The great doors parted with a sigh that echoed through the marble hall. Warm light spilled out, filtered through panes of glass that turned the morning sun into ribbons of color. Beyond them, the Council chamber waited—tiers of stone rising like an arena, each seat marked by a different House sigil.

Luma hesitated on the threshold. The air inside felt heavier than the dawn outside—perfumed with incense, static with power.

Rue motioned her forward. “Keep to my left. Speak only when addressed.”

Luma managed a nod, trying to smooth the tremor in her hands.

Their footsteps rang against the polished floor. Above, the twin banners of Aerthos swayed in the high air, one silver, one gold. A circle of delegates sat within the amphitheater’s heart, their holographic insignias flickering in slow rotation.

The Aerthian elder who had spoken the night before presided from the center dais. Her voice carried like wind through water.
“Luma Nova of House Swan, welcome. The Council requests a demonstration of your resonance under controlled conditions.”

Luma swallowed. “I—It just happens when I dance.”

“Then you will dance,” said the Solnyran delegate, his tone clipped. “Without music, without staging, without aid. Let us see if the phenomenon repeats.”

Rue’s wing twitched once, a gesture that might have been protest but stilled itself before it became a word.
“With respect,” she said, measured, “the subject hasn’t recovered from last night’s exertion. Forcing resonance without preparation risks harm.”

The elder regarded her quietly. “Commander, your concern is noted. You may remain as witness.”

Luma’s pulse hammered. “I don’t even know what they want me to prove.”

Rue stepped half a pace closer. “Just breathe. Don’t give them more than you can afford.”

The delegates conferred in murmurs. A small dais in the center of the chamber rose, glowing faintly gold—the same hue as the plaza’s living petals.

“Please,” the elder said.

Luma’s eyes darted to Rue. Rue’s face was unreadable, but her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for her.
“Show them the part that’s yours, not theirs.”

The Council chamber waited—a cathedral of marble and glass alive with whispered power.

Rue’s tone sharpened into command.

“Performer Luma Nova of House Swan, present for Council verification.”

The guards bowed them through.

Inside, tiers of stone circled a raised dais. Banners of silver and gold swayed in the filtered light.

“Please,” said the Aerthian elder.

Luma’s paws touched the dais. The floor hummed faintly beneath her—the slow pulse of Aerthos buried under layers of marble and circuitry.

She took one long breath and closed her eyes.

The chamber vanished.

Only rhythm remained: banners whispering above, wind sliding through glass spires, the low thrum of vines braided into the building’s bones.

She imagined a fan in her hands—light as breath, folding and unfolding with each heartbeat. Slowly, she moved.

The first motion was small, almost shy: a turn of the wrist, a bow of the head.

Her glow answered like an echo—soft, trembling, unsure.

No music guided her, yet the air began to shape one.

The rustle of her steps became melody.

Rue stood at the edge of the floor, shoulders locked, eyes fixed on the shimmer building beneath Luma’s skin. It wasn’t blinding like the night before; it was gentler, as if Aerthos breathed with her instead of through her.

As she exhaled, her glow steadied.

Sweeping arcs chased invisible threads in the air.

Each step left a trace of light that lingered before fading, brushstrokes painted on wind.

The elder’s voice came soft, reverent. “She listens to the root-song.”

The Solnyran’s reply was clinical. “Or she manipulates it.”

Rue’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t speak.

Luma’s imagined fan closed with a flick of her fingers. The light dimmed to a slow, even heartbeat.

When she opened her eyes, it folded inward and vanished.

The room felt different—cooler, calmer, as if something sacred had been reset.

Silence stretched.

Then a single petal drifted from the vines overhead, landing at her feet.

“That’s all,” Luma whispered.

---

Rue didn’t move. Her thumb brushed the comm control at her collar.

“Record.”

> Prism: “Copy that. Ooooh, I love when the Boss starts cooking something.”

Amaya: “Focus. Keep it off-grid.”

Prism: “Yes, Mom.”

The elder of Aerthos rose. “You all felt it. No coercion, no command—only harmony. The planet responded to her peace.”

The Solnyran leaned forward, silver eyes cold. “Harmony can be mimicked. Emotional manipulation has long been a weapon in the Lust lineages. We cannot pretend this is harmless.”

The Abyssal envoy’s voice rolled like a tide. “Harmless or not, it is controllable. Properly trained, such resonance could redirect tectonic flow, stabilize reactor currents—”

“Enough.” The Aerthian’s tone cut through like wind. “We will not turn a child of the Grove into a reactor coil.”

The Ki’Rynian delegate chuckled. “Child of the Grove or not, imagine if the lava flora returned. They could cleanse the poisoned shallows of TBN.”

“And choke out every living root above them,” the elder snapped. “You would trade breath for flame.”

“Balance always demands a burn,” he murmured.

The Solnyran seized the opening. “Then it’s settled. We isolate the subject and begin controlled study.”

The elder struck her staff once; vines overhead rustled in protest.

“Over my authority.”

Cracks of silence spread through the chamber.

Rue watched without a word, violet eyes unreadable.

In her ear, Prism whispered, “We’re getting everything, Boss. Audio, bioscans, the works.”

“I already am,” Rue murmured.

The elder turned to Luma, sorrow softening her face.

“Child, they will call it many things before this day is done—gift, weapon, miracle. Remember which one you believe.”

Luma’s glow flickered at her fingertips. “I know what it is,” she said. “It’s a song. You just forgot how to listen.”

The chamber held its breath.

---

The dais dimmed back to neutral light. Luma stepped down, the weight of silence following her.

Rue waited at the edge, posture rigid, eyes gentler than command allowed.

“Come,” Rue said quietly. “They’ll deliberate.”

Luma hesitated. “Will it change anything?”

Rue looked to the vines still stirring above, leaves glinting faint gold. “It already has.”

The doors closed behind them. Inside, the Council began to argue again.

Outside, the light of Aerthos breathed in relief.