Chapter 5

I'd barely had time to sit down before the summons arrived, carried by a messenger whose hands trembled like autumn leaves in a bitter wind.

"The Council of Lords demands your presence," he stammered, eyes darting everywhere but my face, as if direct contact might somehow contaminate him with whatever crime they believed I'd committed.

I didn't ask what would happen if I refused. The weight of his fear told me everything I needed to know.

They called it the "Hall of Concord," though the name felt like a cruel joke wrapped in velvet and gold leaf. It looked more like a lion's den, designed by architects who understood that power required theater, and theater required the proper stage for judgment.

High, vaulted ceilings stretched above us like the ribcage of some ancient beast, their stone surfaces carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and writhe in the flickering light. Marble pillars rose like sentinels, their surfaces polished to mirror brightness that reflected distorted images of the assembled crowd. Velvet banners hung between them, their rich crimson fabric stitched with gold thread and hollow phrases about unity and prosperity that rang as false as coins made of painted lead.

And them.

The High Mages were seated along one curve of the chamber, a semicircle of sanctimonious authority. Every one of them wore identical white-and-gold robes, the fabric so pristine it seemed to glow in the torchlight. Their robes were embroidered with sigils they probably couldn't even read, ancient symbols reduced to mere decoration on the costumes of those who had forgotten their meaning.

The nobles sat along the opposite curve, a mirror image of power dressed in different colors. Silks that whispered secrets with every movement. Jewels that caught the light like trapped stars. Too many rings on fingers that had never known honest work, each band of metal a small fortune that could have fed a village for months.

The king sat at the head of this amphitheater of judgment, slouched in his throne like a man already half-buried beneath the weight of his crown. The great seat dwarfed him, its elaborate carvings and precious metals serving only to emphasize how small and tired he looked within its embrace.

And me?

I stood alone in the center of this circus, positioned like a gladiator awaiting the verdict of the crowd. No seat. No table. No advocates or allies. Just me, under their collective gaze, feeling the weight of their scrutiny like a physical pressure against my skin.

Like an accused criminal awaiting sentence.

The king spoke first, his voice like worn leather that had been stretched too thin and left too long in the sun.

"Sage of Systems. You are called here to answer for your actions."

My actions. The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication and unspoken accusation.

You mean saving your city from total collapse? I thought but didn't say. The bitter taste of irony filled my mouth like copper pennies.

Instead, I looked him dead in the eye, meeting his gaze with the steadiness of someone who had nothing left to lose.

"And what crime am I accused of?"

Whispers rippled through the chamber like wind through wheat fields, carrying hints of scandal and speculation. The sound built and faded in waves, punctuated by the rustle of silk and the soft clink of jewelry as heads turned toward one another in hurried consultation.

One of the High Mages rose slowly from his seat, movements deliberate and theatrical. Gaelan, I think his name was. His hands were tucked deep within his sleeves like he was praying, or perhaps hiding weapons. The gesture gave him the appearance of a monk, but his eyes burned with the fervor of an inquisitor.

"You tampered with the Sacred Barrier without authorization," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of religious conviction. Each word fell like a stone dropped into still water, creating ripples of meaning that spread through the assembled crowd. "You defiled the ancient flow, bypassed ritual protocol, and exposed our wards to unknown contamination."

Contamination. The word dripped from his lips like poison, invested with all the horror of plague and pestilence.

Right.

I raised an eyebrow, letting the gesture carry all the skepticism I couldn't voice. "And did it work?"

Gaelan's face darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon, his carefully maintained composure cracking to reveal the fury beneath.

"That is irrelevant. The law forbids unauthorized contact with the divine circuits. The sacred formulas exist for a reason, and that reason is not for outsiders to question or modify according to their whims."

"Oh, now it's the divine circuits," I said, my voice cutting through the chamber with enough volume to reach every corner. The words carried clearly in the acoustic space, designed to amplify every syllable for maximum dramatic effect.

I heard a few stifled laughs from the back benches, where lesser nobles sat in the shadows of their betters. The sound was quickly suppressed, but not before I caught the flash of amusement in their eyes.

Gaelan's face turned red, the color creeping up his neck like rising flood water."Your irreverence only deepens your crime," he snapped, his carefully controlled tone finally cracking to reveal the anger beneath. "You show no respect for the sacred traditions that have protected this kingdom for generations."

I folded my arms across my chest, settling into a stance that radiated calm defiance."I see. So I was summoned here to fix your failing systems, but the moment I actually do my job, you'd rather burn me at the stake than admit it worked."

No one spoke. The silence stretched like a taut wire, vibrating with unspoken tensions and barely contained emotions.

I could feel it in the air around us, thick as smoke from a green fire. Half of them were watching me like I was some new species, exotic and dangerous, something to be studied and catalogued before being safely caged. The other half were calculating exactly how much damage I could do if they didn't shut me down, their minds working through scenarios of rebellion and revolution.

A noblewoman rose next from the silk-cushioned seats, her movement fluid as water flowing over stones. Her voice was silk and steel woven together, smooth but sharp enough to cut."Lord Gaelan raises a valid point," she said, her words chosen with the precision of a jeweler selecting perfect gems. "But the Sage's actions did prevent the eastern district's destruction. Surely that warrants some... consideration."

I didn't know her name, had never seen her face before this moment. But I didn't need formal introduction to recognize what she was.

I knew the type.

She wasn't defending me. She was testing me, probing for weaknesses and strengths like a merchant examining goods before making an offer. She was seeing whether I'd be more useful as a tool than a scapegoat, calculating my value with the cold precision of an accountant.Gaelan sneered, his lips curling in an expression of pure disdain. "The law must be upheld. If we excuse this transgression once, what prevents every hedge wizard and apprentice from believing they can circumvent proper channels? Order depends on respect for established protocol."

"Then perhaps the law should be rewritten," she interrupted, her eyes gleaming with the light of someone who had found a new angle to exploit. "Perhaps our protocols need to evolve with our understanding."

Gasps echoed through the chamber like the sound of waves breaking against rocky shores. The suggestion was apparently tantamount to heresy, challenging the very foundations upon which their society was built.

I almost laughed at the theatrical outrage, the carefully orchestrated shock that rippled through the assembled crowd like a stone thrown into still water.

The king raised a weathered hand, the gesture small but carrying absolute authority. The room fell silent as if he had cast a spell, every voice dying away like candles snuffed by wind.He looked at me across the space that separated us, his gaze carrying no anger, no fear, no hatred. Just a bone-deep weariness that spoke of too many difficult decisions and too few good options.

"You were summoned to save this kingdom," he said, his voice carrying the weight of acknowledgment and regret. "But even you must abide by its rules."I met his gaze, holding it steady despite the weight of expectation that pressed down on me like a physical force.

"And if your rules are what's killing it?"

Silence fell over the chamber like a shroud, complete and absolute. For a long, heavy moment, no one breathed, no one moved, no one dared to break the spell that had settled over us all.Finally, the king spoke again, his voice soft but carrying the finality of a door closing forever."The Sage will not be punished. His intervention saved lives, and that service to the kingdom will not be forgotten."

I heard Gaelan grind his teeth, the sound audible in the perfect silence that surrounded us."But," the king continued, the single word hanging in the air like a sword suspended by spider silk, "any future tampering with the wards must be overseen by the Arcane Directorate. Proper channels must be observed."

Gaelan smiled, the expression sickly sweet as honey mixed with hemlock. Victory tasted bitter on his lips, but victory nonetheless.

The noblewoman didn't look pleased either, her carefully laid plans disrupted by this compromise that satisfied no one. But she said nothing, her silence speaking volumes about the delicate balance of power that governed this place.

I just stared at the king, reading the truth in his tired eyes.

I knew exactly what this was. The revelation hit me like cold water, washing away any illusions I might have harbored about my place in this kingdom.

They weren't letting me off. They were boxing me in, creating a cage of regulations and oversight that would strangle any future efforts to actually solve their problems.

After the session dissolved into whispered conversations and careful departures, Liora found me in a quiet hall where shadows gathered like old friends. The stone walls around us seemed to absorb sound, creating a pocket of privacy in the vast palace.

She didn't say anything at first, just handed me a folded scrap of parchment with the casual gesture of someone passing along the weather forecast.

A diagram. Lines and symbols that spoke of sabotage and assassination, plans already set in motion.

The sabotage attempt they'd already started planning.

I looked up at her, seeing my own understanding reflected in her dark eyes.

She met my gaze, dead serious as winter earth.

"They're not going to wait for a second chance," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Be ready."

I stuffed the paper into my pocket, feeling its weight like a stone against my chest.

It came at night, as these things always do.

A sudden knock at my chamber door, sharp and insistent. A voice from the other side, urgent and muffled by wood and iron.

"Message from the High Mages. Private audience. Now."

I didn't answer. The words hung in the air like smoke, carrying the scent of deception and poorly concealed threat.

I already knew how this game worked.

Instead, I picked up the candle from my bedside table and set it on the floor next to the old metal latch that nobody ever noticed. The flame flickered in the draft that crept under the door, casting dancing shadows that seemed to move with purpose.

I waited.

The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent. Then, silence that felt heavier than the noise that had preceded it.

Footsteps outside my door, retreating or pretending to retreat. The sound faded into the distance, leaving only the whisper of wind through stone corridors.

I watched the shadows under the door, patient as a hunter waiting for prey.

Waited.

There.

A glint. Faint as starlight through clouds. Thin as a hair.

Poison thread, strung between the hinges and the handle with the precision of a spider's web. Pull the door too fast, and it would snap. Cut deep. Likely coated with something exotic and slow-acting, designed to kill quietly and leave no obvious trace.

Subtle.

Clever.

But not clever enough for someone who had spent years navigating corporate politics and academic backstabbing.

I didn't open the door. I didn't need to.

Instead, I sat down by the window, watching the city lights flicker in the distance like earthbound stars. The view stretched out before me, a landscape of shadows and secrets punctuated by the warm glow of homes where people slept peacefully, unaware of the games being played in the halls of power above them.

They'd try again. I knew that with the certainty of someone who had learned to read the patterns of human ambition.

But the message was clear as winter air.

Later, lying in bed with sleep eluding me like a shy animal, I stared at the ceiling where shadows played across carved stone. The darkness above seemed to press down on me, heavy with the weight of realization.

The worst part wasn't that they wanted me dead. I had expected that from the moment I'd challenged their authority.

It wasn't even the fact that I'd barely survived my first week in this place. Survival had always been a day-to-day proposition.

No.

The worst part was realizing something else, a truth that settled in my chest like a cold stone.If I kept solving their problems, this wouldn't stop. It would only get worse.

I wasn't a hero here. I wasn't even a valued ally.

I was a walking lever, a tool to pull every broken piece of this kingdom back into place until the moment they could afford to break me.

And part of me, deep and buried beneath layers of cynicism and pragmatism, was starting to wonder...

If I'd already been broken the moment I agreed to help them at all.

The thought echoed in the darkness, unanswered and unanswerable, while outside my window the city slept on, oblivious to the price that would be paid for its salvation.