Masks and Oaths

That evening, the Academy's corridors felt narrower, the torchlight more urgent. Lilith led me through winding passages to the conclave hall—the same obsidian doors from our oath at the Gate. Only this time, I entered alone.

Inside, twelve masked figures sat in silent judgment. I recognized Umbra, Astraea, the head Councilor, and several councilors I'd only ever seen from afar. Lilith's absence made the chamber colder.

The head Councilor rose, staff tapping the marble floor. "Architect," he intoned, voice resonant, "your seal has held. The wraiths are driven back. Now we must decide: do we press our advantage, or fortify our borders?"

Astraea stood and removed her mask: frost-etched scars on her cheek. "I fought beside you at the Gate of Binding. I know your courage," she said, voice steady. "Let me stand at your side."

Umbra's shadow-cloak swirled. "The rebels hold the ley-line nexus there. If we seize it, we cripple their power."

I felt the shard's heartbeat thrumming in my palm. I swallowed. "I accept this duty. I will lead the campaign—if you trust me."

A somber nod went around the circle. One by one, each masked figure tapped the table—an oath of unity. Green glyphs shimmered on the floor, sealing our pact.

When the ceremony ended, Lilith reappeared, cloaking me in her silent approval. As we walked out, she murmured, "You carry the realm's faith on your shoulders."

I exhaled, blinking against torchlight. "Then let's not drop it."