Their voices dropped again, blending back into the muted drone of distant footsteps, the rustle of scholars' robes, and the persistent hum of mana-powered machinery that pulsed through the very fabric of Aetherion. Yet those few words lingered in my mind, sharp and distinct—heavy with implications.
Inner Circle. Session. They indicated a fracture within the fortress, small cracks hidden behind polished walls and neatly ordered corridors. The Council prided itself on unity, on presenting a façade of unbreakable authority. But even here, in the very heart of their power, there was dissent. Perhaps some genuinely questioned the legitimacy of the Council's decisions, or perhaps they merely sought plausible deniability, fearful of association with a scandal too large to cover up. Either way, it gave me leverage. I could use that fracture, exploit it until the truth seeped through the cracks.
