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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟔
𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

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You sat in the midst of the councilors, a tense atmosphere swirling like a tempest around you. Anakin stood resolutely behind you, his hands clasped together, a silent pillar of support. The Dragonborn among the council had been noticeably sour about a mortal's presence, their disdain palpable in the air. Yet, all sharp jabs directed at Anakin fell silent after you issued your threat, a warning that echoed with the weight of your authority: disrespect would not be tolerated here.

"I still don't get why we don't just cut off the Jedi's head and be done with it," snarled Tharos Ironscale. His voice rumbled like thunder, emanating from his towering form, crowned in deep bronze scales that shimmered with a hint of metal. His piercing amber eyes glared from beneath a heavy brow, a remnant of his lineage from ancient metallic dragons.

You met his gaze with an unwavering glare, the heat of your indignation igniting the space between you. "Because they are our guests, Master Ironscale," you snapped back, your tone sharp enough to cut through the tension like a knife. "And in case you forget, I have all the authority in the world to throw you off this council."

The room hung in silence, the air thick with a mixture of defiance and respect. Your words had struck a chord, the councilors shifting uncomfortably in their seats, reminded of the power you wielded. Anakin's presence remained steady behind you, a cool counterbalance to the rising heat of conflict. You could feel the tension beginning to shift, ready for determined discussions rather than threats of violence. With every word you spoke, you sought not only to defend Anakin but to salvage the very essence of what the council should stand for—cooperation, understanding, and a commitment to a greater goal.

"Let's not fan the flames, my dear friend," interjected a Dragonborn with scales as dark as obsidian, his presence commanding attention. His deep purple eyes glimmered with an otherworldly intensity, as if he could peer straight through the shadows that cloaked the room. The council turned to him, curiosity and caution flitting across their faces.

"I already know the futility of arguing with the queen," he continued, his voice smooth yet laced with a hint of danger. "I did so once with Mother Emralda, and let's just say she nearly had my head cut off." He settled his gaze on Tharos Ironscale, leveling him with a glare that was so potent it made your own piercing look seem like that of a child throwing a tantrum.

The tension in the room shifted again, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog. Tharos bristled at the challenge, but there was a reluctant respect in his posture. The obsidian-scaled Dragonborn leaned slightly forward, his tone softening. "I assure you, the queen wants what's best for our kingdom. We may not always agree, but I, for one, would prefer to keep my head intact."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the council members, their expressions shifting from hostility to contemplation. It was a reminder—one you had intended to convey—that true strength lay not in brute force, but in unity and wisdom. With this, you sensed a flicker of hope that the council might rise above their differences, if only for this moment, and focus on the greater challenges that awaited them beyond these stone walls.

You clasped your hands together, a gesture that commanded attention with a calm authority. "Thank you, Master Darkwing. That was most helpful." You took a moment to gather your thoughts before diving into the heart of the matter. "Now, let's address the real threat at our border. A god named the Son has made his way into my kingdom. We all know we have wards in place to keep such creatures out." A ripple of concern passed through the councilors as they nodded in grim agreement.

You sensed Anakin stiffening behind you, a slight shift that tugged at your attention. Your ear twitched as you turned to him, curiosity mingling with concern. "Anything to say, Master Skywalker?"

Anakin shook his head, a dismissive wave of his hand accompanying his words. "No, no, don't mind me." Something in his tone felt off—a spark of unease hidden beneath the surface. You held his gaze for a moment longer, searching for insight, but the flicker of uncertainty faded as you decided to let it go, turning back to face the council.

A Dragonborn with fiery red scales that seemed to glow like embers in the light spoke up next, an air of confidence surrounding him. His molten gold eyes sparkled with mischief as he addressed you. "I might see if I can establish some commerce or trade with him, Your Highness. After all, I am the head of that business here in Dragorath." He flashed a smirk that was both charming and disarming, though you remained cautious.

"If he shows himself again, yes, you may do so, Master Emberclaw," you replied, giving him a sharp nod, a reminder that the matter at hand required careful handling.

Your gaze then shifted to your Archmage, the sleek, silver-scaled Dragonborn with bright blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires. You narrowed your eyes, a mix of inquiry and frustration threading through your voice. "You were there when Mother and her mother constructed those wards. Why are they failing now?"

She shook her head, her expression grave. "That's the thing, Your Highness—they're not failing."

A heavy silence fell over the council as they absorbed her words. The implications were staggering; if the wards were intact, then the presence of Thimlse signaled something far more sinister at play—perhaps an invitation rather than an intrusion. The councilors exchanged worried glances, and you couldn't shake the feeling that the very foundations of your kingdom were under threat, not just from the outside, but from forces lurking within the shadows of your own realm.

"Not failing? Then how in the blasted moonlight did a god get through our defenses?" Tharos snarled, frustration lacing his voice. His fists clenched, the tension in the room thickening as he struggled to comprehend the situation. "I felt the failing of magic just days ago!"

Before the atmosphere could grow any more charged, a Dragonborn with emerald green scales and gentle, green eyes raised her talons in a calming gesture. "At ease, my dear friends," she said, her voice smooth but firm, cutting through the rising agitation. "We must consider that he is, in fact, a god—a force-strong being. The Force has always been strong among us."

Her narrowed gaze swept across the council, meeting each pair of eyes with a steady resolve. You nodded in agreement, appreciating her perspective; it was a reminder that the nature of divine beings often defied conventional understanding. But the questions remained, looming like dark clouds overhead.

When her gaze finally landed on Anakin, you felt the shift in energy as a hushed expectation settled over the room. Anakin lifted his chin, a subtle gesture of confidence, which you recognized as a step away from his previous reticence. "You are the Chosen One, Master Skywalker. What do you think about this?" you prompted, inviting him into the discussion.

Anakin's piercing gaze swept around the council, those molten eyes seeming to draw the very light towards him. "If a god has crossed our wards," he began, his voice steady and commanding, "then it's not merely a failure of magic—it's likely a breach of purpose. Thimlse must have been summoned or invited somehow, drawing upon the strength of belief or worship in this region."

A murmur rippled through the council, various expressions of surprise, recognition, and unease flashing across their faces. Anakin continued, his insight cutting through the air like a blade. "It means we are dealing with something more complex than mere intrusion. It suggests that someone—or something—within our own kingdom is either unaware of the consequences or deliberately facilitating this breach."

The weight of his words fell heavily upon the council, and you caught Anakin's eye for a fleeting moment, the gravity of his insight resonating deeply. Unseen forces might be at play—forces that required immediate investigation and blunted the sharp edge of your longstanding trust, asking the question: Who among your circle might have the motive to invite such dread?

As the discussions swirled, you felt a kinship with your companions, the flickers of determination igniting within each member of the council. This was a moment of choice; it was time to stand united against not just the encroaching threat, but the shadows lurking in the hearts of your own court.