Raian glanced at Veyr’s outstretched right hand. Then at his face. Golden eyes met his—calm, commanding, expectant.

  Raian drew a slow breath. His shoulders lowered. And he handed the scroll over.

  DUM! DUM! DUM!

  “Representative Veyr. Elder of Umbrafel… what are you doing?” The voice was cold.

  Velmira’s gaze followed the parchment now in Veyr’s possession.

  Veyr unfolded the letter casually, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. “What?” he replied smoothly. “I merely prevented this cub from being murdered mid-trial.”

  His eyes dropped to the text.

  I must confirm it before it reaches Velmira, he thought. Who knows what that reckless, ambitious fool might have written.

  Line by line, he scanned it. No hidden clauses. No layered conspiracy.

  Just instructions. Time. Location. Identification of Mika. Orders to abduct her to the Maw Pits. Signed. Rokkan.

  Sir Mellaro had already descended from his position behind the Countess. He approached with deliberate steps.

  “Veyr…” he called, voice rough and controlled. “Give it to me. That evidence.”

  Veyr looked up, expression neutral. He stepped forward instead of resisting.

  Raising the parchment slightly so Mellaro could read it as well, Veyr spoke clearly—ensuring the nearest council members could hear.

  “Based on the stroke pressure here,” he said, indicating a line with one finger, “and the angular break in these characters…”

  His finger moved lower. “And here.” He glanced briefly toward the unconscious Rokkan.

  “This matches Rokkan Greets-with-Claws’ hand.”

  A small, almost clinical smile touched Veyr’s lips.

  He lowered his head slightly and surrendered the parchment to Sir Mellaro.

  “Caelen,” Mellaro ordered without turning, “restrain Rokkan’s hands.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Caelen moved immediately. He knelt beside the unconscious Rokkan and bound both of his wrists behind his back with firm, practiced efficiency. Rokkan did not stir.

  Sir Mellaro returned to Velmira’s side and placed the letter in her hands.

  The chamber watched. Velmira read. Her eyes moved once across the lines. Then again. Measured.

  Meanwhile, Veyr stepped past Raian, who still stood with one hand pressed subtly against his abdomen. As he passed, he spoke low enough that only Raian would clearly hear.

  “Come to Umbrafel. We have physicians who mend wounds as if they were never there.”

  Raian lowered his head slightly. “Thank you. But our clan’s herbal mixtures are better suited for my condition, Master Veyr.”

  Veyr looked away with a faint exhale. “As you wish.” He continued walking.

  DUM! DUM! DUM! Velmira’s gavel struck.

  All attention snapped back to the dais.

  “Based on the written evidence contained within this letter,” she declared, voice cutting clean through the chamber, “it is confirmed that Krann and Muzz—deceased within the Maw Pits—were directly involved in the assault upon Lady Mika of the Sein’ei Clan.”

  A ripple moved through the hall.

  She continued. “Their objective, as written, was abduction under instruction of Rokkan Greets-with-Claws.”

  She drew a measured breath.

  “Based on the presented facts, the alleged involvement of the third tom—Nesk—is not documented within this letter.”

  Raian’s eyes widened slightly. Then—

  “BUT—” Velmira’s voice cut sharply.

  “Factual record confirms that Krann and Muzz were directly involved in the assault. Furthermore, Lady Mika’s testimony identifying a third tom named Nesk as one of her attackers is hereby deemed valid.”

  A stir rippled through the chamber.

  Maeril, seated with one leg crossed over the other, merely tapped her fingers lightly against her armrest.

  “For Rokkan Greets-with-Claws—” Velmira’s gaze lowered toward the unconscious elder bound upon the floor.

  “For orchestrating this scheme… for inciting unlawful abduction… and for provoking destabilization within Vel’farra through his actions—”

  Her voice did not rise. It sharpened.

  “He is found guilty.”

  The gavel lowered slightly—Then shifted.

  Pointing toward the second throne.

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  “And Brakka, Leader of House Clawscar.”

  Brakka lifted his chin from the now-empty bag of chips in his paw.

  “Huh? Oh…” He glanced upward at the vaulted ceiling as if considering something deeply philosophical.

  Then slowly lowered his gaze. His shades slipped slightly down his nose; he adjusted them lazily.

  “ABSTAIN.”

  A murmur swept the chamber.

  “House Clawscar will abstain in this incident.”

  He stretched his massive frame casually, shoulders rolling.

  “Do as you see fit for this, Vel.” The informal address echoed—bold, careless, unconcerned.

  Velmira did not react. “Very well,” she said.

  “For House Clawscar—” Her gaze moved briefly toward Brakka.

  “You are hereby responsible for locating and delivering the tom known as Nesk into the custody of the Peaceguard.”

  Brakka yawned loudly. “Yawn… Fine. I’ll do it.” He stretched lazily in his seat.

  Across the chamber, Veyr’s lips curled into a faint smile.

  Good luck with that, he thought. His eyes flicked briefly toward his Master seated upon the throne. He will be long gone before they even catch his scent.

  “And now,” Velmira continued, her gavel shifting toward the center of the chamber.

  “For the accused—Raian, son of Enzan. Heir of the Sein’ei Clan.”

  Raian straightened. His shoulders squared as he prepared to receive judgment.

  “You are absolved of criminal punishment,” Velmira declared.

  A murmur rippled across the chamber.

  “However—regarding the tom named Nesk—” Her gaze sharpened. “You will leave this matter to the authorities of the Council.”

  “But—!” Raian’s voice rose.

  Velmira clicked her tongue softly. Her gavel waved once in the air, dismissive.

  “No exceptions.”

  “If you violate the Council’s order,” she continued evenly, “the standing of your clan will be reviewed… and judged whether it remains worthy of holding a seat in this Council.”

  Raian’s eyes shifted. To the far right. The sixth throne. His clan’s throne.

  Empty. Covered in cloth.

  Yeah… he thought quietly. Don’t make things worse for the family.

  Raian lowered his gaze. And said nothing more.

  “With this—” Velmira’s eyes swept across the entire chamber.

  “This court is dismissed.”

  DUM! DUM! DUM!

  The gavel echoed through the vaulted hall.

  “ Sis…” Lira murmured softly as she nudged Madame Sava’s shoulder.

  Crack! The fan in Sava’s paw snapped shut with a delicate sound.

  She rose slowly. “Let’s go.”

  Lira of the Sighing Veil and Madame Sava, the Velvet Matron, began their graceful walk toward the exit. Each step carried the faint scent of sweet perfume through the chamber.

  Behind their veils, both of them were smiling. Before disappearing beyond the doorway, Lira cast one last glance toward Raian. Then they were gone.

  Across the chamber, Elder Timon was being helped to his feet by Archivist Fenlo Ashfur.

  “Hohoho… that was entertaining,” Timon chuckled, gently tugging at his long beard.

  “Yes, Elder,” Fenlo replied, closing the heavy record book and tucking it beneath his arm.

  They began their slow departure, followed closely by the Kindroot scribes who hurried after their leaders, quills and scrolls gathered quickly as the chamber emptied.

  “Urgh… Urrrghh…” A rasping groan rose from the floor. Rokkan.

  His body twitched as consciousness crawled back into him.

  Srk… Srk… The ornaments and gold fixtures of his attire scraped faintly against the stone as he tried to move his bound hands.

  Then a firm grip seized his arm. Two Peaceguard toms hauled him upright.

  Sir Caelen Regallin stepped forward, voice crisp. “Guard. Take him to the holding chamber.”

  “Yes, sir!” They pulled Rokkan to his feet.

  He blinked wildly, looking left, then right. “Huh…? HUUH? WAIT—!” He struggled, twisting against their hold. Then his eyes found Raian standing only a few steps away.

  “You…!” A low growl vibrated through his chest.

  His head snapped toward the second throne—Toward his clanmaster.

  But Brakka had already turned away. The massive orange tom was leaving. His bright blue Hawaiian shirt swayed as he walked. One long arm stretched lazily into the air behind him.

  The back of his paw waved once. “Good luck, bro.”

  He didn’t look back. Then Brakka disappeared beyond the council table.

  “Boss…!” Rokkan’s voice cracked. “BOSS!” The shout echoed violently through the Council Chamber. But no one answered.

  Then a tall, imposing figure stepped directly into his path. Sir Mellaro Vainwhisker.

  His scarred face tilted slightly downward, his voice rough and cold.

  “Move.” The word cut like steel.

  “Me… Mellaro…” Rokkan whispered, his feet dragging across the stone floor as the guards forced him forward. The gold ornaments on his clothes scraped faintly against the ground.

  “We’re friends… right…?”

  Mellaro smiled. Not warmly. “Yeah.”

  A pause.

  “That’s why I’ll personally take you to the Game Room.”

  Rokkan’s eyes exploded wide.

  “No.” A breath. Then panic.

  “NO! Please—no! Don’t take me to that cursed room! NOOO—!”

  His scream echoed through the chamber as the Peaceguard dragged him through the great doors of the Council Hall. The doors closed behind him. Silence returned.

  Veyr of the Hollow Pads lowered his gaze and placed a hand over his chest. “Master,” he murmured softly. Maeril of the Soft Step rose from her throne.

  From the dark corner where she sat, her golden eyes shone faintly as they locked onto Raian below. Then she turned. Her cloak swept behind her like a shadow.

  Veyr inclined his head. And the two of them vanished into the dim corridors of the tower, swallowed by darkness as if the shadows themselves had claimed them.

  Raian felt that gaze linger. For a brief moment, he glanced toward the first throne.

  It was empty. The presence that had filled that seat moments ago had already vanished.

  He turned. Countess Velmira Regallin still stood upon the dais.

  Raian brought his right fist into his left palm and bowed his head—a respectful salute of a martial artist.

  Velmira gave a small nod. A faint smile followed.

  Then a voice full of excitement came from behind him. “Lord Raian!”

  Raian turned. Sir Caelen Regallin stood there, eyes bright with admiration.

  “I knew you would pass this trial,” the younger tom said with barely contained enthusiasm.

  “Allow me to escort you back to—” But Raian’s left hand gently touched Caelen’s shoulder.

  “Thanks.” A small shake of the head. “But no.”

  “Let me return home alone… and clear my thoughts.” Then Raian walked toward the great doors.

  Velmira watched from above as he left the chamber. His shadow stretched long across the stone floor. And followed him out.

  Velmira smiled faintly.

  Oh, Enzan…

  Her eyes softened.

  If you could see your son now…

  I know you would have spoken proudly of him, the way you always did when we talked.