The air in the dark chamber of the stronghold was heavy—laden with tension, curiosity, and no small amount of dread.
They were still talking about it.
The failure in the forest.
Some here knew. Whispers had already reached the deeper networks of the Association. But others—stationed far from the heartlands—had only just heard the murmur. The details were few, yet the implications were colossal. The caravan. The ambush. The explosion. The near-death of a mysterious figure.
But above all—
The rise of a second Mage.
The notion alone was unthinkable. Saint Cynthia was already an enigma they struggled to crack. But now—another? One who'd been unaccounted for? Hidden under their noses?
A gaunt man at the far end of the table leaned forward.
"How authentic is this claim?" he asked, voice cautious. "We've heard false alarms before—alleged miracles, lucky conjurers, delusional priests. Are we now to fear illusions?"
