Chương 202: Chapter 60: The Impenetrable Wall

Selena took a breath. The atmosphere in the stone chamber had become dense, electrified by the revelation of identities and the rawness of the epithets. She felt the weight of the gazes of the twelve, now they were thirteen Resonants, the most powerful and secretive in the kingdom, and twelve of them had their eyes fixed upon her person. With her hands under control, she put on the robe over her simple linen dress.

The black cloth fell over her shoulders with ceremonial weight, and the green of the trims gleamed faintly in the dim light, like phosphorescent moss in deep caves. Once dressed, where before there was the circle of inert runes, everyone sat on the bare floor, forming a perfect circle, although the king remained away from the circle. Selena, after a second of hesitation, imitated them, feeling the coldness of the rock through the cloth.

It was a posture of forced equality, of a council, but the hierarchy was clear: the Dark Monarch presided. —Guide her —ordered Thaerón, his voice now relaxed, that of a captain trusting his crew— and explain to her how we operate. It was Valerian who jumped first, as was predictable. The jester smiled, his silver eyes shining with amused malice. —Crimson, you are truly incredible —he said, dragging out the syllables— It took me five years to reach this point. Back then, it was considered a feat. But you…

you have shattered all records. It is almost offensive. Isolde silenced him with a look that could have frozen lava. —Do not pay him any mind —she said, turning to Selena with her habitual severity— The imbecile is like this. Always, not even here can he behave as he should. She kept silent, crossing her arms, waiting for another to take the floor with more seriousness. It was Bravonir who spoke next.

His voice, deep and harsh as if it had gone through a thousand battles and shouted orders over the roar of war, amid the clash of steel, imposed itself effortlessly, echoing in the lower chamber. —If you two are not going to get married again, drop the theater —he grunted, looking with disdain at Valerian and Isolde. Both looked at him with a cold and instantaneous hatred, an ancient and conflicted history passing between them in a flash. Bravonir did not flinch.

—Girl —he said, digging his small and penetrating eyes into Selena— if you reached here, it is because you already know that things are not easy. Nor pretty. To me, known as Filch, the King of the Western Seas… He made a dramatic pause, letting the ominous nickname settle. —… I was granted a function on behalf of this organization; I think you can guess it with what I say.

Each of us is dedicated to investigating, containing, and, when necessary, eradicating anomalous magical processes or threats in a determined area. Mine is the Western Sea and, also, the covert surveillance of Theosyra. —His voice became even deeper, his eyes recalling the past— Just a few months ago, we eliminated a branch of The Threads of Thar'ven. Those filthy noble hands had contaminated an entire valley with pagan blood rites to their heretical god. But that false god… had no place here. It was a Resonant.

A Resonant who, as far as we know, made a pact with a creature of the Void. The entity asked him for fanatical deception and the blood of innocents as currency. We did not find the damned deceiver. His fist closed over his knee, knuckles turning white. The posture only gave emphasis to his words fully. —But we did find a corrupt artifact. This… this is part of what we do. Cleaning up the filth that other Resonants, or worse things, leave behind.

Olyndra, the woman with silver hair and icy eyes, interrupted him with a whisper sharp as an ice knife. —Do not deceive the girl, Bravonir. We are not heroes. —Her glacial gaze swept the circle before digging back into Selena— Do you not remember, Blue Resonant, the times we murdered innocent men? Men who were only trying to tell the truth about the echo, seeking to enlighten the masses. You yourself, four months ago, sank an entire merchant fleet with a storm you summoned.

Those waves took not only sailors, but forbidden books traveling from Theosyra. The Peninsula was not at all happy with you. Remember that for a reason your head has a price of five platinum crowns. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Bravonir did not make a gesture, in his eyes there was no doubt. Olyndra looked back at Selena, and her expression was of a terrifying candor. —My branch infiltrates the city-states of Veridia.

Assassinations of political leaders and their 'governors', as they call them. Recovering ancient artifacts that were stolen when our huge… —Her tone changed to one of absolute contempt, she had disdain engraved on her tongue— Empire withdrew from Veridia, leaving them to their 'freedom'. After all, what we do is look for what is ours. What belongs to us. We are the oldest civilization in the world. Deep down, everything is ours.

Galdreic, the man with afro hair, knit his brow tightly, his face turned annoyed, and then he clicked his tongue with irritation. —Fanatic —he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone observed them, and yet Olyndra did not flinch. —Half-Sandstrohm —she snapped with disdain— I always said you did not deserve a position in the Coven; your blood is not pure like ours. What about your loyalty to the cause? The tension grew, palpable like electricity before a lightning bolt.

It was then that the King, who had remained in silence observing the exchange, spoke. He did not raise his voice. He did not strike the floor. He simply quoted, with a cadence that was at once a prayer and a reminder of the oldest law: —Between the dark and light, the prism casts its gleam, and parts the light in colors born from every beam. None lies beyond its glow; all share an equal place, The highest good to which we turn our eyes and face.

The words, probably by Eliud, fell into the room like a mantle of authority. They did not extinguish the animosity, but they contained it, reminding everyone of the oath and the purpose that united them, above personal grudges and ideological differences. The silence that followed was less charged, more reflective. Selena breathed, absorbing the harsh lesson: the Prismatic Coven was not a brotherhood of wise men.

It was an instrument of power, brutal, pragmatic, and often ruthless, whose components often despised each other, but were kept aligned by the will of the Dark Monarch and the cold logic of the "greater good." Lysareth's voice rose then, a melodic and serene current that contrasted with the previous roughness, like a stream filtering through sharp rocks. Her porcelain and silver face was imperturbable.

—Do not pay them any mind, Emerald —she said, directing her metallic eyes toward Selena— Often, those who work on the borders or in adjacent kingdoms tend to clash. They see things in a way that is too… personal. Too tied to the mud and blood of their theaters of operations. Selena looked at her, in her face there was only ancient fatigue, Lysareth made an almost imperceptible pause. —We, those who investigate the ancestral land, the very foundations of the echo and its history… we tend to be more civilized.

She pronounced the last word with such absolute detachment that she emptied it of all positive meaning.

"Civilized" sounded like "distant," "disconnected from the humanity we claim to protect." —The truth —she continued, her melody adopting a deeper tone— is that we are not heroes. Olyndra, the Icy One, sketched a thin, triumphant smile, as if she had been granted a point. —But neither are we an empire entitled to everything —Lysareth finished. This time it was Galdreic who showed a smirk of satisfaction, claiming victory for his pragmatism without illusions. Lysareth granted them no more attention.

Her silver gaze remained fixed on Selena, as if carving the truth directly into her mind. —The only truth, the only thing that unites us beyond colors and egos, is that we are damned wretches. Just as Eliud himself mentions in his most bitter writings. Resonants who burn our own life, our time, our sanity, and sometimes our humanity, to see a 'greater good' that we are not even sure we understand. We are candles that consume themselves to illuminate an abyss.

—Elitist nonsense —grunted Vaelathor, the short, broad man, whose voice was like the rubbing of two blocks of iron. All eyes turned toward him. The man's voice had a presence that made the others turn toward him. —It is true, I am powerful. They call me the Iron Resonant, and with that title comes absolute influence over metal within a radius of seventeen meters.

—He laughed, a single time, a dry, harsh sound that contained not an ounce of humor, only pure bitter irony— I even earned in the southern deserts the name of 'The impenetrable Wall', granted by the very nomads of Sandstrohm whom I sometimes pursue and sometimes ignore. He inhaled deeply, and then let the air out noticeably, as if expelling an internal vapor of frustration. —But I know who I am. And none of you, with your salon philosophies or your messiah complexes, can tell me otherwise.

I have always been a servant bound to the land. Before the crown found me, I was a piece of furniture for the viscount of a border region, a useful tool to crush revolts and fortify walls. Now I am the same. A more ostentatious piece of furniture polished and with a better location, but ultimately, bound to the crown. Your bickering's over what we are or what we are not… are irrelevant to the function. Or to the explanation that Thaerón asked for.

—The name without a title echoed in the chamber like a small act of defiance, a brutal equality imposed by disillusionment— So put aside the speeches. You are furniture that believes itself to be philosophers, incapable of explaining the bare minimum to a new piece added to the collection. He went quiet, and his gaze, heavy as ingots, swept across those who had spoken before. Everyone looked at him with distaste, with antipathy. Everyone except Valerian.

The jester laughed, a clear and genuinely amused sound, as if Vaelathor had said the most obscene and true joke in the world.