The Council chamber had no windows.
It never had.
Not because secrecy was required—but because light made people look outward.And the Council preferred inward thinking.
Tonight, even the lamps seemed dimmer.
Closed Session
Five seats.
Only four occupied.
The fifth—reserved for the High Arbiter—remained empty.
That absence spoke louder than any voice.
"He still hasn't returned?" Valen asked quietly.
Masako shook her head. "Three days. No word."
Akihiko's fingers drummed once against the table. "Irrelevant. Authority flows with or without a figurehead."
"That's the first sign," Masako replied calmly. "When process replaces judgment."
Akihiko didn't respond.
The Report That Shouldn't Exist
A junior adjutant entered, pale, hesitant.
"My lords… this report came through an unauthorised channel."
Akihiko turned sharply. "Then why is it here?"
"Because," the adjutant swallowed, "it bypassed all internal filters. It went directly to strategic review."
Valen took the document.
Read once.
Then again.
His expression hardened.
"This assessment on Tier Gamma," he said slowly, "was not written by any of us."
Masako leaned forward. "But it uses Council codes."
"Yes," Valen replied. "Old ones."
Akihiko stood. "Then someone revived deprecated authority access."
"Or," Masako said softly,"someone never lost it."
Silence fell.
A Name Reappears
The document didn't name an author.
But it referenced a doctrine long abandoned:
Absolute Elemental Supremacy Risk Theory— Pre-Collapse Era
Masako closed her eyes.
"That theory was banned after the Second War," she said."It justified preemptive elimination of high-variance individuals."
Akihiko didn't deny it.
"And now it's back," Valen said. "Specifically… for him."
No one needed to ask who.
Divided Intentions
"We should accelerate containment," Akihiko said sharply."Before others act."
Masako's voice hardened for the first time.
"Containment," she said, "is not protection. It's provocation."
Akihiko met her gaze.
"You're defending him."
"I'm defending balance."
Valen broke in. "The larger issue is this—who leaked internal Evaluation metrics?"
No one answered.
Because everyone knew.
Someone inside the Council wanted chaos.
External Pressure
Another report appeared—this one official.
Northern Defensive Line — Casualties Exceed ProjectionRequesting Reinforcement
Brann's front.
Too soon.
"Heavy losses already," Valen muttered.
Akihiko looked at the map.
"They'll ask for Lightning," he said flatly.
Masako's eyes narrowed.
"And someone will ensure he's sent without consent."
The room chilled.
"You're suggesting—" Valen began.
Masako cut him off.
"I'm stating a probability."
The Unspoken Divide
For the first time in decades, the Council sat split.
Not in vote.
In belief.
One side feared losing control.
The other feared repeating history.
Akihiko turned away from the table.
"If he moves on his own," he said, "we lose him."
Masako watched the darkened seal above.
"If we force him," she replied,"we lose everything else."
Elsewhere
Kurogane felt it.
Not a voice.
Not a command.
A distortion—like pressure before a storm, but inverted.
Raishin appeared beside him, expression grim.
"They've started fighting each other."
"About me?"
"Because of you."
Kurogane exhaled slowly.
"So the warning signs are real."
Raishin nodded.
"The Council is fracturing."
Kurogane looked out toward the horizon, where distant lights marked departing convoys and bleeding fronts.
"Then," he said quietly,"the war just gained a second battlefield."
Inside sealed halls, ancient access keys awakened.
Old doctrines stirred.
And somewhere between protection and paranoia,someone decided that lightning should not be allowed to choose.