Amelia
The council chamber felt more like a battlefield than a hall of governance. Election sessions always drew the sharpest tempers, and today the atmosphere buzzed with expectation. The benches were filled to capacity, elders shoulder to shoulder in their heavy robes. The sharp smell of ink, the faint tang of damp parchment, and the heat from too many bodies pressed together made the air thick and sour. I could feel the stares long before anyone said my name. It was the same way I always felt walking into this room: like stepping under a magnifying glass.
The debate began as it always did, with talk of grain shipments, patrol rotations, and numbers scribbled into ledgers that had nothing to do with the people who bled to make them possible. But eventually, someone looked for easier pr
