The council convened later than usual, by the joint request of Leroy and Bjorn. Not at dawn, not in the disciplined stillness they preferred, but in the uncertain hours of late afternoon. They wanted every duty completed first, every distraction burned away, before a conversation that would alter the fate of All Realm was allowed to begin.

  Voices filled the chamber before Leroy arrived. The councilors were already gathered, their discussions overlapping, careless, unaware.

  Leroy moved through the corridor with measured steps, chewing candy as if it were the only thing keeping his thoughts in place. In his right hand, he carried several thick files. Initiation for superhuman cloning program.

  After many of calculation, after negotiations with the Extraterrestrial, Abyss, Cogworks, and Weapon Masters, his certainty had hardened. This was no longer a proposal born of ambition. It was a solution forged from necessity. Too many failures had accumulated. Major and minor. Across every layer of power. Superhumans who were once allies, students, even family.

  All Realm could not survive another decade like this.

  He was prepared for resistance. Debate was inevitable. Conflict unavoidable. Six years on the second generation council had taught him that unity was never gentle. Responsibility always came with storms.

  Leroy spat the candy aside and rested his hand on the door handle. Thirty seconds passed. He breathed. He remembered every name that would oppose him.

  Then he entered.

  He greeted the room with a steady voice. Elysius and Amaterasu returned to their seats.

  The door closed behind him and with it began the most critical meeting since the second council made and All Realm will remember this day for eternity......

  Bjorn and Starmist noticed his tension immediately. They straightened, ready. The others did not. Their minds were still buried in routine matters.

  Two hours passed.

  By the time the final report ended, night had settled beyond the chamber walls. Chairs shifted. Cloaks were lifted. Cygnus opened a portal for Lucretius, its light humming softly.

  Before anyone could step through, Leroy spoke.

  “Please,” he said. “Stay. I need your time. What I have to say will not be brief.”

  The tension in his face silenced the room.

  One by one, the councilors returned to their seats. It was late. No one had anywhere else to be. Just as he had anticipated.

  Bjorn and Starmist remained still, eyes forward.

  When all attention settled on him, Leroy spoke again.

  “I have searched for the right moment to voice this concern,” he said. “For months, I have delayed it. Perhaps too long.”

  Amaterasu frowned. “What concern?”

  “Bjorn and Starmist may already understand what I intend to propose,” Leroy replied. “But this must no longer remain between a few.”

  He opened the files.

  The sound of paper echoed louder than it should have.

  He began not with solutions, but with failures. Names unspoken but unmistakable. Superhumans who had abused authority. Who had crossed lines and been spared because of bonds. Brothers. Students. Companions in war.

  Control, he argued, was no longer enough. Surveillance bent under sentiment. Judgment weakened by memory. The council had become incapable of punishment without compromise.

  Cygnus exhaled slowly, steam rising from his teacup. “Then what are you suggesting?”

  Leroy closed the file and looked at them all.

  “We cannot allow heart and mind to walk together when deciding the fate of realms,” he said. His voice did not rise. That made it worse. “We cannot. Not anymore.”

  “So, are you proposing a new regulation?” Elysius asked.

  “I ask only that you listen until the end,” Leroy said. His gaze moved slowly around the chamber, measuring each face, each silence. When they nodded, some reluctantly, he continued.

  “All beings are born with the capacity to make mistake. I do not wish to erase that from us.” His voice remained steady. “Mistakes are carved into who we are. Councilors, superhumans, even commonfolk. We are alive because of them.”

  He paused.

  “Each of us carries stories bound to one another. Those memories give weight to our lives. To strip them away would be to hollow ourselves.”

  Then he stepped directly into the core of the matter.

  “That is precisely why the fieldwork should no longer be carried by us.”

  The word lingered.

  “Instead,” he said, “we assign it to others. Through a cloning program.”

  Outside the chamber, the sun fully sank beneath Caelumreach. Night pressed against the walls.

  Inside, the room fell silent.

  Cygnus froze mid stir, the spoon resting against porcelain. Lucretius stared openly now. Elysius’s mouth parted in disbelief. Amaterasu’s expression flickered with irritation, quickly masked by forced humor. Only Bjorn and Starmist showed no surprise. They watched. They waited.

  Amaterasu laughed, sharp and dismissive. “Don’t be absurd, Leroy. Who among us would willingly offer themselves to be duplicate?”

  Leroy lifted another stack of documents and began to read. “I have already gathered several potential subjects. The list is incomplete. That is why I need your counsel.”

  Cygnus set his cup down and folded his fingers. “You understand how dangerous this program becomes if misused.”

  The flame goddess interjected at once. “We should not even start this discussion. We all make mistakes. That is natural. There is no need to dramatize it.”

  She turned with a smile toward her right. “Elysius, please move us to another topic.”

  Bjorn exhaled smoke slowly, his eyes fixed forward. “This is serious, Amaterasu. This program is not trivial. We have been at war too long. Trauma follows us. If we ignore that, we will destroy one another in time.”

  Amaterasu’s voice rose, her eyes burning red. “So now you said we are all broken?”

  “That is not what he meant,” Starmist said quickly, trying to steady the air between them.

  Cygnus spoke again, his tone colder now. His gaze shifted between Leroy and Bjorn. “This initiative risks imbalance. You would grant souls to constructed beings.”

  He leaned forward. “What if they kill someone whose life truly deserved to continue for realms need?”

  Amaterasu could no longer restrain herself. “I will never agree with this,” she said. “We do not need to inflate our failures. Even in eras ruled by commonfolk, leaders make mistake constantly. Enough. This discussion ends here.”

  Leroy met her fire without flinching.

  “We are not commonfolk,” he replied calmly. “Our responsibility grows heavier with every power we carry and All Realm is no longer the world it once was.”

  “Out of thousands of possible solutions,” Cygnus said slowly, “you chose this path. I want to know why?”

  Leroy inhaled once. “Because I have seen it work.”

  He began to speak of a general from the League of the Transcendent. A being born not of blood, but of design.

  He did not finish the sentence.

  The chamber erupted.

  “If that creature is your inspiration,” Cygnus snapped, pointing at him, “then I will openly question your sanity.”

  Lucretius spat into his glass at the name alone. Elysius said nothing, his posture slackening as if the weight of the room pressed directly on his spine.

  Amaterasu rose to her feet, fury blazing. “Do not dare bring that thing’s name to this table. It was a mindless demon of annihilation.”

  Bjorn stood abruptly, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough. We agreed to speak with clear heads.”

  The noise slowly receded. Chairs scraped back into place. Breathing steadied.

  Leroy continued.

  “I did not study the creature itself,” he said. “I studied its obedience. Absolute loyalty to its master. That is the key.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Amaterasu turned sharply toward Lucretius. “You are responsible for security. The Vanguard answers to you. Speak. Do not sit there in silence.”

  “There is nothing to change,” Lucretius replied, his gaze distant. “You said it yourself. We make mistakes.”

  Amaterasu scoffed. “And clearly it has failed. Otherwise this absurd program would never have reached this table.”

  Her voice rose further. Starmist reached out, gripping her shoulder, trying to anchor her.

  Lucretius’s calm finally cracked. He stood, eyes burning. “You question my methods, flame goddess?”

  Amaterasu stepped forward and pointed at him. “Question? I condemn them. Your passivity, your insanity. All of it.”

  Lucretius’s hand closed around the Adamsword resting beside him. The intent was unmistakable.

  Amaterasu reacted instantly.

  Fire roared to life around her. A blazing sphere tore across the chamber and struck Lucretius, then another, and another. His body crashed back, skidding across the floor until it slammed near the doors.

  Elysius, seated between them, recoiled on instinct, pressing himself against the rear wall. Starmist gasped, both hands covering her mouth.

  “Understand my words first, ancient demon,” Amaterasu shouted. “Your sword is always faster than your mind.”

  Lucretius rose at once, his eyes locked on Amaterasu.

  The Flame Goddess gathered fire in her palm, heat warping the air. Elysius reshaped his staff into a sword, metal singing softly. Leroy ignited his right hand with green energy, restrained but lethal. Bjorn drew his heavy pistol, its weight final in his grip.

  All of them stood poised at the edge of violence.

  Cygnus stared ahead, expression empty.

  Then the council chamber doors burst open with a thunderous crack.

  Bjorn’s bottle shattered. Glasses exploded across the floor. Cygnus’s teacup fractured into dust. Shadows stretched unnaturally from each councilor body, swelling and crawling across the walls and windows, thick and alive. The magic did not restrain them, but it crushed the air with pressure. Control was unnecessary. Intimidation was enough.

  Even Elysius looked around in unease.

  “Enough,” Cygnus said as he stood.

  His voice was low, but it echoed as if the chamber itself repeated it.

  “I will not allow this room to degrade into a cheap theater.”

  He pointed without turning his head. “Lucretius, calm yourself.”

  Then, colder, “Elysius. Return to your seat.”

  Starmist pulled Amaterasu back. The fire around the goddess dimmed and died. One by one, they sat. Breathing slowed. The shadows receded.

  A full minute passed in silence.

  Then Leroy spoke again.

  He distributed documents, walking the length of the table. Detailed plans. Costs. Execution protocols. At the end of each page, seven empty lines waited for signatures.

  “I am not asking for haste,” Leroy said. “Read everything first.”

  Cygnus and Elysius examined the pages carefully. Lucretius stared at his paper without reading it. Amaterasu did not even look down.

  Bjorn picked up a pen.

  He signed.

  Then he handed the paper to Leroy, who signed beneath it.

  All eyes turned toward them.

  Two voices had been cast. Two more were needed.

  “How long will we have to decide?” Elysius asked. His hands trembled. Even his foresight could not calm him now.

  “Four months should be enough,” Leroy said. “What do you think, Bjorn?”

  Bjorn lit his cigar and exhaled slowly. “Yes. Long enough.”

  Cygnus cleared his throat. “The subjects must come from all factions.” His gaze sharpened. “If cloning relies on physical replication, you cannot apply this to several faction.”

  Leroy retrieved another document and read aloud.

  “The first phase will focus on the Abyssal and Extraterrestrial factions. Weapon Masters remain a possibility. Expansion to other factions will follow once refinement is complete.”

  Cygnus folded his paper and slipped it into his robe. “I am not agreeing,” he said. “But the idea is too crude to dismiss outright. I will study this further.”

  Leroy and Bjorn nodded.

  All eyes turned to Amaterasu.

  Her voice trembled, restrained rage vibrating beneath it. “If I sign, but forbid the duplication of elemental power, what will you do?”

  “All Realm is governed by seven factions,” Bjorn replied evenly. “That means every faction must be involved. No exceptions.”

  Amaterasu closed her eyes.

  Minutes passed.

  Then she stood.

  “If that is the case,” she said, scanning every face in the room, “I cannot remain here.”

  She turned and walked away from the table.

  Starmist grabbed her hand. “Amaterasu, what do you mean you cannot remain?”

  “Do you mean you refuse the program,” Leroy asked quietly, “or that you are leaving the council?”

  Amaterasu shook her head. “I cannot think. Not now.”

  She pulled free. “I’m leaving.”

  She did not look back.

  The doors closed behind her.

  The weight of her words lingered, heavier than fire.

  Starmist’s strength failed her. Her hand slipped from the air and fell to her side.

  Amaterasu reached the door. For once, she did not tear the sky open or vanish through the windows as she always did. Her hand closed around the handle.

  Before it turned, the Fallen Knight spoke.

  His gaze cut straight to Leroy.

  “You create this program because you wish to erase our weaknesses,” Lucretius said, his voice calm and cruel, “or because I accidentally hurt your lover in the colosseum?”

  The words struck like a sword.

  Amaterasu froze.

  Cygnus and Bjorn turned sharply toward Lucretius, disbelief etched across their faces. Elysius stared at him, confusion tightening his expression.

  “Answer me, Leroy!” Lucretius shouted.

  The room flinched.

  “I don’t understand what you’re implying,” Leroy replied, his eyes never leaving Lucretius.

  Lucretius stepped forward, fully facing the Green Wraith. He pointed toward Starmist. “Spare us the lie. You love her and you despise me for the colosseum incident, for wounding her by accident.”

  A low growl escaped Leroy’s throat. He did not speak. His stare hardened into challenge.

  Starmist mouth slightly open, unable to look away from Lucretius. Her body refused motion.

  Bjorn shook his head slowly, both hands covering his face. “No. No.”

  Cygnus continued to watch Lucretius, unblinking. “Lucretius.” The name fell from his lips in quiet disbelief. Nothing more. He had never imagined this.

  Amaterasu stood beside the door, she closed it.

  She walked back and stopped beside the Fallen Knight. “Leroy,” she said, her voice dangerously steady. “Is it true? Is this all camouflage?”

  Lucretius drew his Dark Adamsword and leveled it at Leroy. “I have always known you loved her.”

  Then his gaze shifted to Starmist. “And you,” he said. “You love Leroy as well, don’t you?”

  No one answered.

  Silence swallowed the chamber.

  Elysius leaned forward, elbows on the table, both hands gripping his head as if heat burned behind his eyes.

  Lucretius returned his attention to Leroy. “Enough deception. Speak now. If you refuse, I will leave the council.”

  Bjorn lifted a trembling hand and pointed weakly at Lucretius and Amaterasu. “Listen to yourselves. None of you can think clearly. Go home. Both of you. Return when you are capable of reason.”

  “I will not return,” Lucretius said. His eyes never left Leroy.

  He sheathed the Adamsword, kicked the door open, and left without another word.

  Amaterasu followed. She did not speak. She only looked once at Leroy and Starmist, both stunned, both broken in their stillness, then turned away.

  Starmist snapped back to herself and ran after her.

  The doors closed.

  Those who remained did not move.

  Elysius watched Leroy, exhaustion carved deep into his face. Bjorn let his cigar burn untouched between his fingers. Even Cygnus Spellbane, who always had an answer, sat in silence.

  Below the council chamber, every lamp had been extinguished. Caelumreach stood hollow and dark, not a single guard in sight.

  Amaterasu walked through the lower hall with her fists clenched, each step tight with restraint. Lucretius was already gone. Whatever distance he intended to place between himself and the council, he had taken it without hesitation.

  “Hana, wait.”

  Starmist’s voice reached her from behind, weak and uneven.

  She caught up and grabbed Amaterasu’s hand. Her breathing was unsteady, not from running, but from the strain crushing her chest. She lowered her head for a moment, anchoring herself, then spoke.

  “You weren’t serious about what you said back there. You weren’t really leaving. Tell me that’s not true.”

  Amaterasu turned her face away, refusing to meet Starmist’s eyes. “I cannot agree with it,” she said quietly. “You know I cannot stay silent when something feels wrong.”

  "I've been compromise for years, I can't stay like this forever."

  Starmist’s vision blurred. “Does it have to end like this?”

  Amaterasu finally faced her. “If you are truly my friend, answer me honestly. Do you support the program?”

  Starmist hesitated. She wiped her tears and nodded faintly.

  Amaterasu exhaled. “Then sign it.”

  “If that would make you stay,” Starmist said quickly, “I won’t sign. Not if it means you and Lucretius can remain on the council.”

  Amaterasu stepped closer and placed her hands on Starmist’s shoulders. Her grip was firm, grounding. “I am leaving with my belief,” she said. “If yours tells you to approve it, then do so for yourself. Not for me.”

  “But…” Starmist’s voice faltered.

  Amaterasu shook her head gently. “One last question. Answer me honestly. Do you love Leroy?”

  Starmist said nothing.

  Her silence was answer enough.

  Amaterasu’s voice softened. “If you love him, then be happy with him. I have known for a long time. No matter what happens, you both remain my friends. I am glad if you can walk forward together.”

  She pulled Starmist into an embrace.

  Starmist’s quiet sobs soaked into her shoulder.

  Amaterasu’s eyes burned red, not with fire this time, but with farewell. Before the sorrow could claim her completely, she released the embrace and turned away.

  She walked fast, faster than thought, until the open air welcomed her. Then she rose, cutting through the night sky, a streak of fading flame vanishing beyond the tower.

  Starmist remained where she was.

  Alone.

  In the dark.

  Inside the council chamber, silence lingered like smoke that refused to clear. Everyone remained seated, except Elysius, who paced along the balcony in restless loops, trying to steady his thoughts.

  Starmist returned.

  She looked drained, as if something essential had been taken from her. Whatever brightness once followed her steps was gone. Without a word, she took Elysius’s seat and lowered her gaze.

  Cygnus rose, his movement deliberate, breaking the stillness.

  “Leave the matter of Lucretius to me.”

  Leroy and Bjorn nodded.

  Cygnus’s eyes shifted briefly toward Starmist, who sat folded inward, then he continued.

  “About ten years ago,” he said, “during the first council, we nearly tore ourselves apart as well. At the time, you were still Vanguard.”

  Bjorn frowned. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Of course,” Cygnus replied calmly. “We buried it. Conflict at that scale would have disrupted the war. The point is, this was inevitable. You are all still young.”

  No one spoke. Even Elysius stopped pacing.

  “For now,” Cygnus went on, “each of you should return to your faction. Focus there. When the situation allows, we will reunited again.”

  He opened a portal.

  “One more thing,” he added before stepping through. “All Realm must not learn of tonight. Elysius, prepare another diversion for Cognisource.”

  Elysius nodded, unable to find his voice.

  Cygnus vanished.

  Bjorn extinguished his cigar and stood. He offered a brief farewell to Leroy and Starmist, then walked over to Elysius and pulled him into a rough embrace.

  “Come on,” Bjorn said, already steering him toward the exit. “Uncle Bjorn still has work for you.”

  Elysius resisted weakly. “Wait. What about Leroy and Starmist?”

  “That’s enough for tonight,” Bjorn replied. “No arguing.”

  He guided Elysius out, intentionally leaving the chamber quiet behind them.

  When their footsteps faded, Leroy finally spoke.

  “Starmist… there’s something I—”

  She stood immediately.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She crossed the room and closed the door behind her.

  Leroy remained seated.

  The silence returned, heavier now. He dragged both hands down his face, rough and frustrated. His fist struck the table once, then again, sharp sounds echoing in the empty chamber.

  He had expected resistance. He had prepared for fury.

  But the fracture of the council itself had never crossed his mind.

  And now he sat alone with that failure, surrounded by plans that suddenly felt far heavier than paper.

  Lucretius walked beneath the night sky, his steps carrying him toward the District six where ships or steam carriage bound to the Abyss waited in silence. His face was dark, carved with thoughts he refused to name.

  People along the streets slowed when they saw him. They watched from a distance, uncertain, uneasy. No one dared to greet him.

  A portal opened at his side.

  The moment Cygnus emerged, shutters closed. Doors locked. Those who had lingered vanished into their homes, peering now only through narrow windows.

  “Are you all right, Fallen Knight?” Cygnus asked, resting a hand on his shoulder.

  Lucretius brushed it away. His gaze turned aside. “Not now, Cygnus. Let me go home alone.”

  He continued walking.

  Each step pulled him farther into shadow, his silhouette stretching thin beneath the lantern light. Cygnus raised his voice a little, letting it follow him down the empty road.

  “Do you like Starmist same as Leroy?”

  Lucretius did not answer.

  He walked on, farther and farther, toward the harbor bathed in pale moonlight, where the sea waited without judgment and the Abyss promised distance enough to survive the night.