Lyraesel Naevys-Merethyl Naerith had lived long enough to accumulate three True Titles, the least important being Elf Commander. Her ample experience had seen her grow in spirit on top of ephemeral mortal status. Nevertheless, nothing had prepared her for the current events.

She blinked at the telephone in utter shock as the seed of horror in her heart blossomed into a crimson rose of soul-wrenching terror.

The line had died without apparent cause. The lack of any answer, even in the form of incredulity, indicated the finality of the events on the other end. Terrell's missiles had been launched long before she received a report. Long before her distant cousin and her almost forgotten friend-turned-traitor had even left the dungeon.

All evidence pointed at the obvious: Terrell had diviners in his payroll and had gambled on them being right as to when the Dan Pharyl Sha'vatör would leave the dungeon.

Lyraesel had heard the echo in her bloodline, of course. All the Speakers had, and they had all equally dismissed it as unimportant.

The Last Whisperer's greed had led him to look into matters Fate kept hidden, causing all elves to lose access to chronomancy. Yet, even after his fall, his methods had been so powerful that his descendants could feel when the flow of time was accessed beyond what Fate allowed. It marked the passage of others into sharing their race's curse. Luckily for the new perpetrators, the current world was organized differently; thus, only their House bloodline lost the privilege of touching the time element, not entire races.

That high price was only the easiest to bear. The best-kept secret of the Keeper of Whispers wasn't that elves couldn't use the time element but the other, much worse price the Last Whisperer had paid for his hubris.

Still, one of the less crucial secrets was how truly overwhelmingly talented the Last Whisperer had been. Only the Keepers knew the factors required to pry into Fate's secrets, even if one was willing to pay the price. The knowledge of such requirements had been enough for Lyraesel and the other Speakers to dismiss the access to the flow of time as irrelevant. Who could hope to see far enough to matter?

As it turned out, Terrell could. And as Lyraesel always recalled when such mistakes happened, their Progenitor's haughtiness seemed to flow into their veins together with his blood.

To be fair to her, she had been blinded by yearning. A Dan Pharyl Sha'vatör of her own bloodline had been found while she was High House Naerith's Matriarch and a Speaker in the Keeper of Whispers! Prophecies both made public and kept private, many seemingly contradictory, had aligned to allow her to witness the birth of the true Pharyl Sha'vatör. One that didn't kill indiscriminately and, thus, had come to bring hope and justice rather than tyranny.

But the other Speakers should've known better. They should've kept their minds calm and analyzed the circumstances.

Obviously, they had also been infiltrated and were being controlled by Terrell...

...or maybe not.

Traitors wouldn't do what her Co-Speakers did right then. Not unless they had given themselves entirely to the enemy, to the point they betrayed their most sacred duties and beliefs.

It hadn't been easy to ensure that each race could choose a place to place a Red Line on top of the predetermined official locations. Lyraesel, of course, had put the end of the elven Red Line in the Unspoken Abode. Only Speakers could enter it, but it would pose no issue later. After the pathetic façade decades ago, the Speakers would never allow other Houses to retake control of Elf Command.

The six other Speakers in the room also heard the line going silent and concluded the same as her: the Dan Pharyl Sha'vatör had fallen. As one, they knelt on the floor of the intricately carved wooden small room and pulled their Shame Blade from where it rested in the black leather sheath hanging from the waist of their white and green robes.

The Blade cut through the leather, as its form made it impossible to unsheath otherwise. The small voidsteel knife was curved almost like a hook.

All six placed the pointy edge on top of their eyebrows.

An Aspirant who messed up this badly would be given leniency and only mark their cheek and chin for life, then be allowed to forget everything, living in blissful ignorance of how close they had gotten to power and how badly they had sinned. They would only know the Mark of Shame had been a punishment.

Speakers who did what they had done would have no such comfort. They pushed the voidsteel into their flesh and pulled down until the red mark reached their collarbones. None said a word as they blinded themselves and marred their visage for life.

Lyraesel nodded in approval, then cut her own sheath as she grabbed and bared the Shame Blade. Her circumstances explained why she had failed and allowed her to be last in punishing herself, but it didn't erase her guilt. A Dan Pharyl Sha'vatör had died because she had underestimated their enemy.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

The touch of the magic-nullifying alloy was enough to cause her pain, and having it pierce her flesh turned it into agony. Yet, Lyraesel, too, didn't allow herself the small comfort given by a grunt. She silently carved her Shame into her body to be displayed for all to see and remembered for life.

Once she was done and removed the blade, her stats, skills, and traits tried to heal her, but the silvery runes on the ceiling of the Unspoken Abode glowed brightly as their enchantment activated. It fooled their bodies into accepting their injured state as healthy and whole. A dedicated healer could circumvent that once they were out of the Abode, but none would dare to do so.

At last, she and the others pulled their tongue with one hand and brought the Blade close to their mouths. It was one thing for a Dan Pharyl Sha'vatör to die on their own, but a Speaker who let them fall out of arrogance didn't deserve to be a Speaker, nor to keep a muscle so closely linked to the meaning of their Title.

As they prepared to cripple themselves further, a young male voice came from outside the finely crafted double doors.

"Update: a magically modified nuclear warhead set off in the Institute two minutes ago."

Two minutes. It had already been two minutes since those Speakers sinned such. Lyraesel hadn't even noticed they were moving so slowly.

As if to add insult to injury, the young elf continued, "The modified warhead is estimated to be thousands of times worse than its size should allow it to be. The Institute was completely vaporized. The Human and Dwarf Commands have ordered all troops to leave the area to avoid exposition to the high radiation levels estimated from such a potent atomic eruption. The elves have also complained out of lack of orders on the contrary."

Lyraesel closed her eyes not due to the physical pain of the Blade drawing blood but the emotional distress of the repeated reminder of her blunder.

Yet, the elf wasn't done. "Three watermelon-sized and shaped fleshy lifeforms flew away from the blast's hypocenter after the explosion died, heading to a nearby forest. The foliage is too thick for our satellite to pierce through."

Seven high elven hands stopped as hope anew ignited in their hearts. Yet, they didn't remove the blade or say anything. Good news would come when they came. Bad news would come, too.

The worst news possible was for those creatures to have come from the dungeon, which the Dan Pharyl Sha'vatör might have failed to destroy.

Elves couldn't touch the time element, yet Lyraesel never felt so close to time as now. Not even in the day she faced the ugly face of the world for the first time when she was but a child. The seconds slowly ticked off as they waited for news. Satellites were a marvelous secret elven invention—which had been quickly copied by humans somehow—but their shortcomings were self-evident. Thick foliage was enough to bar their gaze.

At long last, news arrived.

"Update: three semi-naked humans have left the forest. They resemble High Lord Arthur Willoughby Naerith-Tracey Boria the Third, his Head Maid Tamara Hustoir Lauquenbur, and League Employee Emily Reed. No further confirmation is possible without local recognizance personnel. Intelligence Headquarters asks permission to disregard Joint Command orders and send in scouts."

The seven Speakers looked at each other with similar relief and astonishment. The Acolyte outside had been adequately trained and betrayed no emotion in his voice while reporting, but it was unthinkable that someone could survive a nuclear explosion. They had never seen one but knew how terrible it could be. Furthermore, unless the other reports were wrong, the warhead had been magically enhanced, too!

Lyraesel's heart trembled a little more as she heard Arlayna— No, Tamara. Tamara had also survived somehow. Even after all these years, she still didn't know what to think. Tamara had also been but a child...

She closed her eyes, sighed, and focused on the present.

The seven Speakers removed their Blades from their tongues in silent agreement but kept their tongues out. Each double-checked the other's injuries to confirm they had been willing to cripple themselves. That was evidence that they had all equally blundered in their decisions to ignore the echo of time in their bloodline. None should be a traitor.

But that wasn't enough. Not now. A traitor could simply be willing to suffer temporarily before they left and healed themselves, as unthinkable as betraying their entire culture was after they served for so long.

They had to prove themselves in a way that left no margin for mistakes.

"I'll submit myself first," Lyraesel said as a gesture of trust and goodwill.

It was also a pleading for mercy. If they were all in on the betrayal, she wished something could go "wrong" when they checked on her and killed her painlessly.

"Reveal Naerith's memories," the others said one by one.

The walls were enchanted to constantly check everyone's brains for manipulation, but only awakeners could go against awakeners after a certain proficiency level. Thus, another enchantment would display a target's memories day by day, starting now and going backward, until all six were satisfied that there were no strange memories that didn't quite fit in. The enchantment allowed them to view the days pass by at speeds up to hundreds of times faster than normal. It could also slow things down and repeat a memory, allowing the Speakers to see everything clearly. The biomancers among them would also directly check her brain using their own spells and skills.

Feelings and thoughts Lyraesel had kept hidden would be exposed and make a few relationships awkward, but such was the price to pay to guarantee the fate of the elven race.

She was cleared within mere hours, as she had the most to lose, and they didn't delve too deeply into the past. The others would take longer to clear; days, even. Until then, no one was to leave the room or contact the outside world with more than what was needed to confirm they were alive. The permanence of whoever had been cleared was even more critical to guarantee the process' trustworthiness.

Lyraesel wanted nothing more than to help her distant cousin or meet Joint Command to organize their response to Terrell's actions. The elves' silence would be seen as suspicious by the other races, if not outright treacherous. Yet, she had no choice in the matter. The elven race came first, and the best way to accomplish that was by securing the Keeper of Whispers' candor, not politicking with the League.

"I'll go second," the Patriarch of High House Shaethe said.

"Reveal Shaethe's memories," all other Speakers said almost in unison.