The celebration was premature.
Sylnara convened the council at midday. Lyraen stood before them and told everything—forty-three years of manipulation, the confrontation, Malachar's departure. The chamber erupted. Isolationists shouted denial. Moderates demanded proof. Vaelin sat frozen, his face unreadable.
Through it all, Owen watched the edges.
His Mana Sense had been active since dawn. Malachar's signature had vanished overnight—exactly as Lyraen claimed. But something felt wrong. The absence was too clean. Too complete.
"He's gone," Lyraen finished. "I watched him leave. I felt his influence lift. We're free of him."
The chamber cheered. Mostly. Vaelin and his faction remained silent.
Owen moved closer to Yuki. "Something's off."
"Agreed." Her hand rested on her katana. "Uru's been agitated since we arrived. It keeps pulsing toward the exits."
Leah appeared at Owen's shoulder. "My instincts are screaming. Malachar's not the type to just... leave."
