"You foolish girl!" Bastien's voice cracked through the chamber like a whip, ricocheting off the walls and curling back in harsh echoes. "You have doomed us all because you were too timid to speak."

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. To Victoria, it felt like the great tree had turned against her. She stood motionless, her head bowed, her eyes glued to the polished floorboards. Shame burned in her cheeks, her throat tight with unspoken words.

Beside her, Neegul stood rigid, his shoulders squared and his gaze fixed on Bastien with unflinching defiance. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing—not yet.

The five council members sat in a semicircle before them, their expressions ranging from anger to discomfort. Each perched on a chair carved from tree stumps, cushioned with feathered pillows, the seats seamlessly melded into the living wood of the sacred chamber. The scent of moss and damp earth lingered in the air, a reminder of the roots that stretched deep beneath the island. Light filtered through natural cracks in the bark, creating a constellation of dust motes that hovered above the council's heads.

At the far left sat Ephraim Locke, his clean-shaven face shadowed by furrowed brows. His unsoiled white shirt contrasted with the mud-caked boots that betrayed his long hours spent tending Erytha's fields. A leather-bound notebook rested on his lap, its frayed pages as worn as the man who carried them. His pen remained poised as if waiting for someone to make sense of the chaos.

Next to him, Bastien Voss leaned forward in his chair, his sharp eyes boring into Victoria with the same scrutiny he reserved for foreign ships at the harbor. The scar along his jaw caught the light, making it appear even deeper beneath the shadow of his beard. His tailored vest, crisp at the start of the day, had begun to wrinkle with the tension of his movements. He tapped his silver ring against the chair's armrest, the steady rhythm like the ticking of a clock counting down. Victoria flinched with each tap, but Neegul's stance hardened.

"This is absurd," Bastien continued, his voice rising. "You knew—you knew!—and you said nothing? For a month!? Do you have any idea what that time could've bought us? Reinforcements? Plans?"

At the far right, Helia Drayton shifted uneasily in her chair. The merchant representative's fiery red hair, tied loosely back, caught the light as she glanced toward Bastien and then back to Victoria. Her freckled face, bronzed by years under the sun, betrayed no anger—only nerves. She tugged at the hem of her tailored dress, smoothing the fabric as though the act might settle her thoughts.

Victoria saw the flicker of calculation in Helia's eyes. Was it fear for the island or the trade routes and travelers who filled Erytha's markets? She wasn't sure.

Beside Helia, Isolde Remere, the island's doctor, sat quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her chestnut hair, usually tied in a loose bun at the clinic, now hung free, softening the sharpness of her features. Her green eyes studied Victoria—not with condemnation, but with a calm, clinical gaze that seemed to peel back layers of fear and doubt. The faint traces of powdered herbs smudged her apron, a reminder of the patients she'd left behind to sit in this meeting.

Finally, in the center of it all sat Kaelen Marelyn.

His altar rose slightly higher than the others, though he did not sit on a chair. Cross-legged and still, Kaelen seemed more rooted than the tree itself. Vines wove around his legs and moss clung to the edges of his robes, marking the fifteen years he had sacrificed to bind his spirit to Erytha's heart. His body was frail, his ribs faintly visible beneath his robes, yet his skin glowed with a vibrancy that defied his brittle frame.

Kaelen's eyes remained closed, his breathing slow and deliberate. The faintest pulse of light flickered along the veins of the altar beneath him as though the tree itself answered his presence.

"The seer abilities of Lythera's line aren't meant to prevent disasters," said Ephraim finally, breaking the silence. "From what Victoria described, her vision predicted the ransacking of Erytha as inevitable."

"I agree with Bastien," said Helia nervously. "It took us 15 years to build up our economy after that horrible event with Kiren McCormick all off the reputation that our defenses were impenetrable. What will happen to that reputation after this next attack?" The words struck Victoria like a blade, though they weren't meant for her directly.

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"There may still be a chance to change the fate of this island," Neegul interjected, his voice steady but firm. "Victoria has identified a wild card by the name of Syan."

Bastien squinted his brow and asked, "What the hell is a wild card?"

Ephraim cleared his throat. "According to the documents of Lythera's family, a wild card is a person that can change the trajectory of a seer's vision."

"What do you mean by 'has the ability'?" Bastien asked.

Victoria answered this time, her voice low but confident. "It means they have the power to influence the vision—one way or another. But that doesn't mean they will. Syan might refuse to help us."

Neegul's jaw tightened. "But he's our best chance to keep Erytha safe."

"If he chooses to help us!" Victoria snapped, a hint of desperation bleeding into her voice.

"Either way," said Isolde gently, cutting through the rising tension, "it would be foolish not to speak with this Syan. I'm still new to how the protocols on Erytha work, but given our limited time, we need to take advantage of whatever opportunities we can get."

The room went quiet as all eyes rested on the motionless Kaelen. A slight tremor shook the room as if giving its approval, and the rest of the council nodded in agreement.

"Then it's agreed?" asked Isolde, ensuring no one objected. "While the council prepares for a nightfall attack, Neegul and Victoria will try to get Syan on our side since they know what he looks like."

One by one, the council members rose and departed, their gazes lingering briefly on Victoria before turning away. Bastien's disapproval was palpable; Helia's was tinged with pity.

Victoria and Neegul remained behind.

Victoria turned to her brother, her cheeks red with anger. "Why did you say that?"

"Say what?" he asked.

"I didn't tell you to bring up Syan in the conversation."

"Since when did I need your permission to speak my mind? Besides, you had clammed up and left Syan out of the conversion."

"I had to. You don't know the first thing about being a seer, so you have no right to tell me if I'm doing it wrong."

"And you do? You didn't even know Mom. You're just guessing like the rest of us."

"E—NOUGH!"

The voice of Kaelen tore through the room, low and distorted, like the groan of ancient wood. Both siblings fell silent, their hands flying to their ears as the sound reverberated through the sacred space. His gray eyes were open wide, staring unyieldingly at his children.

Kaelen's left iris was unlike any other—etched with branching patterns that resembled the roots of a great tree. This was supposedly the mark of a person who created their own spirit and, by extension, phantom relics. It would start as a glowing right or left eye and develop into a "symbol" that matched the spirit's form or power. Modern-day Sailing Spirits don't have these changed iris shapes since many of their phantom relics had been taken from others. It is assumed that those with such eyes are stronger than those without, but with few examples to test the idea, the claim remains a theory.

For Neegul, it was a chilling reminder of what his father had become after his mother's death—no longer the warm, welcoming man he remembered but a being shaped by grief and duty.

"That… enough," Kaelen had calmed down, but he sounded fatigued as if the outburst had drained him. His voice was like dry bark scratching against each other to create a poor imitation of human speech. The siblings knew he wasn't tired in the traditional sense, but they quelled their squabbling and stood respectfully in the presence of their father. "Victoria… why? Why did you… feel the need… to keep this… to yourself for… so long?”

Victoria blinked. "Because I wasn't sure. I imagine my mother as a confident woman who never questioned her vision. Wanted to be like that."

Neegul's eyes drifted to look at his sister. Her eyes were welling up with tears. He was four when his mother died, so he was just as clueless about how confident his mother was as a seer as his sister was. Even their father, who obviously knew their mother longer than them, wasn't keen on how the seer abilities work.

Victoria was alone; at least, that's how she felt. She was the island's crown jewel, Erytha's Seer, and that's all she wanted to be. However, there was no one to teach her how to be except the books left by her mother.

Kaelen sighed, the weight of the sound carrying years of exhaustion. "Victoria… You are not… to blame for what's coming. But we cannot… afford hesitation. You… and Neegul… must find Syan. Erytha cannot… fall."

Victoria nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Neegul, though tense, followed suit.

The fate of the island rested on the choices they would make next.