Page 44 of Sokâr

A heavy silence followed—shocked, unnerved, furious silence.

“I support the motion,” said Lamari Dross, rising with a rustle of velvet. “If staying with the Resh’Agar violates Doctrine, then the failure lies with us for not fulfilling Doctrine in the first place.”

“The motion is supported,” echoed Vexan Til.

Draevan Sol stood. “Overruled, pending budget review—”

“You dare speak of budgets?” Kailorien turned sharply toward him. “She is the Sokâr of Krystopolis. A symbol of divine will. And you insult her with talk ofcosts?”

A pause.

“Shall I also investigate her stipend and howthathas been neglected?”

Draevan Sol frowned and sat down, withdrawing his vote.

“I second the opposition,” barked Ilyra Vaunt. “This Council cannot bend to personal sentiment! Doctrine must remain intact, or we descend into chaos.”

At last, with oily calm, Sevrion Hale stood. He bowed his head—not in respect, but ritual—before he spoke.

“I vote to oppose,” he said. “Not for Doctrine. Not for budget. But because I believe the Sokâr hasoverstepped. She sows discord, breeds defiance among Attendants, and fractures the will of this Council. Sanctuary in your wing may shield her body, Resh’Agar…but who shields us from the damage her presence brings?”

The Resh'Agar didn’t move, but something immense changed in the air around him. The Polis-light in the chamber dimmed. The mana in the room thinned like air under pressure. The temperature dropped, and Morvane thrummed with hunger. He took another step forward. Some of the Councilors paled.

“She bears the Shields with me as my second half,” he reminded them, though he still didn’t believe this particular aspect of the Doctrine was true. “She suffers soyoumay sleep at night beneath the safety she sustains. And if your greatest concern is that her mere existence threatens your sense of control, then perhaps it isyour presence, not hers, that endangers the Doctrine.”

That ended it.

More hands rose.

A tie. Half supporting. Half resisting.

“Without majority,” announced Calixtan, voice tight with barely restrained nerves, “the motion will be forwarded to the Sovereign Flame for final approval.”

Kailorien gave a single nod.

He had expected this.

And soon,hewould speak with Shu’Khan.

That conversation wouldnotbe a vote.

It would be a reckoning.

With nothing more to say, he turned on his heel and walked from the chamber, the echo of his boots beating like war drums in the hollow of the Council’s terror. For the Resh’Agar had never stood for his Sokâr like this. Had never defended her as staunchly. And in five decades, none had seen the fire in his eyes rise to such a crescendo.

The Hall of the Destroyer held its breath. Pillars of obsidian marble rose like spears at the edges of the antechamber, each wreathed in streamers of Polis-light bleeding red across the polished stone.

Kailorien’s cloak whispered a dark promise as it billowed behind him, its edges snapping like wings unfurled, the Runesgram stitched into its fabric humming in tune with the Shields. His boots clicked against the black marble floor veined with crimson. He approached the Vesper Seat, where the Sovereign Flame perched like a statue of a deity at rest.

“Brother,” Kailorien greeted, voice taut.

Shu’Khan's gaze met his own, his expression devoid of soul and his hands steepled beneath his chin. His voice, when it came, was low and clear—like ice cracking beneath the weight of something terrible.

"Have you come to ask forgiveness? It is certainly too late to ask permission."

"I have no need to ask permission to run the Council. Nor to uphold the Law."

Shu'Khan sneered. “We were quite clear in Our warning, were We not? The Void is not to show open favor, Iridias.”