Chapter 227: Whispers in the Glass Tower

The council tower loomed over the fortress like a watchful eye—its windows gleaming with the early morning light, its walls silent and regal. Within its chambers, decisions were made, alliances forged, lives condemned or spared by a single nod from one of the Twelve.

Kael walked up the spiral staircase with slow, measured steps, his cloak brushing against stone worn smooth by decades of power.

Today, he didn't come to speak.

Today, he came to listen.

The phrase still echoed in his thoughts: "The Ember watches from the Glass Tower."

The Ember wasn't just a title. It was a codename—cleverly placed in a riddle, connected to traitors, assassins, and whispers of revolt. It had to be someone high-ranking. Someone with access. Someone inside the circle.

Kael entered the central hall.

The chamber was circular, lined with stained glass murals depicting victories and sacrifices of the past. The Twelve Councilors sat on high-backed chairs around a raised platform, where debates were held. Today, only seven had arrived—enough for a quorum, but not enough for unity.

Lady Theris, the silver-haired strategist, sat with her fingers laced, watching Kael with sharp eyes. Beside her, Lord Andrin tapped the hilt of his ceremonial dagger, a nervous habit he denied ever having.

Kael offered a small bow. "Councilors. I appreciate your time."

Theris raised an eyebrow. "You called this meeting at dawn, Lord Commander. I expect a reason worthy of the hour."

Kael didn't flinch. "I bring evidence of infiltration. A network of spies and saboteurs operates within the fortress. Two were neutralized last night. Both carried encoded messages suggesting that someone in this chamber may be feeding them information."

Murmurs.

Andrin leaned forward. "Are you accusing the Council, Commander?"

"I'm stating facts. The leak came from high above. If not the Council, then someone close to you."

"Then bring names," Theris said coldly. "Bring proof. We govern through law, not insinuation."

Kael met her gaze. "That's why I'm here. I request access to the Council's internal archives. I need to review all correspondence over the past two months—especially messages flagged for encryption."

Gasps followed. That request was unprecedented.

"Out of the question," barked Lord Meren, who had just entered. "You would trample centuries of protocol on mere suspicion?"

"Protocol will be the noose around your necks if we do nothing," Kael replied. "Give me seven days. If I find nothing, I'll close the investigation."

A tense silence. Then Lady Theris finally said, "You have five."

Meanwhile, Lysara stood in the north training fields, watching a duel between two captains. Her mind wasn't on the fight. It was on a coded document Riven had handed her hours before. A message recovered from the dead assassin's satchel. Most of it was gibberish—until her eyes caught one name buried in the margins.

Corven.

A name from her past.

The man who had trained her, years ago in the mountains of Ivarra, before she joined the Falcons. A ghost who vanished after a mission gone wrong.

She sought Riven immediately.

"You said this was taken from one of the tunnel assassins?" she asked.

Riven nodded. "Handwritten code. Not the Ember's style."

"Corven's alive," Lysara whispered. "He was the only one who used this script. He taught it to me as a test."

"Then he might be the recruiter."

"No," she said firmly. "He hated politics. But if he's involved, it's not by choice."

Riven studied her. "You want to find him."

"I need to."

That evening, Kael sat in a secluded chamber beneath the council tower, poring over documents. Parchments lay across the table, their corners weighted with daggers. Riven stood guard near the door.

Kael's eyes flicked from one coded line to the next, tracing anomalies. Missives that seemed ordinary on the surface, but contained odd phrasing or too-regular patterns. One in particular stood out.

It was from Lady Theris—addressed to a noble in Velmara. A simple update on trade routes. Yet every third word started with the same letter.

A cipher.

He decoded it quickly.

"Eyes upon the Ember. Distract the blade. The tide will turn when shadows fall."

Riven leaned over his shoulder. "That's not support. That's a warning."

Kael clenched his jaw. "She knows more than she says."

Lysara's journey took her beyond the walls.

With Kael's blessing and a forged cover as a merchant escort, she rode out at dawn with two riders, heading east toward the Ivarran Ridge.

The path grew treacherous, marked by crumbling roads and forests thick with mist. It was in the shadow of those ridges, near an abandoned outpost, that she found signs of life—tire tracks too fresh to be coincidence, bootprints too disciplined to belong to bandits.

She ordered her riders to stay behind.

With silent steps, she approached the ruin, slipping through broken archways and into the overgrown courtyard. The scent of smoke lingered.

A whisper.

Then a voice—gravelly and deep. "You always did walk like a shadow."

She turned, heart thudding.

Corven stood near a collapsed wall, older now, beard flecked with grey, but his eyes were the same. Cautious. Intelligent. Wary.

"I thought you were dead," she said.

"Better that way," he replied.

"You trained assassins for the Ember?"

"No," Corven said. "I infiltrated them. Months ago, I discovered a faction calling themselves the Ember—former agents, warlords, even old Council dogs. They're not just planning sabotage. They're planning to replace the Twelve."

"How close are they?"

"They've already turned two Councilors. Maybe more. And they're building a weapon. One that doesn't need armies. Just fear."

"What kind of weapon?"

He hesitated. "An arcane toxin. Infects the mind. Turns loyalty into madness."

Lysara's stomach dropped.

"I need your help," Corven said. "There's a vault beneath the old Solence Abbey. That's where they store it. But I can't break in alone."

"You won't be," she said. "We'll burn the Ember down together."

By nightfall, Kael stood atop the highest balcony of the Council Tower, watching lights flicker in the city below. A storm gathered in the distance.

Riven joined him, silent as always.

"They'll move soon," Kael murmured. "The Ember. Corruption breeds fastest in silence, and the silence is deafening."

"What will you do?" Riven asked.

Kael didn't answer immediately.

Then: "I'll expose them. Even if I have to drag every shadow into the sun."

And far below, in the dark heart of the city, a raven took flight—its wings gliding toward Solence Abbey, where the true war was about to begin.