Date: Mid-July X786
Location: Era — Magic Council Citadel
The long corridors of the Citadel felt alive — veins of stone pulsing with suppressed magic, halls subtly warping as if they were listening to every footstep.
To the public, it appeared as a single towering spire above Era's snowy peaks. But insiders knew: beneath it sprawled entire subterranean cities of vaults, archives, and war chambers. The Magic Council Citadel wasn't merely a fortress — it was a living record of Earthland's fears and secrets.
At the atrium intersections, Teresa moved silently between reception halls and archive chambers. Rune Knights bowed but avoided her eyes. Lantern wards dimmed as she passed, as if holding their breath. She mapped each hallway like a battlefield, eyes alert for every shift in magic.
Deep inside, Councilor Ethne and Councilor Fitzroy bent over scattered reports, debating in low voices. Ethne looked up sharply when she noticed Teresa.
"Thank you for coming," Ethne said evenly. "Your presence clarifies more than you know."
Fitzroy gestured at a lacquered table, crowded with guild dispatches and coded reports. "Delegates are restless. They see Fairy Tail's absence as a weakness. They believe you act beyond all law."
Teresa listened without moving, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
They guided her into the Observatory Wing, where pale runic globes floated, aligned to distant star maps. Lacrima screens flickered with surveillance feeds and pulse charts of protective wards.
"One week ago," Fitzroy began, tapping a projection, "Council wards in six provinces pulsed twice in perfect unison. Two-minute intervals. Repeated."
"Coincidence?" Teresa asked, her voice low.
Ethne shook her head. "Deliberate. These sites sit just outside strict Council oversight."
Fitzroy flipped to another feed. "Dark guild operatives seeded suppression glyphs under convoy cover."
On the projections, rune plates dissolved into walls, cloaked saboteurs slipping past guard rotations.
Elsewhere in the Citadel, Bran hissed to emissaries from Sabertooth and Blue Pegasus behind sealed doors.
"They claim they want stability during the Games," he spat. "But they want power. If Teresa leaves our orbit, we lose leverage."
Blue Pegasus's envoy nodded stiffly. "We'll support a Council strike squad."
Sabertooth's rep, arms crossed and scarred, added, "We'll loan fighters — under your banner."
Bran's eyes gleamed. "Good."
Far below, two cloaked agents — Moussa and Jarek — ghosted between hidden supply crates. Moussa pressed a rune marker into a box, which glowed faintly as it rewrote the local circuits.
"Patch placed," he whispered into an earpiece. "Coverage gaps secured."
Jarek dragged a blade along the floor, erasing rune trails. "Operation Radiant begins soon."
They slipped back into the echoing halls, shadows devouring them whole.
In the tactical chamber, Teresa stood before Warrod and Org. Maps of active vault signatures, sabotage trails, and suppression glyphs sprawled across a crystal surface.
Warrod met her gaze. "Your presence turned the momentum. They were collapsing wards faster than we could repair them."
"Who holds the initiative now?" she asked.
Org didn't hesitate. "You do."
He tapped several highlighted nodes. "You didn't destroy every relay. You marked them — we control them now."
"But the glyph networks persist," Warrod added. "They threaten inner defenses."
Teresa laid a hand on the map. "I'll find them."
In a lower ballroom, Councilor Mana addressed assembled guild leaders: Alto of Blue Pegasus, Krag of Sabertooth, and two minor guild heads.
"Council-issued warrants authorize your mages to support city defense," she declared.
Alto's eyebrow arched. "Fairy Tail excluded. Why?"
Mana gestured sharply. "Participation is voluntary. But if you refuse, you forfeit certain protections."
A hush fell.
Above, Org faced Teresa. "You'll need jurisdiction."
Her gaze stayed steady. "What does it cost?"
"Access to Council archives and wards. But if you fail, you stand alone," he said plainly.
She nodded. "Accepted."
Warrod exhaled. "Selective authorization is drafted in your name. You lead strikes on rogue glyph sites and vault circuits."
She studied the map a final time. "I start tonight."
Later, beneath a moonless sky, Teresa passed silent Rune Knights at the outer gate. Her cloak, now trimmed in pale silver — a mark of Council sanction — drifted behind her.
At the gate, Org handed her a sigil-wrapped satchel and the ceremonial cloak.
"This is your shield — and your chain," he murmured.
She accepted both in silence.
On the curved road beyond, she paused, wind tugging at her hood. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed forward.
From a high balcony, Warrod and Org watched.
Warrod's whisper echoed into the dark. "Let the true games begin — not in the arena, but in the dark veins of the land."
Org nodded once.
"They won't see her coming."