Chapter 79 – The Council’s Divide

  Dawn’s Arrival

  The first pale light of dawn filtered through Novastra’s streets as Miss Hopps and Raven strode toward the infirmary. Their boots echoed in the stillness, heavy with purpose.

  “Does Seven know?” Hopps asked, her voice clipped.

  “Not yet,” Raven replied. “He’s still asleep. So is Fluffy. No whispers have reached the barracks.”

  Hopps exhaled through her nose. “Good. Let’s keep it that way. Rumors are tinder in this city.”

  Inside, the rescued humans waited uneasily. Cloaks were handed out, heavy enough to hide the glowing numbers etched into their skin. Thomas pulled his hood up with stiff fingers, the fabric alien against his shoulders.

  “What happens now?” he asked, eyes darting between them.

  “Now,” Hopps answered, straightening her crest insignia, “you meet the council.”

  Into the City

  The group moved through Novastra’s waking streets, Raven at the front, Arne at the rear. The humans shuffled between them, cloaks drawn tight, their eyes flicking at the curious stares of passing citizens.

  “Stay close,” Raven murmured under her breath.

  The city unfolded around them—bridges arched over wide canals, mana lanterns dimmed with the coming day, and towers of stone carved with protective runes. To the survivors, it looked both fantastical and suffocating.

  Rose whispered to Thomas, awe slipping through her fear. “It’s… incredible.”

  He shook his head. “Incredible or not, walls are still walls.”

  The council hall soon loomed ahead, its stone facade carved with scenes of Novastra’s founding. Guards nodded them through, and the massive doors swung shut behind, sealing them inside.

  The Chamber

  The chamber was vast, its vaulted ceiling upheld by pillars etched with the city’s history. At the long central table sat Lord Deogon, his aristocratic features unreadable as he swept the room with his sharp eyes.

  To his left, the Peace Faction—led by Elara, a silver-haired woman with calm poise—watched intently. To his right sat General Rorik, his weathered face lined with suspicion, his hands folded as if waiting for betrayal.

  Miss Hopps took her seat at the side, the War Rabbit Guild’s sole voice in the chamber.

  “State your names,” Deogon commanded, his tone leaving no space for hesitation.

  One by one, the humans obeyed. Their voices were small in the cavernous hall, but steady enough.

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  “And your origins?” Deogon pressed.

  Rose shifted uneasily, hands twisting in her cloak. “We… we don’t know. We woke in shelters. With numbers. On the walls. On our skin.”

  At that, Rorik leaned forward sharply. His hand signaled two guards, who stepped forward and yanked back the hoods. Gasps rippled as the glowing marks were revealed.

  “Fascinating,” Rorik muttered, his eyes narrowing on the illuminated numbers. “Identical to the one already in your guild’s care.”

  Before he could press further, Elara lifted a hand. Her voice was measured, calm but insistent. “Lord Deogon, these people need protection. They are not soldiers. They are victims of forces we still don’t understand.”

  Hopps folded her arms, her tone blunt. “They are not warriors. They lack the instincts. Unlike Seven, they wouldn’t survive our training, let alone a mission.”

  Rorik snorted. “Then they are liabilities. Just as I argued when the guild brought in the first one.”

  A ripple of tension passed through the chamber at his words.

  Deogon silenced them with a raised hand. His gaze swept the table, his voice deliberate. “Eight months ago, there was one. Now there are more. The pattern is undeniable. Memory stripped. Powers half-formed. Their origins… hidden.” He leaned forward slightly. “This is not a coincidence.”

  Elara spoke again, her voice steady. “If they cannot be trained as warriors, then let them be guided. The Peace Faction will take them. We will help them integrate, protect them until their place in this city is clear.”

  Hopps bristled. “That is generous. But don’t forget—the guild holds responsibility for the first anomaly. And he is still on trial.”

  Rorik’s eyes glinted. “And that trial begins soon. Let us not pretend it isn’t also a test of whether Seven can be trusted at all.”

  Silence fell, thick with the weight of politics.

  Finally, Deogon tapped a single finger against the armrest of his chair. “The guild’s survival trials begin in four weeks. Let these newcomers remain under the Peace Faction’s supervision until then. If they prove capable, they may remain. If they fail…” He let the words hang, cold and heavy.

  Rorik nodded once, satisfied. Elara inclined her head in measured relief.

  Hopps bowed her head slightly, though the stiffness in her posture betrayed her unease. “Understood.”

  Elara rose gracefully. “Come,” she told the humans gently. “Quarters have been prepared. Safe quarters.”

  As they filed out behind her, the chamber’s silence remained oppressive.

  Rorik leaned toward Deogon, voice low. “Four weeks. If they falter—or if the guild fails to contain them—”

  “Then we reassess,” Deogon finished, his face unreadable.

  As the chamber began to empty, the rescued humans lingered, exchanging nervous glances. Finally, Rose gathered the courage to ask the question on all their minds.

  “Who… who is this Seven you keep speaking of? Why does it sound like our lives depend on him?”

  Elara’s expression softened, but her answer carried weight. “Seven was the first. Found outside these walls months ago, alone. He bears the same mark you carry. He survived where none should have.”

  Thomas frowned, his voice wary. “What does that make him then? Just a weapon? Or perhaps a prisoner?”

  General Rorik leaned forward, his tone dripping with distrust. “It makes him a liability—a human anomaly brought in against my advice. Citizens don’t trust him. Neither do I.” His gaze cut to Miss Hopps. “The only reason he still breathes within these walls is because the War Rabbit Guild vouched for him.”

  Rose flinched at the sharpness of his tone. “Then… what happens to us?”

  Miss Hopps stood tall, her crimson eyes locked onto the group before her, unwavering and fierce. “You are not prisoners,” she declared, her voice sharp and commanding. “But heed my words—Novastra does not gamble with lives. Only seven survived this challenge, and that’s because one among them proved his worth. He stood up against a Frostbearer—an apex predator that could easily crush most seasoned warriors. He fought valiantly until he collapsed from sheer exhaustion, never backing down.”

  Her tone shifted, growing steely and resolute, as if she were a general rallying troops. “And make no mistake, the same standard applies to all of you who bear those marks. The survival trial set for four weeks from now will be grueling. It will be a test of life or death, pushing you to your limits and revealing the true essence of your character.”

  Her words struck the chamber like a hammer. Even Elara, for all her calm diplomacy, did not contradict her.

  Fractures of Trust

  The survivors fell silent, absorbing the weight of their situation. Rose’s hands tightened into fists. Daniel’s face flashed in her mind—his sacrifice, his scream as the coyotes tore into him so the others could flee.

  “And if we fail?” she whispered.

  No one answered immediately. The silence said enough.

  Finally, Elara spoke gently, though her voice carried the steel of reality. “Then the council will decide your fate. But while you are under the Peace Faction’s care, you will be safe. For now.”

  General Rorik grunted, unimpressed. “Safe until the trial proves otherwise. Seven is already on borrowed time. Don’t think you’ll fare better.”

  Miss Hopps’ jaw tightened, her words coming out like iron. “I don’t send innocents to die outside the walls. That’s a death sentence, and I don’t deal in those. If you fall, you fall by the test—not by the city’s cowardice.”

  For a moment, her blunt conviction silenced even Rorik.

  Closing the Chamber

  Lord Deogon rose, signaling the end of the session. “The trial will decide. Until then, you will remain under watch. The guild will prepare. The Peace Faction will house you. That is the council’s decree.”

  The humans were ushered out under Elara’s guidance, their cloaks drawn tight once more. Behind them, the chamber’s great doors shut with a resonant thud.

  Rorik leaned toward Deogon. “Four weeks. If the guild cannot prove control, I’ll see the anomalies cast out.”

  Miss Hopps’ ears flicked, but she held her tongue. Her hand clenched around her guild insignia as if anchoring herself. She had staked her guild’s name, her leadership, and her own word on Seven—and now, on these new lives as well.

  Raven followed her out, silent, but the thought weighed on her heavily:

  The survival trial would not only test the initiates. It would decide the fate of every numbered human in Novastra.