Chapter 104 Decisions Must Be Made Part 1
The murals bled red, reflecting the tension and turmoil brewing within the city. Daisy sat alone in the Grand Council Chamber, feeling the weight of a better world’s judgment. The room was round, its pale stone panels stretching from floor to dome, with glowing crystals set at every seam, pulsing in a slow, steady rhythm. The walls seemed alive: enchanted murals showed the city of Brightwater from above, always shifting in fog and silver. Rivers shone blue, rooftops glinted with copper, and the streets glowed red wherever trouble was brewing.
As the council entered, the murals flickered, showing lines of worry through the city’s streets. Most councilors had visible injuries: a sling, a half-healed ear, or a face stitched with rough care that said, “we ran out of better options.” Those without physical wounds looked just as troubled. Daisy noticed their restless hands, nervous glances, and the tense way they gathered, as if they already believed this was their last hope.
She waited for the sound of chairs and shuffling papers to fade. When the last person sat down—a river guild leader whose voice always shook, even during votes—Daisy stood. The room fell silent, broken only by the steady beat of the chamber’s heart and the shifting murals overhead.
Xeris leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed and chin lowered, his gold eyes following her every move. He hadn’t spoken since they arrived, but Daisy could feel his attention, heavy and expectant, as if she owed him for every moment he watched.
“We all know why we’re here,” Daisy said, voice steady. “Brightwater’s been holding with blood and thread, but we’re out of both. We need a plan for the siege and the city after.”
Delia Moss spoke first. She looked exhausted, but her hair was scraped back and her voice crisp. “I’ve set up six healing stations in the inner wards. If we get more wounded, we can run triage at the old aqueduct, where the space is clean, and the water still runs clear.” As she talked, Delia’s fingers worked in midair, tracing glowing blue diagrams. At each mention of a station or a supply cache, a fresh glyph flared over the city mural, casting ripples that faded as soon as they’d appeared.
“We’re still low on burn salve,” Delia added. “But if I can use some of the council’s spiritum reserves, I think I can mix the new herbs with minor blood magic.” Spiritum, a rare and volatile substance sourced from the depths of Brightwater’s ancient archives, held untapped power but at a high cost. It was known to sap the life force of those who wielded it, making its use a double-edged sword in desperate times. She didn’t look at Daisy, but the meaning was clear. “It should help simple wounds heal faster.” Delia hesitated, then added, “However, using spiritum in this way will take a toll on the caster, stealing an hour of life for each dose. We need to weigh the urgency of this help against its cost.”
No one objected. Daisy nodded once, and Delia set her hands in her lap, unclenched and trembling.
Cornelius Blackwood spoke next. He stood up straight, moving stiffly, and addressed the group with the formality of someone who had never been allowed to relax. “Most of the council’s militia are untrained. If you want them to defend the inner wall, they need more than pitchforks and hope.” He avoided looking at Daisy. “I suggest we pick three dozen of the healthiest and train them in basic drills: archery, formations, and shock tactics. I can do it in a day if we start now.”
He stepped away from the table and quickly showed a series of combat stances. His movements were so fast they blurred, and his boots left faint scorch marks on the stone floor. “With respect,” he said, bowing a little, “the enemy brings professionals. We cannot afford to look like amateurs.”
Daisy let herself smile on one side. “You’ll have your three dozen. If you need more, ask Mira to make a golem or two.” At this, nervous laughter spread through the room—half the council had grown up in terror of Mira Stone, while the other half still owed her money.
Mira took the joke with an arch of one perfect eyebrow, then spoke before Daisy could move on. “I propose a different solution for the Veilseekers.” She rose from her seat, robes shushing against the floor, and gestured to Samuel Thompson, who remained hunched over a notebook like a priest at confession.
“Professor Thompson and I have agreed to collaborate,” she said. “His runic knowledge, my experience in counter-intrusions. We can anchor warding arrays that specifically target the Veilseeker’s magic. At the very least, it will limit their movement inside the city.” The Veilseekers, known for their mastery of shadow magic and espionage, were a group of rogue mages capable of infiltrating even the most secure fortresses. As Mira spoke, she forced herself to meet each councilor’s gaze; this was an act of conviction as much as strategy, motivated by the memory of past breaches that had left her own wards in ruins. She held herself steady, silently recalling the devastation the Veilseekers had wrought on her colleagues—a motivation that drove her to accept even uneasy alliances. Thompson, however, remained silent about a particular clause in the collaboration. Mira noticed his reluctance to share it, but, determined to protect the city at any cost, decided to press on, hoping the secret was minor. For now, the alliance stood, but the unspoken detail lingered ominously.
Samuel muttered assent, not bothering to stand. “I’d need full access to the city’s archives. No interference.”
Daisy nodded. “Granted. Just don’t turn my city into a puzzle box unless you leave me a map.”
The council responded with a low murmur of appreciation. It was an old city joke, but Daisy noticed the relief in their faces. One councilor, typically stoic, subtly exhaled, his jaw unclenching as if he’d just set down a heavy burden. Nearby, another council member bowed her head slightly, whispering a prayer of gratitude. Daisy wondered how many had already planned to escape, and how many were ready to stay and face the end.
She looked to Xeris, who hadn’t moved. “Anything to add?”
He regarded her through lowered lashes. “You know what I’d do,” he said quietly. For a heartbeat, images of their past adventures flashed through Daisy’s mind—the time they had dared each other to climb the frozen walls of the Northern Fortress, feeling invincible despite the risk of discovery. There were also quieter moments, like when they had watched the city lights flicker to life from the clock tower, feeling as if they were the rulers of the world. These memories hung between them, a thread of unspoken longing.
“Burn it all?” Daisy said, just loud enough for the council to hear.
He didn’t answer, but the flick of his gaze from her to the murals and back again made the point: They could fight like mortals, or they could win like monsters.
“Thank you, everyone,” Daisy said, and for a moment the word sounded alien, as if she’d forgotten what gratitude was supposed to feel like.