak for myself."
Adrian tilted his head, curiosity flickering. Elior's expression was unreadable.
"You talk about freedom," I said to Adrian. "But every time you appear, you push. You whisper. You leave your scent and your thoughts like threads I can't untangle."
His golden eyes dimmed slightly, as if the truth grazed him.
I turned to Elior. "And you—your vows are gentler, but you guide, you nudge, you guard me from my own steps."
He flinched, almost imperceptibly.
"I am not a heart to be aimed like an arrow," I said. "I am not a weapon to prove a theory. I am me."
The feather blazed, sudden and blinding.
Silver light shot upward, splitting the hall with a sound like breaking glass. The Concord figures retreated into the mist, their crystal eyes wide.
Adrian shielded his face with a raised arm.
Elior reached toward me but stopped short, respecting the line I'd drawn.
The light coalesced above us, folding into the faint outline of vast wings—wider than the hall, older than any of them. A voice, neither male nor female, resonated through every stone.
"The heart chooses not a path but a horizon," it said.
"Balance is not control. Freedom is not chaos. Let the mortal speak, and let all stand aside."
The wings dissolved into a rain of light that drifted down like slow snow.
The feather in my pocket cooled to a steady, gentle glow.
I realized I was trembling.
"I don't know what future I want," I said into the quiet. "But I know it will be mine. And you will all—every one of you—respect that."
For a long breath no one moved.
Then the Keeper inclined her head, the faintest bow. "So it shall be written."
The Concord shapes dissolved into mist one by one, until only the echo of their light remained.
Adrian exhaled a sound that was almost a laugh but edged with something like awe.
"You surprise even me," he said.
"I'm not here to surprise you," I answered.
Elior stepped forward at last, his green glow dim but steady.
"You have spoken the one truth they fear most," he said softly. "That love belongs only to the one who feels it."
Adrian's eyes met his. For a heartbeat the old enemies stood in a fragile, impossible truce.
I slipped the feather from my pocket. It no longer pulsed with urgency—just a calm, living warmth. Outside, the river murmured as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Maybe nothing had.
Maybe everything.
When I turned toward the doors, both of them fell into step behind me.
The night smelled of rain and roses.
Whatever waited beyond the bridge, it would be my choice.