The chamber was heavy with the stench of burnt magic and unease. Mouriana stood silently beside me, the core pulsing faintly in her grasp. The high council, still reeling from Lord D—Quan’s obliteration, avoided my gaze. Their heads remained bowed, but it wasn’t reverence I felt emanating from them. It was fear.

Mouriana turned to me, her luminous form casting long, unsettling shadows across the cracked chamber walls. “Little witch, I must leave you for now,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “This” nourishment will require careful absorption, and your fragile frame cannot sustain me while I do so.”

“You’re leaving now?” I asked, my exhaustion evident in my voice. I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or apprehensive. Mouriana had been a tempest at my side, her power both an anchor and a storm.

“Until you’re back on that pitiful island you call home,” she said with a faint smirk. “I’ll return once I’ve ensured that neither of us combusts from this.” She paused, her gaze flicking to the high lords. “And you’ll be fine, little witch. After all, you’ve just declared your reign. Let’s see if they’ll dare test it.”

With that, Mouriana’s light dimmed, and she dissolved into the air, leaving behind an unsettling silence.

I turned to Devon, who stepped forward to the middle of the gathering. His gaze swept over the council, narrowing when it settled on Loreleia. “The D—Quan house has committed treason,” he said, his voice a growl. “We need answers, and a full investigation into every member of this council. We can’t afford to leave any stone unturned.”

The room erupted into uneasy murmurs. High lords shifted in their seats, some pale, others whispering frantically to their aides. Loreleia lifted her chin, her green eyes blazing with indignation. “You speak as though we’re all complicit,” she retorted defensively. “Lord D—Quan acted alone.”

“And yet, his actions nearly destroyed us all,” my father interjected from beside Devon. “Either your house knew and allowed this treachery, or you’re too inept to have noticed. In either case, the council bears responsibility. As governor of Ostonia, it is my duty to support this inquiry. The General is right; we must see this through.”

Loreleia stiffened but said nothing. She glanced around the room, searching for support, but the council remained silent. Isolated. She knew she couldn’t fight this without raising suspicion.

Devon moved closer to me, his shoulder brushing against mine. “C—il,” he said quietly. “We need to leave soon. There’s still the matter of the Witch’s Supper.”

“If the sovereign will not speak,” came a deep, steady voice from the far side of the chamber, “then it falls to the Supreme Successor to decide how we proceed.” The speaker, a tall, dignified elf I recognized as the high lord of the Perseus house, fixed me with a level gaze. “The customs are clear.”

I nodded as his eyes met mine. My body ached, but the urgency of the situation pushed the pain aside. “The D—Quan house is to be stripped of its seat on the council,” I said without hesitation. “And any assets they held will be seized until the investigation is complete. General Irving will oversee this.”

The murmurs began again, a ripple of unease and reluctant approval spreading through the room. I turned my attention to Loreleia, meeting her cold gaze without flinching. “We are adjourned. Her eminence will call another conference to implement these measures.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she inclined her head, a reluctant bow of acknowledgment. “As you wish, Supreme Successor.”

The title felt heavy, even now, but there was no time to dwell on it. I glanced at Devon, who gave me a reassuring nod.

“Mother,” I said, turning to her, “we need to get back to the island.”

Her sharp eyes flicked to me, then back to the council. “One more thing,” she said, stepping forward, her crimson robes catching the light. “Before this council moves on from this catastrophe, there remains the matter of Lady Irving’s official coronation feast. I propose it be held during this season’s Calling Festival on Aethersday next week.”

A fellowship member, an elf I recognized from my selection, spoke up. “The fellowship will make the necessary arrangements and announcements, Lady Saffron.”

Great. More ceremonies. My stomach twisted at the thought, but I was beginning to understand that this was my life now.

“Very well,” my mother said crisply. “Since we’re adjourned, Celeste and I will take our leave.”

As we turned to leave, Devon placed a hand on my arm. “Before we go,” he said, putting both my mother, and I’s attention back, “we need to address the matter with the coven.”

The plague. I’d nearly forgotten because of the chaos. Yeon had mentioned it earlier, and my father’s summons had been about this in the first place.

Loreleia’s sharp tone sliced through the tense silence, her glare pinning me like a blade. “We were discussing that very matter before you decided to barge in here.”

I met her icy glare with a tight smile, my tone just as sharp. “Please, your eminence, don’t let me stop you. Continue.”

The council murmured faintly. I needed to hear this, needed to understand how an entire coven could have fallen so swiftly to the magic eater plague.

“The Circle of the Willow in Nelwost District has been reported as entirely infected with the magic eater curse,” a fellowship member debriefed. We stood among the ruins of the council chamber, their fine robes dusted with debris from the earlier disturbance. The lack of seating only emphasized the seriousness of his news.

But my focus sharpened on the name. The Circle of the Willow. Zaria’s coven. It sent my thoughts spiralling as I tried to recall the last time I’d spoken to her. She’d returned to Nelwost” had it been four days ago? My chest tightened, my pulse quickening as dread curled in my stomach.

“The Elder of the coven managed to send word to their regent governor,” the elf continued, unaware of the turmoil in my mind. “The governor relayed the news to our emissaries earlier today. Dyaks Healers have already been dispatched to the Circle of the Willow. While we remain optimistic, I must remind the council there is no known cure for this plague.”

My jaw tightened as I fought to keep my composure. “And you’re certain all recorded members of the coven are infected?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, your grace,” the fellowship member confirmed with a solemn nod.

A sharp chill swept through me. All recorded members. Zaria’s face blazed in my memory—her defiant smile, the quick wit she wielded like a blade. If she was with them when the plague struck”

“I see,” I said. It took every ounce of willpower to keep my expression neutral. “How did that happen? How does the council still not know how this cult triggers the plague? And why this coven?”

The room fell into a dull silence as Lord Perseus stepped towards me, his tall frame rigid, his silver hair catching the dim light. “Your Grace, you must understand,” he began in a very sombre tone. “In the time since the cult’s emergence, our knowledge has been limited. Certain truths have emerged, but none lead to a clear path.”

“Enlighten me,” I said.

“The first truth,” Lord Perseus said, folding his hands before him, “is that those who probe too deeply into the cult’s workings vanish without a trace. They leave no clues, no whispers of their findings. It’s as though the cult swallows them whole.”

A murmur ran through the room, but I kept my eyes on him.

“The second,” he continued, “is that the cult employs veils—manifestations like the one you encountered here. These veils are triggered by sigils that most cannot perceive, not even high-ranking lords. Only a select few—oriental elders, sages, and occasionally gifted witches—have reported seeing them.”

I resisted the urge to glance at my mother, feeling her presence beside me.

“And the third truth,” Lord Perseus said, his voice dropping slightly, “is that this marks the second time a coven has been targeted by the plague. The first was a fire coven—two hundred seasons ago.”

Two hundred seasons? The cult had been haunting Wridel for that long? I felt my jaw clench as I realised my initial suspicion about this plague targeting witches was accurate. It wasn’t the ancient timeline that mattered now, though—it was Zaria. It was Nelwost.

I exhaled sharply, raising a hand to rub my brow, as if the gesture might somehow clear the mounting pressure behind my temples. This was all far more complex than I had imagined, layers of secrecy and horror buried beneath the surface of Wridel for centuries.

But now wasn’t the time to dig into those mysteries. I needed to return to Irving Island, to finish the Witch’s Supper. Witches weren’t known for their forgiveness, and offending the sages and elders wasn’t a risk I could take.

Once that was done, I would find a way to Nelwost. I would do my best to convince Devon to let me through the Ostonia gate. No, I had to see for myself. My heart clenched as I whispered inwardly, Gaia, please keep her safe. Keep Zaria safe.

I turned my attention back to the council. “You’ve gone out of your way to keep the existence of this cult from the people,” I said. “One might jump to the conclusion that it’s a safety measure to prevent chaos and fear.”

Several council members shifted uncomfortably under my scrutiny, but none dared to speak.

I continued. “But not knowing they’re in a war against something as dark and sinister as this cult puts them in even greater danger. Ignorance doesn’t shield them—it blinds them to the threat. The least you could do is set up curfews. Seal off places where disturbances can be sensed. Do something besides endlessly investigating.”

Loreleia exhaled a loud sigh, her sharp green eyes flickering with barely contained irritation as she walked up to me. “You speak as though we’ve been idle,” she said. “The council has taken measures, though perhaps not to the extent you believe necessary.”

“Measures that have failed,” I shot back as my eyes narrowed. “This plague, these veils are escalating. How many more covens will be lost before you act decisively? Or do you not care because it is witches who are suffering the grunt of it?”

My mother stepped forward then and took my hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze which turned me to face her. She shook her head to me and eyed Loreleia.

“We must go now,” she told me quietly, but I knew she just didn’t want me getting into another bout with Loreleia.

“The successor is right,” a fang said, and her voice suddenly reminded me of Gwen. “It’s time we did something that will yield results not clinging to the same old rubbish that have failed. Today’s attack on the high council is proof enough of that, your eminence,” she added, turning to Devon, “what measures can be enacted immediately, Lord Irvling?”

Devon straightened beside me, his stormy gaze sweeping the room. “We start with containment,” he said. “Curfews in all districts near reported disturbances. Increased patrols. A lockdown on Nelwost until we can secure it and I will stress this again. We need more higher ranking witches and warlocks in the Bureau to be able to fish these sigils out.”

“Lockdown Nelwost?” one of the high lords exclaimed, his voice rising. “That will cause unrest.”

“Unrest is better than death,” I snapped, my patience fraying. “Or would you prefer another veil devouring an entire district of your kind?”

Devon nodded in agreement. “The council has long held its tongue, hoping this threat would pass. It won’t. You must choose—protection or preservation of your reputation. One cannot coexist with the other.”

Loreleia looked as though she wanted to argue further, but she caught herself, glancing around at the other council members. Their murmurs growing louder as the gravity of the situation began to settle in.

“That is enough,” she said finally, raising a hand. “The council will convene to discuss these measures. You have made your point, supreme successor.” Her tone was stiff, but it was a concession nonetheless. “General Devon will do as he sees fit to protect the citizens of Wridel.

I inclined my head slightly. “See that you do. Because if more lives are lost while you deliberate, their blood will be on your hands.”

I walked out of the chamber without waiting for a response, frustrated by the council’s inaction. I felt Devon and my parents following close behind, grounding me as I walked out of the chamber and down the hall.

Marcus approached us immediately. “Your orders, Lord Irving?” he asked.

I spotted Devon’s sentinels moving into position. They integrated seamlessly with mine.

Devon took one look at me. “We’re heading back to the island,” he said decisively.

Marcus bowed his head, already signalling the others. “I’ll have the carriages ready immediately.”

My mother stepped closer to me with a thoughtful frown. “Do you think the council will actually act?” I had no idea if she was talking to me or Devon or my father.

“They don’t have a choice now,” I said when no one else answered. “Not after what they’ve seen. If they drag their feet any longer, it won’t just be the covens who will fall. This cult is targeting the council now too, so they will act to save themselves.”

My father nodded. “We should’ve forced their hand sooner. They’ve grown complacent.”
“And complicit,” I added bitterly, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “At least some of them have. The veil is all too coordinated to be random.”

Devon placed a hand on my back. “We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly. “But first, you finish what’s waiting for you on the island.”

The Witch’s Supper. Those words alone made my stomach tighten. Another ceremony. Another performance. Another political game I couldn’t afford to lose.

Mouriana’s voice stirred faintly in the back of my mind. The supper will be fun, little witch. You’ll see. Witches are fun.

I sighed, shaking my head as the carriages rolled into view. “Let’s get it over with.”