The room didn’t feel like a council chamber.
It felt like something had just survived a natural disaster.
A heavy table lay overturned near the far wall, one of its legs snapped clean off. Chairs were scattered everywhere, some embedded into stone, others reduced to splinters. Residual Essence crackled faintly in the air, sharp and agitated, refusing to settle.
Ryn Goldwing stood at the center of it all, wings flared wide, chest heaving.
"What the hell was that?" he roared.
A fresh burst of Essence tore outward from his body, slamming into what remained of the furniture and sending fragments skidding across the chamber. A crystal lamp shattered against the wall, spraying light that fizzled out midair.
"I lost," he continued, voice raw with fury and disbelief. "I accepted that. But that—" he gestured violently toward the ceiling, as if the sky itself were still pressing down on him, "—that was not normal. Why didn’t we attack him? Why did everyone just stand there?"
Torace Goldwing remained standing near the far side of the room, arms folded, wings tucked tightly behind him. His expression was controlled, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.
"Because attacking him would have been suicide," Torace said evenly.
Ryn spun toward him. "That’s not an answer."
"It is," Torace replied. "Just not one you like."
One of the other Griffins stepped forward, an older woman with silver tracing the edges of her wings. "Ryn," she said calmly, "you felt it. Don’t pretend you didn’t."
Ryn clenched his fists. "I felt pressure. I felt him flexing. That doesn’t mean—"
"It means exactly that," Shera interrupted.
The Feran commander leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual relaxed demeanor nowhere to be seen. "I tried to manifest my domain. It didn’t respond. Not slowly. Not partially. It simply failed."
The second Feran general, a massive bull-tribe warrior whose presence usually dominated any room, nodded grimly. "Same here. The moment he raised his hand, Essence stopped listening to us."
Ryn’s eyes flicked between them. "That’s impossible. Only Saints—"
"—or those standing on the threshold," Torace finished.
The room fell quiet.
Torace stepped forward, boots crunching softly over debris. "You want to know why we didn’t strike? Because neither the Feran Patriarch nor the head of House Goldwing is here."
Ryn frowned.
"They’re in the Crimson Zone," Torace said. "Both of them. The timing isn’t coincidence. We are not at full strength."
One of the younger Griffins cursed under his breath.
"You think I didn’t consider attacking?" Torace continued. "I began forming my domain the instant he lifted his hand. You saw what happened. The Essence was pulled out of me like it never belonged there in the first place."
He paused, then added quietly, "I have never experienced that before."
That finally made Ryn hesitate.
"You’re saying," Ryn said slowly, "that if we had tried—"
"We would have escalated into a confrontation we could not control," Shera said. "In the middle of Feradros. During a gathering attended by multiple races."
The bull general snorted. "The island might not have survived."
Silence pressed in.
Ryn ran a hand through his hair, agitation bleeding into something closer to frustration. "He isn’t even a Saint. How can he affect your domains like this?"
"Yes," Torace agreed. "And that’s the problem. He is a variable we took too lightly. I will need to talk to the Patriarch."
Ryn turned sharply. "So what, we just accept this? Let him walk out with his head held high?"
Torace met his gaze steadily. "No. We adapt."
"How?" Ryn demanded.
"By buying time," Torace replied. " By ensuring that when he moves again, we are not reacting, we are prepared. Or we act first and catch him unprepared. Either way, it is not just your humiliation. It is ours as well."
"Can we stop this news from leaking to Prime Galaxy?" Ryn asked, staring straight at Torace.
Torace sighed and shook his head.
"So what now?" Ryn asked finally.
Torace looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. "Now we honor the contract. Publicly. Cleanly."
"And privately?" Ryn asked.
Torace’s gaze hardened. "Privately, we learn everything we can. About him. About his Order. About how someone like that exists in our galaxy without us knowing."
The silver-winged Griffin nodded slowly. "And make sure he never reaches Saint."
Torace didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he said, "Because if he does, then the Blue Spiral Galaxy will not look the same."
Ryn looked down at the shattered floor, then back up, wings folding tightly behind him.
"...I didn’t expect my birthday to end like this," he muttered.
Shera let out a short breath. "None of us did."
The shattered furniture was cleared with a wave of Torace’s hand, the fragments sliding back into place as if the outburst had never happened. The room settled, but the tension didn’t.
Torace turned to Shera, his expression hard. "Can we contain this?"
Shera shook his head immediately. "No. Not a chance."
Torace’s jaw tightened. "Not even partially?"
"Too many eyes," Shera replied. "Too many races. Elementals, Aquas, merchants, neutral observers. There were spies from at least four external factions in that hall alone. Whatever we suppress here will be replaced by three exaggerated versions elsewhere."
One of the Griffins muttered a curse.
Shera continued. "By tomorrow, every major force in the Blue Spiral will know that the Order of Absolute stood in Feradros, challenged House Goldwing publicly, and walked away untouched."
Torace exhaled slowly. "Meaning?"
"Meaning we’ve just become the stage," Shera said bluntly. "A stepping stone. Their name will spread faster because of us."
Silence fell for half a second.
Torace spoke again. "If the information spreads, then we can’t afford to be blind. What do we know about this Order?"
"Very little," Shera admitted. "No origin world. No public base. No confirmed backers. Just a pattern, rift closures, decisive battles, minimal losses."
Torace nodded once. "Then we change approach."
Shera straightened. "I’ll go to them."
That earned several looks.
"You mean... them?" one of the Griffins asked.
"Yes," Shera said without hesitation. "The ones who deal in things even the Nagas don’t catalogue. They must have information on the Order by now."
Torace considered it for a moment. Then nodded. "But make sure we are hidden while doing that."
Torace turned toward the window, looking out over the island where the celebration still continued, unaware of the weight now pressing down on Feradros.
"Do it fast," he said.