Floating majestically above Verenthia’s vast seas, Skyforge Island was a marvel of unity and progress, where all races—Humans, Elves, Beastkin, Aether Dragons, Stonekin, Sylphids, and Undine—coexisted in uneasy harmony.

Connected by radiant Bridges of Light, the island's districts pulsed with mana energy, with sleek airships and mechanical constructs patrolling the skies. The architecture was a stunning blend of cultures: towering spires adorned with glowing runes, enchanted gardens coiled with Sylphid vines, and the central Mana Obelisk, which stabilized the island and powered its advanced technologies.

Undine water channels flowed through bustling marketplaces, where Human workers, Elven musicians, and Beastkin merchants mingled amidst the enchanted artifacts of Stonekin artisans. Below the citadel’s grand halls, floating islands drifted in and out of view through enchanted glass—a breathtaking sight lost on the seven figures seated within the Skyforge Citadel’s council chamber.

At the room’s center, a crescent-shaped table floated weightlessly, encircled by shimmering wards that muted noise. The seven representatives sat in chairs tailored to their stature, their postures as rigid as their rivalries. The tension was palpable, a thick fog of old grudges and unspoken resentments.

Theron Calder, the Human representative, was the first to speak, his tone sharp and direct. Tall and lean, with dark hair slicked back and a perpetually tight-lipped expression, Theron’s presence was like a cold wind—unsettling but impossible to ignore.

He dressed in crisp military fashion, with the polished silver clasp on his cloak glinting under the chamber’s light. Calculating and ambitious, Theron was known for his precision in words and actions, but in reality, he was a lackadaisical man—except when it came to matters involving other races.

"The Luma Exchange is in disarray," Theron began, eyes narrowing on Aerion Galeheart, the Sylphid. His voice carried the authority of someone accustomed to setting agendas. "And certain factions seem far too comfortable exploiting this chaos."

Aerion Galeheart, the Sylphid representative, responded with a slow, mocking smile. Her slender frame radiated a quiet elegance, her skin faintly glowing like sunlight through mist. Long, silver-blonde hair trailed behind her, and her iridescent wings flickered faintly with each shift of her posture.

With sharp eyes that hinted at a playful cunning, Aerion was a strategist at heart, more amused by conflict than unsettled by it. "Exploiting, Theron? I believe you mean adapting. You should try it sometime."

Theron gave a humorless chuckle, leaning forward. "The market won’t stabilize if Sylphid traders continue inflating crystal prices under the guise of ‘adaptation.’"

Aerion’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Perhaps you should talk less about markets and more about contributions. Trade flows, even through storms—if your ports could keep up, there wouldn’t be a problem."

Kyara Thalasson, the Undine representative, exhaled softly. Her sea-green eyes scanned the bickering pair with quiet annoyance. Her deep-blue hair fell in graceful waves, and she wore flowing robes lined with pearls, a reflection of her calm but resolute nature.

While Kyara rarely raised her voice, her words carried weight, as steady as a tide. "Let’s not pretend all disruptions are equal. The northern bridges—built with Undine resources—are being overused. Stonekin caravans cross them almost daily. They weren’t meant to bear such constant strain."

Kravash Ironshard, the Stonekin representative, rumbled low in his throat, an earth-deep sound that vibrated the room. His granite-gray skin, cracked with veins of glowing orange mana, gave him a statuesque appearance, and his voice had the weight of shifting mountains.

Stoic and blunt, Kravash was slow to anger, but once provoked, his fury was relentless. "Our caravans take the northern bridges because the southern routes are blocked—by Aether Dragons."

A ripple of discomfort passed through the council at the mention of the Aether Dragons. Though no one dared say it outright, frustration simmered beneath their words, threatening to boil over.

Zekari Wolfsbane, the Beastkin representative, grinned, showing sharp canines. His broad shoulders and wolf-like features gave him a wild, untamed presence, and the gleam in his amber eyes revealed his love for stirring trouble.

"Ah yes, the Aether Dragons. Always there to remind us how fragile we all are. If only we were as enlightened as them, eh?"

A faint tension flickered in the room, but no one addressed the comment directly. The others knew exactly whom Zekari was baiting.

Veris Tal’Zarion, the Aether Dragoness, sat in silence.

Her presence was as calm and unyielding as a winter sky. Her tall, slender form shimmered faintly, as though carved from moonlight and stardust. Her pale-blue skin, edged with silver, caught the ambient mana in the chamber, making her seem more like a dream than a tangible being.

Her long, silver-white hair cascaded down her back, barely restrained by a delicate circlet etched with runes. Folded against her back, her translucent wings shifted with faint auroral hues that changed with the light.

Veris’s golden eyes—piercing and ancient—surveyed the room with patient amusement. She radiated calm authority, as though all the bickering was a passing storm to be weathered, not a threat to be feared. Though frustrations were voiced against the Aether Dragons, no one dared to aim those words directly at her.

At about three thousand years old, Veris had witnessed most of Verenthia’s history since the era of turmoil. She represented more than just the Aether Dragons—she embodied centuries of wisdom, tempered by experience and tempered further by the loss of her former brethren. She did not need to speak to command respect; her silence alone was enough to still the room.

Zekari’s grin widened as he nudged the discussion further. "Aether Dragons block trade, seize leylines, and expect the rest of us to be grateful. Isn't that right, Veris?"

Veris exhaled softly through her nose, a sound as gentle as a falling leaf. She moved only when she needed to, lifting her hand in a graceful motion to tap the edge of the table. The faint sound, barely louder than a whisper, cut through the arguments like a blade through silk.

Silence fell.

The council members straightened; their petty squabbles were instantly forgotten. Even Zekari’s smirk faded into something more subdued, his ears twitching nervously.

Veris’s gaze swept across the table, her golden eyes meeting each representative in turn. She was not angry—no, her calm was far more unsettling. It was the calm of someone who had seen the worst the world had to offer and found it unimpressive.

"You bicker like children," she said, her voice smooth and cold as tempered steel. "This council was formed for unity. Not to assign blame."

Her gaze lingered briefly on Theron, then Aerion as if weighing their souls. "The northern bridges will be reinforced—within reason." She glanced at Kravash. "Stonekin engineers will assist with repairs."

To Kyara, she said, "Undine resources will be compensated, but future trade through the northern bridges must be managed more efficiently."

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Finally, her gaze flicked toward Zekari, her expression inscrutable. "And the southern leyline will reopen, with access granted under strict regulation."

Her decisions were delivered with the finality of someone accustomed to being obeyed. There was no room for debate, and the council members knew it.

Veris folded her hands once more, her wings shifting slightly. "Now," she said softly "On to the main issue..."

All eyes turned toward Veris as the chamber grew eerily still, the weight of the next topic looming over them like a storm about to break.

"...the Daemons."

The air in the room seemed to shift, the tension solidifying as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. The subtle bickering vanished, replaced by a heavy seriousness. Even Zekari’s restless fingers stilled on the armrest of his chair.

For a moment, no one spoke. The weight of the Daemon threat was not just in words; it was in the glances exchanged between council members, in the sudden stiffness of postures, and in the way each seemed reluctant to meet the others' gaze directly.

Theron was the first to break the silence, leaning forward with a sharp, controlled whisper. "We all know the Demon King is stirring again. His influence is spreading. We’ve already seen pockets of his followers—the Daemons—inciting unrest along the eastern borders."

Veris’s gaze was steady, her tone calm yet unwavering. "He is still weak, for now. But we cannot rely on that. The last time he reached his full power…" She let the thought linger, her words trailing off like a distant echo of forgotten nightmares. "You all may not have been born then but we all know what happened five thousand years ago. This time, we have the opportunity to strike before he becomes the threat we all feared."

A low, gravelly rumble came from Kravash Ironshard, his stone fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the edge of the table. "Yes, the Demon King is dangerous, even in his weak state but the Daemons are no less of a threat. They keep increasing like rats. If we don’t move now, our advantage will slip through our fingers."

The tension thickened, something hanging heavily in the air.

It was subtle but impossible to miss—something hidden, some unaddressed truth buried beneath their words. Glances flickered, and for a moment, it seemed as if every council member was waiting for someone else to speak it aloud.

It was Vaelith who spoke next, most likely trying to diffuse the tension. His voice smooth and measured.

"The Celestial Concord is assembling," he said, drawing all eyes toward him.

Vaelith An’vorel, the Elf representative, radiated elegance and restraint. He was tall and lithe, his skin pale like polished ivory, and his emerald-green eyes held an unsettling sharpness.

Long, raven-black hair, streaked with silver, framed his angular face, and his black-and-gold robes clung to him like shadows. There was a coldness to him, an aloof detachment, as though he stood above mortal concerns—and perhaps he did. But beneath that calm exterior was a hint of something dangerous, like a blade hidden in silk.

He rarely spoke during the high council meetings.

Vaelith folded his hands, his gaze unreadable. "The candidates are being selected as we speak, though the tests are not yet complete and the chosen candidates will still have to pass the celestial trial before they can be considered fully-fledged Celestial Concord members.”

“Only those strong enough to bear the Celestial Mark will pass the trial. And without that mark, they won’t stand a chance against the Demon King’s… unique strength."

There was a brief silence as Vaelith’s words settled over the room, stirring unease.

Kyara Thalasson shifted uneasily in her seat. "The trials are going to be harsh," she murmured, her soft voice carrying a note of concern. "And will push each candidate to their limits, but even the strongest among them... well, strength isn't always enough."

Vaelith’s gaze sharpened, his emerald-green eyes glinting in the chamber’s muted light. "They will succeed," he said with finality. "They must."

Aerion’s wings fluttered briefly, and a rare seriousness replaced her usual playful demeanor. "The Demon King’s influence spreads faster than we anticipated. If the Concord isn’t assembled in time—if even one candidate fails—we risk everything."

A heavy pause followed, filled with unspoken worries that none dared voice aloud.

There was a sense that the council was hiding something—something dark and dangerous that none of them wanted to acknowledge.

Kyara’s voice broke the silence, soft and thoughtful. "Are we certain we’re going about this the right way?"

The words hung in the air, subtle yet weighted with meaning.

Vaelith arched a brow, his expression calm but his eyes sharp with suspicion. "The right way?" he echoed, his tone measured and cool. "You’d prefer we wait? Or perhaps negotiate with the Daemon?"

Kyara met his gaze evenly, her expression unreadable. "I only wonder if we’re addressing the root of the problem."

Vaelith’s lips pressed into a thin line, the barest flicker of irritation crossing his features. "The only problem is that the Daemons are still breathing."

Kyara said nothing, her gaze drifting away as if lost in distant thoughts.

For the briefest moment, something flickered in Vaelith’s expression—something dark, a hint of knowledge buried beneath layers of cold detachment. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual calm.

Veris promptly responded to Kyara.

"History is written by the victors, Kyara," Veris said softly. "We cannot afford to dwell on the past when the future demands our attention."

Kyara’s reply came with a soft, knowing smile. "Of course."

The tension in the room deepened, as though the walls themselves were closing in around them. There was something hidden beneath the surface of their conversation—something unsaid, a secret that bound them all in a silent conspiracy.

But the discussion moved forward, as it always did. The looming shadow of the Demon King hung over them all, too great to ignore.

Veris leaned back slightly, her wings shifting with a soft rustle of light. "The trials must proceed as scheduled. We will monitor the Daemon movements closely and wrap up the candidate’ tests without any delays." Her gaze swept the room once more. "This is not a battle we can afford to lose."

The council members exchanged brief, knowing glances, each aware of the unspoken truths lingering between them—but none daring to confront them. Not yet.

And as the meeting continued, a sense of unease settled over the room, like the first breath of a coming storm.

₪₪₪

After the meeting.

Within the corridors of the Skyforge Citadel, Theron Calder, the Human representative, was making his way out, preparing to return to Zaorolph — the human realm within the vast continent of Verenthia, often referred to as the Human Zone.

Each race had a designated zone where only their specific members were allowed to reside. These zones consisted of numerous floating islands that contributed to their size and boundaries.

Although each race had its zone, there were also areas where all races could mingle and coexist, such as Verenthia's capital, Skyforge Island, where the High Council regularly held meetings.

Another area where races could interact without restriction was the Neutral Zone. This was where most of the Celestial Concord’s tests were conducted, allowing for transparency and enabling other races to observe each other in action.

Even though each island in the Neutral Zone was dedicated to a particular race, members of other races were free to come and go as they pleased.

“The meeting didn’t take as long this time. We should be able to reach Zaorolph before nightfall,” Theron Calder muttered to himself.

“It would be nice to use a teleporter, but there’s nothing wrong with traveling by road once in a while, right, Maev?”

Maev, a serious-looking, mature woman with long, braided brown hair and glasses, walked right behind Theron. She wore a simple white and red short gown with unique patterns, giving off the aura of a seasoned businesswoman.

She was Theron’s assistant.

“I’ll never understand your inclination toward conventional means, Sir Theron. The teleporter might be 80% composed of magic, but that doesn’t mean it’s unreliable,” Maev spoke in a soft, mature voice that matched her appearance.

“Who said anything about reliability? You know how I am with magic. The same goes for technology,” Theron replied.

“Humans may have invented technology, but I still believe this world would have been better off without either—both magic and technology.”

Out of nowhere, a voice spoke up from some distance behind the two humans.

“Oh wow, that’s something I’d never expect to hear from a human, especially from the one who stands as their representative. How fascinating.” It was a feminine voice.

Maev jumped slightly at the sudden voice, nearly dropping her glasses, but Theron remained calm. He didn’t even need to look back to know who it was.

“Are you stalking me, Kyara? Don’t scare my assistant like that,” Theron said.

It was Kyara Thalasson, the Undine representative.

“Oh, my apologies. I didn’t think I was being that stealthy,” she replied with a small smile.

Theron glanced back and asked, “So, what can I do for you?” His tone held a hint of reluctance.

“A word,” Kyara said, her smile fading into a serious expression.

Theron hesitated. He likely knew what she wanted to discuss.

‘Sigh, why can’t she go bother someone else? Why me?’ Theron thought to himself.

He gave Maev a meaningful look, a silent signal for her to go ahead. She understood perfectly, bowing slightly to Kyara before taking her leave. Now, only Theron and Kyara remained in the corridor.

“What did you want to talk about?” Theron asked.

“Surely, I can’t be the only one who’s uncomfortable with this whole situation, right?” Kyara began, not holding back.

“Situation?” Theron responded, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t give me that act. Your ancestors were the ones who started this whole mess in the first place. Are you really okay with how things are now?” Kyara demanded, her face hardening.

“Look, Kyara, I don’t know when you started worrying about other races apart from your own, but honestly, I don’t care,” Theron replied bluntly.

He continued, “Of course, I’m not saying what our ancestors did was right, but it’s not like we were there to change anything. For all we know, their reasons for what they did could be something we’re simply unaware of.”

“Besides, who’s to say that, if we were in their shoes, we wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

Kyara looked perplexed. “So, you’re saying you don’t care about the countless lives that may suffer in this war that’s about to break out?”

“I never said that,” Theron retorted sharply.

“And what about future generations? If we somehow manage to win this war, how will those living 3,000 years from now cope with the next war?” Kyara pressed on.

“Don’t know. That’s their problem,” Theron responded without hesitation.

“I’m just looking out for my people. I don’t want to see the blood of Undines spilled throughout Verenthia because of some past misdeeds that could have been handled differently. This isn’t right, and I know you feel the same,” Kyara said, her voice tinged with frustration.

‘Sigh, doesn’t she get it? I really don’t care,’ Theron thought.

“Look, Kyara, if you have issues with the way things are, you know who to take it up with. That sly fox Vaelith and our oh-so-high-and-mighty Elder Veris seem to have the most information about what happened 5,000 years ago.”

“But here’s some advice: don’t bring it up with them, especially not with Vaelith. You saw the way he was looking at you during the meeting earlier. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind celebrating the death of the Undine representative, but I’m only saying this for the sake of maintaining balance within the High Council.”

“Just forget about all this and play your part properly. You don’t even have to be on the main stage—working behind the scenes will suffice.” With that, Theron began walking away.

“Are you really going to leave it at that? Theron?” Kyara called after him, visibly upset.

“See you at the next meeting, Kyara,” Theron replied, waving dismissively as he walked off.

Kyara was thoroughly annoyed.

“Why is he always so nonchalant outside our meetings? You’d think a military man would take things seriously, but no, he only shows that side when clashing with other races.”

“It was a mistake to approach him about this, but what now? We can’t let history repeat itself. It will only lead to endless chaos, and honestly, our chances of winning this war are slim.”

“I’ll have to figure something out. As much as it pains me, I can’t confide in just anyone. The public must never know what the High Council did to the Daemons 5,000 years ago.”