Now that the worst seemed to be over, Orion tugged at his mother’s sleeve and was finally let go.
“What’s going to happen now?” He murmured as the crowd of Archmages whispered, moving toward the Senate building while the two contenders eyed each other but made no further hostile move.
“Now they’ll vote,” she replied. “The other contenders will probably step back and be given a chance to make a brief speech to announce it, as a courtesy, but after that, the real fight will start."
“Is that something we can watch?” He wasn’t about to turn back now, not after how harrowing this damn night had been so far, but it might be out of his hands.
Asteria hesitated, but luckily, Set had the answer. “You’ll be able to watch from the gallery. Each Archmage has two invites for each session, and while usually votes like this are kept private, there’s no rule against your presence. At least until the Councilor has been elected, and his oaths are to be sworn.”
He looked pale, somewhat shaken by what had almost happened, and Orion had to wonder how intense it had been for him, considering that with his advanced sensory abilities, Set must have been able to feel much more than he did.
Despite that, there was a glint in his eyes that indicated he wasn’t done yet, and indeed, Set quickly left to speak with some of the other mages who were still arriving at the Senate entrance, presumably to try and sway as many votes as possible.
If anything, the earlier scare seemed to have jolted him back into the game, and Orion could only shake his head at how quickly the old spider was weaving his webs.
“This way, come on,” Naerys urged them, tugging at Orion’s arm. “Guests or not, the moment they seal the Senate doors, no one gets in.”
As they went, more and more mages noticed them, and because of Asteria’s attire and overall vibe, it didn’t take long for them to realize she didn’t quite fit in, but they were mostly distracted by his appearance.
It was a little unsettling to be under so much scrutiny. Orion had gotten used to attracting attention in this life, but it had mostly been easy to ignore, like teenage crushes and the disapproving looks from more traditional witches.
These people, on the other hand, were all very powerful and seemed to see him more as a potential asset than anything else. Being the son of one of the two contenders for the High Council’s seat didn’t necessarily mean he possessed real power, but the fact that his father openly defended him, despite their known estrangement, was something they couldn’t overlook.
Fortunately, his mother’s steady presence and the cold air around her kept anyone who might have wanted to test the waters away, allowing them to reach a side entrance that led to a staircase.
Orion restrained the urge to gape at the towering crystal archways, which vibrated with concentrated mana, and quickly climbed up, taking a seat at the edge of the railing.
“Is this gonna be a debate?” He asked. He wasn’t sure how Antares would fare, given his clear reluctance to engage with the wider Collegium, but he’d handled himself well in the High Council, so he shouldn’t be hopeless.
“In a way,” Naerys replied in a strange tone.
He looked at her, raising an eyebrow, and she just shrugged. “These are Archmages of the Arcane Collegium. The most powerful men in the most powerful faction. They don’t do anything without the proper flair.”
Asteria snorted harshly, but said nothing against the characterization.
Soon after, they were joined by Yue, who slipped in just as the doors slammed shut.
“It will be tighter than I’d like, but we should make it,” she murmured, barely audible over the noise of at least sixty Archmages debating, haggling, and desperately trying to convince each other.
The situation was quite dire, but for a moment, Orion was struck with the knowledge that the Collegium deserved its position. These weren’t even all the powerhouses it could summon, as some of the older Archmages had fully retired and didn’t participate in the Senate meetings. Yet, it was enough to match any three or four of the other major factions combined in sheer firepower.
Each of these men is at least tier four. Two are confirmed to be tier five, and there may be others as well.
The feeling of being surrounded by so many incredibly powerful auras was hard for Orion to describe; he could only compare it to watching a tornado slowly move away from him. It wasn’t necessarily deadly because their attention wasn’t on him now, but it remained extremely dangerous and awe-inspiring in its intensity.
Eventually, the wispy old man he now knew to be the First Senator, Yztet, struck a gavel on his large crystal lectern, and the mages began sitting in their throne-like chairs, arranged in concentric circles so that everyone could be seen and heard at all times.
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“Thank you, I was about to wing this,” Yztet grumbled once someone passed him a stack of papers, earning scattered chuckles.
It was interesting for Orion to see how much more informal this meeting was, despite the importance of the decision at hand. Compared to the High Council, where everything was structured, and the councilors had aides, servants, and strict rules to follow, this felt more like a gentlemen’s club than a serious institution.
“Welcome to the third Senate meeting for the four hundred and twelfth session!” Yztet called out louder, and Orion blinked in realization that he’d cast a sound-based spell in the few moments he’d looked away.
The old man, it seemed, was not as washed out as his appearance suggested.
An indistinct rumble of greetings was returned, and Yztet nodded, seemingly satisfied with that. “Today, we have a few items to cover. I won’t bore you with the less important details. We have students and apprentices for those, so let’s consider half of the matters taken care of.”
Cheers, laughter, and more were his reply, prompting Orion to glance at his mother in surprise, only to see her coldly unimpressed. Yue appeared thoroughly disgusted and offered an explanation. “They have always been like this. Magic is all they care about, after all.”
Down below, Yztet’s gavel struck again. “Order, order,” he said with amusement, which somehow worked, and the archmages settled, the rumble dimming to a civilized buzz.
“The real order of business,” he intoned, “is the matter of the vacant chair on the High Council. We will proceed as we always do: statements of intent, statements of withdrawal, statements of absurd bravado,” a chorus of chuckles, “and, if nobody’s been killed by then, a vote.”
“Hear, hear,” echoed from separate corners.
“Archmage Questador,” Yztet called, peering down his lectern. “You have asked to speak.”
Questador was a bald man with a somber demeanor. “First Senator,” he said, tilting his head, “brothers.” His gaze deliberately shifted beyond the gallery. “I withdraw my name from consideration. My last ten years of research have been highly profitable, and the coming decade won't be if I spend it in endless meetings. I want to return to my craft. If anyone needs advice or experimentation from me, you know where to find me.”
Murmurs followed, but no one seemed surprised he had withdrawn.
Yztet tapped the gavel with satisfaction. “A man who knows when to step back is rare. We shall therefore applaud him before he gets his wits back.”
Light applause and some amused shouts ensued. Orion struggled to reconcile this with his expectations. It felt like watching a particularly lively dinner party.
“Archmage Oppellon,” Yztet continued, “your name is also here on the list. Stand up.”
Oppellon stood with tired dignity. “First Senator. Brothers. I also withdraw my name. I dedicated my life to thaumaturgy, and that will remain so now.” He paused. “May whoever gets elected lead us into a bright future.”
Orion sensed the temperature shift after the withdrawals and knew things were about to reach a boiling point.
“Very well,” Yztet said, setting aside his papers. “Onward to the meat.” He gestured. "Venerable Ulysses, you have requested the floor.”
“First Senator. Brothers,” Ulysses said, standing up, and there was gravel in his voice that made it impossible to ignore. “We have played at being the most powerful men in the land while letting others treat us like a convenience for too long. Enough.”
A murmur spread through the hall. Some people seemed pleased, while others appeared affronted; Orion couldn’t determine which feeling was stronger.
“We possess more knowledge than anyone else,” Ulysses continued, “and we act as if that is enough proof of our superiority. The Sea wounds us; the woods mock us; the dead build cities beyond what they are permitted by treaty; the Sanctum spreads its influence to every woman in Cyril. The Speakership has been vacant long enough for our rivals to sense our vulnerability. I do not seek a debate with them, for the time has passed. I seek to show them why we are the rulers of the land.”
He let that sit, and even the archmages who seemed to dislike him leaned forward.
“Elect me,” he stated plainly, “and I will bring the Collegium back to its rightful place. Uncontested. We will unify Cyril into one. We will focus outward, not inward. We will reconnect with the world. We will no longer feel ashamed of our strength and our superiority.”
It was a good speech. Orion hated it, but he acknowledged its strength. He felt the pull, the resolve expressed with enough force to make any doubt seem like cowardice. Around the hall, people nodded. Even some of the most skeptical appeared to consider his proposal.
“What about Mallon?” some brave soul called. “He stepped down for peace. You would spit on his legacy.”
Ulysses calmly addressed the voice. “He is stepping down because he knows he cannot do what must be done,” he said. “I do not criticize him, for he has done more than anyone else for the Collegium. I will merely complete his work.”
Yztet let the applause that followed crest and break, then lifted his gavel to bring order. “Thank you, Venerable.”
“Archmage Antares,” he said next, and the room shifted again, growing silent and expectant.
Antares didn't seem to care for the men who would decide his fate. Instead, he looked up.
Orion sensed it when his father spotted him. There was no apology in his look, nor any demand. Instead, it conveyed acknowledgment and maybe a touch of respect.
Antares’s eyes shifted to Asteria. She didn't blink or flinch, and Yue loomed next to her like an unsheathed knife.
Silence stretched thin like a wire.
“Are you ready to go to war?”
He didn’t raise his voice for effect; the strength came simply from how the truth, and it hit harder because it had no embellishment.
“To kill the men and women you've spent a century leading?” he continued mildly. “To take the apprentices you feed and turn them into infantry? To tell the people who rely on you that they will not see the next harvest because your pride needs soothing?”
“Do not-” someone started, only for their voice to cut off once Antares looked his way.
“We are here because an old man with more wisdom than any of us is stepping down,” he said. “Ask yourselves why.”
“Mallon steps down because war has erupted,” he said before anyone could reply. “Because he saw two factions tearing the south apart and realized that the Speaker must intervene to stop it, not encourage it. Are you planning to dishonor his legacy?”
Ulysses didn’t move, but the muscles in his jaw certainly did.
“I have heard,” Antares went on, “that our purpose is to rule.”
“Our purpose,” he said evenly, “is to explore magic. To reach for what is not yet known and bring it back so others may understand it. Power is the consequence of that work, not its goal. When you forget that, when you decide it exists to let you put your boot on someone else’s throat, you become the petty tyrants we overthrew to establish the Collegium.”
Shame and remembrance swept through the Senate. Antares was younger than anyone present by decades, if not centuries, and men old enough to be history bowed their heads like reprimanded schoolchildren.
“If you elect me,” he pressed them, “I will bring the hammer down on those who waste the peace we fought for. I will restore the Speakership to its true purpose: a serious responsibility, not a throne.”
His piece said, he sat.
“Well,” Yztet said, “I am pleased with the debate so far. Shall we—”
“Not yet,” Ulysses said, rising. It wasn’t a shout, but it cut across the hall anyway.
Yztet arched a brow. “Venerable?”
“Words are cheap,” Ulysses growled. “You have asked us to choose which hand we will put on the wheel. I would see the strength in it before I let it touch the spokes.”
He faced Antares squarely. “I issue a formal challenge,” he said. “Show us you can hold the hammer you claimed to want to wield.”
