Chapter 558: The Storm Behind Closed Doors Part Three

The chamber seemed to breathe with the shifting light of the projections. The ruin-spires flickered across the obsidian walls, their angles alien and cruel, as if the city itself had been invaded by another age.

For a long moment, no one dared to break Renard’s words. Then, at last, a voice of iron rang from the far side of the table.

Commander Veyl, clad in Union Enforcement black, leaned forward, his scarred jaw catching the glow of the holo-screens. His eyes were steel-grey, the kind of eyes that had seen entire districts burn.

"Guildmasters," he said, tone sharp as drawn steel. "I don’t care if this Dragon Lord raised those towers or if they sprouted from the soil themselves. The fact is, civilians are dying. Enforcement squads sent to investigate haven’t returned. Whole blocks near that spiral tower are empty now—vanished. What we face isn’t politics. It’s survival."

Garruk grunted but did not interrupt this time.

At Veyl’s side, the Steelhand representative adjusted his thick gauntlets, the clinking metal audible in the silence. Doran Valke, Guildmaster of the Steelhands, was a mountain of a man, his armor etched with the marks of battles fought in the city’s darkest alleys.

"My guild has tested the ruins firsthand," Doran said, voice low but steady. "Three squads entered the hovering ring at the outskirts. Two never came back. The third stumbled out raving, their minds broken. They spoke of walls that shifted, of stairs leading nowhere, of whispers that told them their deaths in advance. We sealed the site, but I’ll tell you this—whatever these structures are, they fight back without lifting a blade."

Unease rippled through the chamber. Even Garruk’s fury dimmed beneath the weight of Doran’s words.

One of the Union senators shifted nervously in her chair. She was a thin woman with ink-dark skin and amber jewels glinting on her robe’s cuffs. Senator Yelra Veyndis, sharp-tongued in the Union Assembly, spoke now with a voice that betrayed unease.

"If this is true, then we are not discussing mere ruins. These are weapons. Relics of some forgotten war, perhaps—turned loose in our midst. The Union cannot afford another calamity inside its own walls." Her amber-ringed fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "Containment must be our priority. Not pride. Not coin. Containment."

Her fellow senator, Tavian Holt, older and heavier set, cleared his throat. His white beard caught the dim light, and his eyes, though tired, still gleamed with shrewdness.

"Containment is meaningless without understanding," Tavian countered. "I have seen enough wars to know that fear kills faster than any blade. If the citizens believe these towers are death itself, panic will tear Magecity VI apart before the ruins do. We need information. Proof. Someone must step into the shadow and bring back truth, as Guildmaster Callius has said."

Renard’s red eyes glimmered faintly in the dim chamber. The silence after Senator Holt’s words stretched long enough to feel heavy, pressing on every chest like a weight. Then Renard spoke, his tone smooth but cutting.

"The question now," he said, "is not whether we investigate. That is decided. The question is—who?"

The words landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples across the table.

For a heartbeat, no one answered. Eyes shifted, guildmasters gazing at each other as though calculating value, risk, and sacrifice in a single glance.

Garruk’s thick fingers drummed against the table, his body tense as a coiled spring. Varrow Kestrel’s pale lips curved faintly, as if savoring the discomfort around him.

Aelira, silent until now, gripped her datapad tighter. Even she could feel it—the unspoken dread. Whoever went first would not simply scout ruins. They would be bait thrown into the jaws of the unknown.

Garruk broke the silence, his voice a growl.

"Who else but the Berserkers? My men don’t cower from death. We’ll march into those towers and tear apart whatever’s inside. If it bleeds, then it’s alive and we’ll find its heart."

Lian Seraya’s amber eyes narrowed, her crimson collar shifting as she leaned forward.

"Bravery is not the same as wisdom, Garruk. Send your Berserkers charging, and you’ll lose them to madness before they strike a single blow. We need an actual plan, not blind force. The Red Phoenix will lead the probe. We will see what lies within."

Marrec Veynn chuckled from his seat, rocking back casually with boots on the table’s edge.

"Bold claims from both of you, but let’s not pretend this is about glory. Whoever goes first is expendable. That’s the truth none of you want to speak."

Marrec’s grin sharpened, lazy no longer. He leaned forward just enough to let the lamplight catch in his eyes.

"Well," he drawled, "if you’re willing to volunteer, Garruk, that saves the rest of us a lot of trouble."

A ripple of reaction spread through the chamber. Lian’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, though her eyes remained sharp. Varrow’s pale face betrayed nothing, but the slight tilt of his head suggested amusement. Even Selene’s violet gaze flickered, as though testing the weight of Marrec’s words.

Garruk slammed his scarred fists against the table, making the holo-screens shudder. "You snake-tongued bastard! You think I fear walking into those cursed towers? My Berserkers have bled in every district of this city. We’ll bleed again if need be. But don’t you dare call us fodder!"

Marrec spread his hands, feigning innocence. "Oh, perish the thought. You’re not fodder—you’re heroes. And heroes love dying first, don’t they?"

The guildmasters’ voices clashed again—Garruk’s thunder, Marrec’s mocking laughter, Lian’s sharp retort, Varrow’s quiet remarks, Doran’s iron weight. Even the senators murmured, trying to sway the tide toward order.

The chamber boiled with noise.

Then Renard Callius rose.

He did not raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

He fixed all of them with an intense look of disappointment and irritation.

"Enough of all this noise." His red eyes swept the table, cold and steady, pinning each guildmaster where they sat. "You posture, you bicker, you trade barbs like children at a market. While you debate pride and profit, people vanish. Streets fall silent. The city itself trembles. And you call this leadership?"

A hush settled, heavy as stone.

Renard let the silence stretch before continuing.

"The White Comets will handle this."

The declaration landed like thunder.

Aelira gasped softly beside him, fingers tightening on her datapad. Around the table, guildmasters stiffened—some in anger, some in disbelief, others in reluctant recognition.

"End of discussion."