The Grand Guild Hall was packed. Every seat was taken. People stood along the walls, a sea of tense, watching faces.
Anya sat alone at the small respondent's table. It felt like an island in the middle of a storm.
So many people. All here for this.
Morning light streamed through the high windows. It should have felt warm. Instead, the room was cold. Sterile.
Across the floor, Gareth sat at the large arbitration table. He was flanked by senior Guild leaders. They looked like judges. They looked like a wall.
Bren was in the front row of the audience. Her old mentor's face was a mask. She couldn't read it.
The head arbitrator, an elderly woman named Elara, cleared her throat. The room fell silent.
"This hearing is now in session," she said. Her voice was thin but carried authority. "We are here to consider charges against Anya, Guild Organizer."
-----
Elara read the charges from a formal scroll. Her voice was flat and precise.
"Charge one: Unauthorized organizing using Guild credentials."
A murmur rippled through his supporters.
"Charge two: Creation of a parallel structure undermining Guild authority."
Another, louder wave of sound.
"Charge three: Misappropriation of Guild resources for a personal network."
This time, people gasped. Anya felt her face grow hot.
Personal? It was never personal. It was for everyone.
Gareth stood. He didn't look angry. He looked… sad. Disappointed.
"Thank you, Arbiter," he said. His voice was amplified, filling the vast hall. "With the court's permission, I will present the case."
Elara nodded. "Proceed, Consolidator."
---
Gareth walked to the center of the floor. He moved slowly. Thoughtfully.
"Anya represents the best of what we were," he began. His tone was gentle, almost fond. "The idealism. The belief in community. I remember that feeling."
He looked directly at her. His eyes were full of a strange, painful sympathy.
He believes this. He really does.
"But we can't afford to be what we were," he continued, his voice hardening slightly. "The world has changed. Corporations have consolidated. They have power we can barely imagine."
He gestured, and his Guild OS flared to life. Blue-white projections filled the air behind him. Graphs and charts glowed with cold light.
"To fight giants, we cannot be a crowd of individuals. We must be a giant ourselves."
He showed them the data. Membership numbers shooting up. Revenue increases. The value of their new, large-scale contracts.
"This is strength," he said, pointing to the graphs. "This is security. This is what feeds families. What pays for healers. What ensures our survival."
The data was undeniable. The numbers didn't lie. Anya saw people in the audience nodding. He was convincing them.
"What Anya is building… it's beautiful." He said the word like it was a weakness. "It's a beautiful dream. But dreams don't pay the rent. Power does. Consolidation does."
His words landed heavily in the quiet room. They weren't exactly wrong. They were just… incomplete.
He sees the tree, but not the forest. He sees the brick, but not the mortar holding it all together.
"We need to be strong," he concluded, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow carried to the very back. "Not scattered. We need unity. Not fragmentation. For the good of the whole Guild."
He returned to his seat. The silence was profound.
Then, applause started. It began with his faction, but it spread. It wasn't thunderous, but it was widespread. Respectful. Convinced.
Anya's heart sank.
He's winning. And he hasn't even had to lie.
---
The head arbitrator looked at Anya. "The respondent may now present her opening statement."
Anya stood. Her legs felt like water. The eyes of the entire Guild felt like physical weight.
She walked to the same spot Gareth had occupied. She felt small.
She took a deep breath. She didn't have data projections. She only had the truth.
"The Consolidator is right about one thing," she began. Her voice sounded small in the huge space. "The foundation is everything."
She saw a few people lean forward, curious.
"But a foundation isn't a single, giant stone. It's many stones, locked together. Its strength comes from their connections. From the mortar between them."
She looked at the arbitrators. "What I've done isn't misappropriation. It's remembering. It's mixing the mortar again."
Before she could continue, a commotion came from the back of the hall. A man and a woman, both artisans Anya recognized from the network, were standing. They were arguing.
"You can't just take it!" the woman, a dyer, said loudly.
"It was a fair trade!" the man, a tanner, shot back.
Heads turned. The arbitrators looked annoyed.
"Order!" Arbiter Elara said, banging a gavel.
The two artisans fell silent, glaring at each other before sitting down. A ripple of unease went through the crowd.
No. Not now.
Gareth looked at Anya, a faint, almost pitying smile on his face. "Fragmentation," he murmured, just loud enough for the arbitrators to hear.
Anya felt the momentum she'd barely gathered evaporate. The network wasn't a perfect, harmonious entity. It was made of people. And people had conflicts.
The golden threads in her vision flickered. A new prompt appeared, urgent and red.
[NETWORK CONFLICT DETECTED: DYER ↔ TANNER]
[ISSUE: COMPETING FOR SAME BATCH OF RAW MATERIALS]
[GUARDIAN INTERVENTION REQUIRED]
I have to choose. I have to pick a side. And someone will lose.
Arbiter Elara looked down at her. "Please continue your statement, Respondent."
But the spell was broken. The room's attention was fractured. They had just seen the first crack in her beautiful foundation.
Anya swallowed. Her mouth was dry.
She had to finish. But now, she was speaking to a distracted, skeptical audience.
And she had a crisis to manage.
The real hearing, it seemed, was just beginning.