Chapter 75 - A Fractured Trust

Date: Late July X786 (Pre-Games Evening)

Location: Era — Magic Council Citadel & Proximate Vault Region

The Citadel's corridors felt colder than the deepest night.

Org and Warrod paced before the sealed detention chamber, robes brushing the marble with each silent step.

"He's turning Councilors against each other," Org said, voice low. "Fitzroy warned me — if Bali falls, he'll leak that we sanctioned internal oversight."

Warrod nodded, gaze sharp. "Then there's only one chance left. Teresa must be ready for crossfire — not just from dark guilds, but from us."

Outside the Citadel gates, Teresa led her Strike Team — eleven Rune Knights, each bearing Council-issued sigils.

She moved steadily, blade at her side, hood drawn low. Her scentless aura — a side effect of her Yoki Magic — made the knights shift subtly. They smelled only steel and cold wind.

At a collapsed cliff cave west of Crocus, she knelt at the entrance.

"They're expecting us," she murmured.

A faint glow pulsed from a crystal shard lodged in the wall. Teresa reached for it, then froze — movement above. Shadows slipped across the broken rock.

"Phantom Step."

In an instant, she blurred forward.

Void Sever sliced a suppression rod mid-air, vaporizing twisted runic steel.

The knights staggered, eyes wide.

Teresa turned, voice even. "Hidden suppression glyphs — layered inside Council wards."

They followed her deeper, picking through splintered sigils and shifting rock.

A knight stumbled, thigh scorched by a hidden rune burn. Teresa scanned, blade up.

Above, moonlight flashed on cloaked silhouettes.

"Silken Nerve Control."

She spun under a thrown rune shard, her strike fast and clean. The attacker dropped, disarmed without a scream.

At the vault entry, she paused beneath an arch of etched glyphs. Suppressed wards flickered, only her authority now standing between collapse and chaos.

She tapped her blade on the ground.

"Claymore Arsenal."

Her cloak and armor gleamed, lines brightening into razor clarity.

She traced Windcutter arcs through the glyphs — resonant lines cracked, echoes peaked, then fell silent.

The vault door sealed shut behind them.

The knights watched — first in terror, then in stunned respect.

Back in the Citadel, Bali stumbled from her cell, robes torn.

"They ordered a council strike beyond the perimeter," she gasped. "Bran led them. Victoria said it would force Teresa 'into the fold.' Then Bran had the guardians stand down. They were ambushed tonight."

Org's jaw locked. "Bran."

Bali's shoulders shook. "I planted glyphs on direct order. They wanted to test her — or break her."

Warrod's stare turned to iron. "This betrayal isn't personal. It's systemic."

At dawn, Teresa stood alone before the sealed vault door.

Knights waited at a distance, silent.

She turned. "You were sent to oversee me. Now, I lead myself."

A pause.

"The Council's name is your shield — not your command."

The knights lowered their heads, solemn.

In the Citadel's High Hall, Warrod faced Bran before the full assembly.

"Do you understand what you've done?" Warrod asked, voice quiet but unyielding.

Bran's lips twisted. "We must control these assets."

"They saved the assets from you," Warrod snapped.

Org entered sharply. "All prior votes are void. Effective immediately: Teresa's independent strikes are sanctioned. No internal commands override Strike Team consent."

A hush fell, heavy and final.

Above, on the balcony, Ethne watched sunrise touch Crocus.

Fitzroy stood beside her, voice low. "If the Council fractures now..."

Ethne raised a frost-blue mana flame in her palm. "Or it finally learns to stand by trust, not fear."

That evening, Teresa returned to Magnolia, the Strike Team at her side.

No fanfare. No banners.

At the gate, Macao waited, eyes watchful.

She sheathed her blade, gaze sweeping the guild softly.

"Mission complete," she said. "Conclusion: Council is fractured. Dark agents move within. I'll remain here this week."

Macao nodded. "And after?"

She looked past him. "I go to the Games."

Between Magnolia's lanterns, she stepped forward — no longer alone, but flanked by those she had earned, not commanded.

The breeze carried a soft promise of the coming Games.

But beneath that quiet, the Citadel's cracks had already begun to spread.