Maura Woodbead crashed into Kommora Haigh's office without so much as a knock.

"Woodbead. How kind of you to visit," said Kommora, gazing out of the window, her hands clasped at leisure behind her back.

"I think the time has come, Kommora," said Maura, her voice tight. "After what happened in Acrise--"

"I'd watch your words if I were you, Woodbead," Kommora said, turning around and raising an eyebrow. "My office is runed against eavesdroppers and external magic, but I can't promise your words won't get you into shit."

Maura hesitated, meeting her eyes. Just like her brothers', a brilliant mix of cerulean and emerald, rimmed with thick black lashes, but Maura's were much less expressive. She knew the cost of being too honest with one's feelings.

"A king that threatens his own people is no king," she said, clenching her fists.

"It's good I don't know which king you're talking about, then."

"I see your aides are no longer with you. My sources tell me they've been... indisposed. But I trust you can be counted upon in times of need?"

"There are only two types of people that don't deserve help: traitors and those too dumb to save their own asses. I hope you're neither of those, Woodbead."

Kommora raised the message she'd received several hours earlier that day.

"I trust you will not be missing the king's summons."

Maura's jaw was set. She looked just like Edgard Woodbead in his prime: proud, merciless determination on those trademark too-young Woodbead features of blue-green eyes and a no-nonsense fire.

"I know where I stand, and I'm not alone."

"What you're looking for is in the bottommost floor of the sealed dungeons beneath the Council of Mages."

She nodded, once, marching forward to clasp Kommora's outstretched hand before exiting without another word. The door slammed shut and Kommora was left alone in her office. She fingered the piece of paper, eyeing the cursive words, and slipped Maura's gift into her pocket.

The Council of Mages hereby summon all state mages to the hall of declarations as a matter of state urgency.

And so it's begun, thought Kommora, tearing it up and fastening her cloak around her neck. Liore's information and Ash's influence had prepared her for this day. She had the names. The rustle of rune paper in her concealed pockets was less reassuring than she would have liked. She made her way, alone, towards the Council of Mages. Outside, the people hustled as usual, oblivious to the chaos that would come. If any of them had sense, they would escape.

The arrest of Seiren Nithercott and Rowan Woodbead meant the rebel mages were here, in Benover, too. No doubt they would have caught wind of this state-wide summoning. And Kommora was prepared. When she set foot inside the eerily sterile marble building of the Council, she met fellow state mages, people she would not normally cross paths with, for they were stationed far and wide. Some she hadn't seen since Pollin's coronation several years back. Others she'd actually forgotten existed -- and a few she was disappointed to find were still practising magic, or even alive. Some made it there through sheer hard work; some via making connections with the right people, and some must have been too dumb for even death to take. She made polite chat, clapping a hand on the shoulders of people that made her consider gouging her eyes out and hugging the slimeballs whose conceit and selfishness were more evident than Seiren Nithercott's permanent scowl. But it needed to be done.

The group migrated to the hall of declarations, where all mages swore their allegiance to Karma on the day they were granted full practice. The place hadn't changed since Kommora swore her own allegiance over twenty years ago: at least five or six storeys tall, bathed in an ethereal glow, tall speckled marble pillars holding up the domed ceiling, and the peripheries bathed in shadow due to its sheer size. Sky windows allowed streaks of dusky sunlight through from above. A small balcony sat up above where King Pollin would observe as each mage laid their hands on the registry of mages.

There must be about two hundred mages in that room, all of them buzzing with anticipation, speculating the cause behind their summoning. Some of them wondered if it was anything related to the rogue mage attacks. Others thought it might be the long-awaited promotion of one of the state mages into the king's mages' circle after Kristen Harred's fall; after all, it had been a historical anomaly to only have four instead of five at his side. Interesting as these concepts might sound, Kommora knew it wouldn't be anything positive, especially given the current state of affairs. She spotted a few of the mages who had gone to Acrise and returned. They appeared haggard and wary. Maura Woodbead arrived just before the doors shut, leaving the state mages inside. She caught Kommora's eyes and gave a curt nod.

A chill ran down Kommora's back. She raised her head to the balcony. There stood Pollin, those piercing green eyes reminding her of the endless depth of a treacherous pond, where the unknown dwell and dangers lie, a man who totally changed two years into his reign from one outspoken about the dangers of magic and the duties of a state mage to one who hid behind the protection of his own mages and only issued announcements via a spokesperson. A hush fell over the state mages around her. For some, it would have been the first time in many years they'd set eyes on the king. With respect, they bowed. Kommora did, too, bending at the hip just a fraction of a degree, never taking her eyes off Pollin and two figures that were almost invisible in the shadows behind him.

His glance skimmed over their faces, lingering on hers a fraction of a second longer.

"Thank you for coming, my mages," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and yet it rang clear through the hall. "I see we are missing a few, but we cannot wait any longer. I speak on behalf of the Council of Mages."

Kommora's eyes narrowed. The Council of Mages had never had issues with public announcements nor issuing orders themselves. It was unprecedented that anyone would speak on their behalf, although she knew nobody would dare question Pollin.

"Regarding the situation of the rogue mages, we have come to the decision that extermination is our sole option. They have caused far too many casualties and destroyed too many cities. Their actions are deplorable and their survival absolutely unacceptable." He paused. "I therefore hereby order the execution of the following mages: Bellamy Southwark, Halen Ashworth, Tesla Relish, and Azriel Edevane, for treason and murder."

There was a small gasp. Kommora turned, along with the other mages. Azriel Edevane, a small girl with straight eyebrows and dark hair parted in the middle, clapped her hands to her mouth, her face deathly pale and eyes huge with terror. She looked barely out of King's. The mages immediately around her shuffled, looking uneasy.

"She's just a kid!" muttered one.

"It's always the innocent ones, huh."

"Your Highness: you're asking us to kill our own kind?" called someone from afar.

Pollin's eyes narrowed. "She has done the same to Gyan Carla, Recca Mirren, Denerin Raynott, Vikani Pober, Crina Nighy, and more others. Will you sit by and do nothing?"

Bellamy Southwark's good deeds were well-known. He campaigned for the people and lived for the people. His name sent the mages reeling with shock. The list of names stirred more unease, especially Mirren's, as she used to lecture at King's. Many of the younger generation of mages knew of her. But Pollin was trying to stir up their animosity. Crina Nighy was a rebel mage herself, not a casualty of the rebel mages. And Pollin knew that. Unless his mages fed him lies.

"Your Highness," said another, Kane Temples, another young one who'd newly acquired his state mageship. "I was in Acrise. Mage Butterworth arrived there, bearing orders from you. You asked us to massacre the people living in Acrise."

The air grew heavy, if that were physically possible. Uneasy mutters came from all directions, furtive glances up at Pollin, suspicious glances at Temples and Edevane.

"You also said those of us who don't obey will be considered traitors and our fellow mages should be the ones to execute us," said another, Willem Dankworth. A more seasoned mage than Temples, Dankworth held more regard from others and was always vocal about justice and representing the people, not unlike Southwark, with whom he was good friends.

Interesting. Liore's source hadn't passed that on -- or perhaps this all occurred after the tracks froze over. Pollin wanted the mages to exterminate Acrisians -- was that so the wall up north could fall and Hanna would successfully invade? Was that why the wall was breached?

"You are accusing me of betraying my own country, Mage Dankworth?" Pollin's voice was soft, dangerous. Dankworth's look held with resolution.

"I only relay what I was instructed, Your Highness," he said in a clear voice.

"Mage Butterworth had been held under the influence of the rebel mages. It was only two days ago my mages were able to rescue him from their clutches after they had taken him hostage. The rebel mages issued the order. Acrise has fallen. Monsters roam the city now. The people of Acrise are dead -- thanks to the rebel mages."

The voices of unease became louder. Lies, and more lies. His face remained impassive. Kommora glared up at him, unable to say a single word, their previous conversation all too clear in her mind, still.

"Now, will you destroy these rebels or will you watch them slay Karma to the ground?"

Those Kommora had expected to follow Pollin through and through had determination on their faces. Others she knew had more compassion and loyalty to Bellamy Southwark appeared conflicted.

"It seems there are traitors amongst us," said Pollin, each word becoming fainter. It was almost as if he was tiring of speaking. "I trust Karma's state mages will remain loyal to her."

He turned around and ambled off, his back hunching. Kommora's attention was wrenched away to the shouting of mages nearby. Kane Temples stood in front of Azriel Edevane, the young girl named as a member of the rebel mages. The other three rebels were not present. A few state mages faced her, magic ready at their fingers. Willem Dankworth squared up to them with his own flash magic ready.

"I don't want to fight my own comrades," Dankworth said in a low voice.

"Then move, Willem. This isn't about you."

"No, it's about Karma falling to enemy forces. That young girl is not your concern right now."

"You're disobeying King Pollin? Then we need to kill you, too!"

"We've fought together during the border breaches for so many years, my friends." Dankworth's words remained calm despite the bristling around him. Kommora silently applauded his patience of a saint; she would have cussed them down long ago. "I'm sure there are ways we can sort this. There must be a misunderstanding. King Pollin didn't give us enough details to work with. It turned out his instructions at Acrise was a masquerade; what's to say this young girl's involvement wasn't also wrong information? She's the same age as your daughter, Colm. She's barely graduated. Think about it, my friend."

Colm Hatman hesitated, eyeing the terrified Azriel Edevane. He nodded with reluctance.

"You have a point, Willem." He cleared his throat. "We are above bickering with each other like children. Let's settle this with facts."

There was a small giggle. Kommora turned. Although Pollin had left, the king's mages stayed, as if intent on watching the fights break out. Karis Bonneville propped her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the balcony, her white hair vibrant in the semi-darkness. Rinoa Gruger stood at the back, her features bathed in the shadows. Domic Butterworth smirked, hands in his pockets.

"If you don't kill her, I will!" Bonneville called out, holding out her hand and fluttering her fingers. "And I'll kill you guys for disobeying Pollin, too!"

"Insolent girl!" snapped Hatman. "You don't appreciate the sacredness of a human life."

Bonneville cocked her head. "You're right. I don't!"

She crossed her fingers. The air chilled. A swirl of dusty white spun at her fingers before a solid beam of ice shot from her fingertips. Dankworth threw himself into stance and punched upwards. The marble ground shifted and shot upwards, growing a thin but well-formed pillar. Bonneville's ice crashed into it and they both shattered, leaving a shimmer of ice shards in the air.

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