Amanda Heartwood was understandably nervous. Ten years of planning were coming to a head, and after today, there would be no point of return. She was wrapped in a dark cloak that concealed her features, allowing only her emerald eyes to peek out. Nervously, she walked down the cobbled street, jumping at every suspicious sound. There seemed to be many today, but they all turned out to be nothing. Gripping the cloak tightly, she rushed into an alley where she came to a door, plain as any other, save for a scratch mark of a cat carved inconspicuously.
Glancing around, she ensured she was not followed before rapping on the door six times, no more, no less. After a moment, it opened slightly, and a large man looked her over from the crack.
"We're closed," he hissed in a small, uncaring voice.
"But winter just started," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
"Spring happened last week," he replied.
"And summertime is easy for living."
With that, the door opened, and he nodded for her to enter. She rushed in, and the man glanced over the alleyway. Satisfied, he closed the door and slid all three bolts into place.
"It's the third door on the left," he instructed curtly.
"Thank you," Amanda replied, removing the cloak from her head and wiping the sweat from her face. Her fair red hair cascaded down, escaping the loosely tied ribbon. As she adjusted it behind her head once more, she walked with purpose down the hallway. At the third door, she entered a large conference room and found that she was the last to arrive. Sixteen other members were already there.
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"Finally, we can begin," said an older man at the head of the table. He wore white robes that matched his white hair and beard. His voice commanded attention, silencing the conversations around the room. "If you can all take your seats, it's time to vote on perhaps the most important event our empire will ever endure."
Everyone found a seat, including Amanda, who sat closest to the door. She gripped her fingers nervously as everything started to come to fruition—years of work that began decades before her birth, and the desire of her long-lost family. Soon enough, it would happen.
"You all know why we are here. Everything is as ready as it can ever be. We have one chance to end this peacefully, and if not, we are determined to win within one year, at most." He looked over everyone as he spoke, gazing into their eyes to read the mood.
"Yes, yes. Enough theatrics," a man with strawberry blonde hair spoke up, standing. "It's time, and we all know it, so let's get to the point. All in favor?" His words hung in the air as he raised his hand. The man in white followed suit, and soon enough, the entire room, Amanda included, had their hands raised. "And all opposed?" All hands fell, and none rose again. "Then, we have our answer." He sat back down, looking at the man in white.
"Yes..." the older man nodded, a tremble in his voice. "I suppose we do."
"Not nervous now, are you?" another man, hidden in a red robe, chuckled at the older man's reaction.
"Should we not be? It's a demand, quite unlike anything else," the older man replied, his voice shaking slightly.
The room became abuzz with conversation. Some shouted at each other across the table, while others spoke loudly to their neighbors. Amanda sat quietly, holding a pendant from her pocket and warming it in her hand. We're so close, she mused. Just a little longer.
"Then," the man in white spoke with a loud voice to calm the crowd, "by this time tomorrow, we will either be successful or start a long campaign of war." His words were followed by silence, weighted heavily by their meaning.