The council chamber was already full when Arion arrived.
The circular hall sat high within the Imperial Spire, its wide windows opening to the skyline of Aurelin—the Crowned Realm. Marble towers rose in layered tiers, connected by suspended sky-lanes where airships drifted in slow, controlled paths. Below, crystal-glass market halls caught the sun, and beneath all of it, faint blue Resonance conduits pulsed through the streets like a second circulatory system.
This was not a city built in one age. Ancient conduit ruins formed its foundation, and modern imperial architecture had grown over them with deliberate precision.
At the center of the chamber stood the round council table. Seven seats were reserved and already occupied.
Keal rested both forearms on the stone surface, broad shoulders squared. Mira sat to his right, expression alert but amused as her gaze wandered the room. Asha stood rather than sat, shield resting against her leg, eyes quietly attentive as she absorbed the emotional undercurrent of the hall. Jun sat near her, calm as ever. Theal's cloak pooled around his chair. Riven leaned back with one foot hooked on his seat, blade sheathed but close, eyes tracking movement almost instinctually.
Arion took the final seat. After ten years away, the position felt natural—though the chair itself was less forgiving than he remembered.
Across from them, the noble houses had gathered.
This was not ceremony. This was administration.
Keal spoke first. "Security reports."
Tavian Corven of House Corven rose immediately. He wore no ornament beyond his insignia—a cog crossed with a spear. "Guard deployments remain stable across the inner districts. Border provinces are another matter. Equipment shortages persist. We can cover patrols, not sustained engagements."
Lord Halvar Vayne snorted softly from his seat. "Because you keep pulling men inward. The borders pay the price for Aurelin's comfort."
Mira leaned toward Arion and muttered, "He says that every meeting. I think it's written into his blood."
Arion hid a faint smile.
Syll Virell, head of House Virell, adjusted the lenses on his gloves. "Our observatories confirm irregular Resonance fluctuations beyond the northern conduits. Nothing violent. Yet."
"Yet," Mira echoed lightly. "Comforting."
Syll ignored her tone. "Patterns suggest external interference. Not natural drift."
That drew attention.
Keal's voice hardened. "From where?"
"Unclear," Syll replied. "But similar signatures appear in archived data. Early post-Return years."
The room shifted subtly at that.
House Valcrest's representative rose next. Taren Valcrest—young, polished, already practiced in control. "Which is precisely why central authority must be strengthened. These anomalies thrive in gaps. Decentralized responses invite failure."
Lord Halvar crossed his arms. "You mean control. Border trade survives because we adapt, not because the Spire tells us how to breathe."
Before the argument could spiral, a heavy staff struck stone.
Lord Kaelen Draeven had risen.
Lysandra's father.
House Draeven's insignia—three interlocked blades—marked him clearly. His posture was straight, military in every sense, his voice carrying without effort. "Security is not philosophy. It is preparation. My house will continue training response forces independent of political delays."
Taren's jaw tightened. "Independent forces invite instability."
"Unprepared councils invite defeat," Kaelen replied flatly.
All eyes turned, briefly, to Lysandra.
She did not rise. She did not speak for her house.
Instead, when she stood, it was beside Arion.
"My lord father has made House Draeven's position clear," she said evenly. "I do not speak for House Draeven."
That alone quieted the room.
"The Seven were not created to replace governance," Lysandra continued. "Nor to dismantle it. We exist to enforce stability when systems fail. What we are seeing now suggests stress points forming faster than institutions can respond."
Mira raised a finger. "In simpler terms: something's poking the world, and it's rude not to knock."
A few nobles blinked. One or two almost laughed.
Arion leaned forward. "We are not announcing threats that do not yet exist. But we are adjusting readiness. Increased Academy intake. Expanded monitoring of Resonance flow. And coordination—real coordination—between houses."
Jun finally spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "The Academy was founded for this purpose. To teach gifted children control before power turns into harm. We should not hesitate to use it as intended."
House Toren's matriarch nodded. "Our logistics networks can support expanded enrollment."
House Mirai followed. "And student housing blocs. We already manage two districts near the campus."
"The Academy sits over an old conduit," Syll Virell added. "Its monitoring arrays are among the most sensitive in the Realm. If something escalates, we will see it there first."
Riven straightened slightly. "And if something slips through?"
Keal answered, "Then we handle it."
There was no drama in his voice. Just certainty.
Arion surveyed the room—the noble houses that had existed long before the Seven were born. Power did not belong to one group alone. It never had. The old government had fallen not because of ambition, but because it failed to adapt. Families that resisted change were removed. Some by policy. Some by force.
Some by Arion's own hand.
Those who remained learned balance.
"The Crowned Realm stands because each of you controls a part of it," Arion said calmly. "Politics. Research. Trade. Military. Knowledge. Remove one, and the structure weakens."
Silence followed—not tense, but thoughtful.
"Then this council agrees," Keal concluded. "Heightened security. Expanded Academy oversight. Shared intelligence."
Lord Halvar exhaled slowly. "I still don't like central eyes on my routes."
Mira smiled at him. "Then don't do anything worth watching."
That earned a few reluctant chuckles.
As the meeting adjourned, Aurelin continued below them—airships crossing spires, Resonance humming steadily beneath stone and steel. The city looked stable.
Organized.
Prepared.