The afternoon session began with a tension so thick I could taste it on my tongue like copper pennies. The Council Chamber's ancient runes pulsed more brightly than they had during the morning discussions, responding to the collective anxiety of beings who understood that the next few hours could fundamentally alter the balance of supernatural power.
Ambassador Silviana of the Winter Court stood at the chamber's center, her ethereal beauty both mesmerizing and unsettling. Everything about her seemed designed to captivate—from her silver hair that moved despite the absence of any breeze, to her eyes that shifted color depending on the angle of observation, to her voice that carried harmonics no mortal throat could produce.
"Honored Council members," she began, her words seeming to echo fr
