Chapter 116: Chapter One Hundred Fifteen

The hall buzzed with voices as Londrell opened the floor. At first, the discussion was cautious, respectful. His loyalists spoke of strategy, diplomacy, and the need to understand the fairies warning.

But beneath that surface…. Something else was happening. A current of resentment, A whisper of betrayal. A hunger for destruction that had nothing to do with Londrell’s vision. Those who had followed his grandfather most devoutly - the zealots, the purists, the ones who believed the supernatural world deserved to fall - exchanged glances.

And one by one, they slipped away. Some quietly stepped out of the hall. Others muted their screens, and logged off. All of them sent messages to each other, through an encrypted channel used by the extremist faction. Rhalek, “He’s wavering. Did you hear him? Talking about “saving the land”? Pathetic.”

Mira, “He’s lost the fire. His grandfather would be ashamed.”  Torren, “Summit? With the girl of prophecy? He’s bending the knee.”

Vesk, “We need to meet. Secondary location. Now.” Rhalek, “Agreed. The lair is compromised. He’s surrounded by weak minds.”

Mira, “He’s turning traitor. If he won’t finish what was started, we will.” Torren, “The prophecy ends in blood. That was always the plan.”

Vesk, ”Secondary location in twenty minutes. Bring your loyalists. We move tonight.”

Londrell didn’t notice the exodus at first - too focused on the voices still speaking to him. A strategist suggested sending envoys. A healer recommended studying the lands decay. A shade-binder proposed strengthening defenses before the summit. Londrell listened, absorbing every word.

But Varyn noticed. His eyes narrowed as he watched Rhalek slip out the side door. Then Mira, then Torren. He leaned toward Londrell,, “Some are leaving. Not the ones you want leaving.”

Londrell’s jaw tightened, “Let them go. If they disagree, they can speak.” Varyn shook his head, “They are not leaving to speak. They’re leaving to plot.”

Londrell’s stomach twisted - anger, fear, and the echo of his grandfather’s teachings clashing inside him, “Let them. I will not rule through fear anymore.”

Varyn’s expression darkened, “Then be ready. Because they will.”

The secondary location was a cavern deep beneath the old ruins — a place Londrell’s grandfather had once used for secret councils.

Rhalek, Mira, Torren, Vesk, and nearly two dozen others gathered in a circle, their faces lit by flickering torchlight.

Rhalek,“He’s weak.”

Mira, “He’s betraying the cause.”

Torren,“He wants peace. Peace is death.”

Vesk,“The prophecy says the world will fall. Let it fall.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

Rhalek, “If Londrell won’t lead us to destruction… then we will lead ourselves.”

Mira, “And when the summit happens, we strike.”

Torren, “We end the girl. We end the prophecy. We end the world.”

A chilling silence followed.

Then—

Vesk,“For the old ways.”

All, “For the old ways.”

Back at the hall, Londrell dismissed the meeting, unaware of the storm gathering beneath him. He stood alone in the hall, staring at the place where his grandfather once stood. He felt the old hatred, the new doubt, and he felt the land’s pain. He whispered to himself, “Which path is mine?”

He didn’t know that a faction of his own people had already chosen theirs. And it wasn’t his.

Weeks passed. Not peacefully - nothing about this prophecy was peaceful - but with a steady, deliberate rhythm that surprised everyone involved. For the first time in decades, Londrell wasn’t issuing ultimatums or threats. He wasn’t sending shades into the night. He wasn’t demanding the world bend to him.

He was… negotiating. And the supernatural realm didn’t quite know what to do with it.

At Varyn’s urging - and the fairies’ insistence - Londrell had created something he;d never allowed before, he now has a panel of advisors. A small envoy - like bodyguards - that will travel with him wherever he goes. And the most obviously odd thing, is a communication channel with the council, created and mediated by the fairies.

Negotiations were slow, and frustrating. It was nothing like the decisive, iron-fisted leadership he’d been raised to emulate. But it was working.

Every time the fairies delivered a message from the Council, Londrell gathered his advisors. He listened, he debated, he weighed the consequences. And he took his people’s concerns seriously. Even the ones he didn’t agree with. Especially those.

The negotiations were painstaking - both sides terrified of being ambushed, manipulated, or betrayed. So the fairies proposed a solution; ‘No one would know the summit’s exact location until the moment they arrived.’

The fairies would lead the drivers. The fairies would control the route, and the fairies would ensure neutrality. When Londrell relayed this to his people, the tension in the room eased noticeably. Varyn comments, “This prevents the Council from setting a trap.” One of the advisors says, “And prevents us from being blamed for one.”  Everyone says, “It’s fair, and neutral.”

Londrell nodded, “Then we accept.”

For the first time in weeks, his people relaxed. Not fully, not unanimously, but enough. The negotiations continued.