The great hall of the Vale Council stands at the heart of Aldervale, its high stone walls adorned with banners and tapestries that tell the long history of the Fae and their dominion over the surrounding forests. Elorin and Rhylen step through the heavy wooden doors, their boots echoing on the polished floor as they make their way inside. Despite the grandeur, the air is thick with tension—a tension that has only grown in recent days as rumors of dark magic swirl among the villagers.

Lyara leads them through the hall, her steps quick and determined. She exchanges a few words with one of the guards standing by the door to the council chambers before turning to them with a sharp nod.

"The Council is ready to hear what you have to say," she says, her voice low. "But be careful. They're cautious—especially when it comes to matters of ancient magic. They won't act without undeniable proof."

Elorin swallows, her fingers brushing over the satchel at her side where the relic rests. She can feel its faint pulse, a steady reminder of the power it holds and the burden it carries. There is no turning back now.

"We understand," Rhylen says, his voice steady. "We'll show them what they need to see."

With that, Lyara pushes open the doors to the council chamber, and they step inside.

The chamber is vast, with a circular stone table at its center where five council members are seated. They are older, their faces lined with age and wisdom, each one watching Elorin and Rhylen with cautious eyes. At the head of the table sits Councilor Arlen, the eldest and most respected member, his silver hair gleaming in the light of the torches that line the walls.

"Elorin of the Aldervale," Arlen says, his voice deep and authoritative. "And Rhylen of the Ironhold. You come before us with grave news, I'm told."

Elorin steps forward, her heart pounding. She's faced dark magic, Varkos, and the dangers of the relic, but there's something about standing before the Council that makes her feel small, uncertain. But she steels herself, reminding herself of why they're here.

"We do," Elorin says, her voice firm. "The door between worlds has been opened—and sealed again. But the forces that sought to open it are still out there. We barely managed to stop Varkos, but he isn't gone. He'll return, and when he does, he'll be stronger."

A murmur ripples through the council members, but Arlen raises a hand, silencing them. His sharp eyes bore into Elorin, and she forces herself to hold his gaze.

"You speak of the door between worlds," Arlen says slowly, his voice heavy with disbelief. "A door that has remained closed for centuries, its very existence fading into legend. And yet you claim to have faced it?"

Elorin nods, glancing at Rhylen for support. He steps forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he addresses the council.

"We don't claim it," Rhylen says, his voice calm but resolute. "We've seen it. The crack in the earth, the dark energy pouring from it, the shadows Varkos unleashed—everything points to the door. It's real, and it nearly destroyed the Aldervale."

Councilor Maelis, a tall Fae woman with piercing blue eyes, leans forward. "And this Varkos? Who is he?"

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"A sorcerer," Elorin explains. "One who seeks the power beyond the door for his own gain. He's been after the relic—this relic." She reaches into her satchel and pulls out the relic, holding it up for the council to see.

The room falls silent as the council members lean forward, their eyes fixed on the glowing symbols etched into the surface of the relic. The golden light flickers faintly, casting long shadows across the chamber. Elorin feels its power hum in her hand, but she forces herself to remain calm, focused.

"This relic," she continues, "is the key to opening—and closing—the door. It's tied to the ancient magic that binds our world and the one beyond. We used it to seal the door, but it requires a sacrifice. A blood sacrifice."

Councilor Tormek, a gruff, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, frowns deeply. "A blood sacrifice? You mean someone's life?"

Elorin nods. "Yes. The relic demanded mine, but… something happened. It gave my life back. I don't fully understand it yet, but I know this relic holds immense power. Power that Varkos seeks to control."

Another murmur passes through the council, this time louder, filled with uncertainty. Arlen raises his hand again, silencing them once more.

"You're asking us to believe that not only is the door between worlds real, but that you have sealed it using this relic, and that this sorcerer—this Varkos—still seeks to use it for his own ends," Arlen says, his tone measured but skeptical. "These are extraordinary claims, Elorin."

"They are," Rhylen says, stepping forward, "but they're true. The Vale Council may have kept its distance from the Ironhold, but we've seen this kind of power before. Ancient relics, old magic—there are forces at work in this world that even the scholars of Lorithas feared."

Councilor Maelis exchanges a glance with Arlen, her expression conflicted. "Even if what you say is true, the relic's power is dangerous. If it requires a life to close the door, it's a weapon—one that could be used for destruction just as easily as protection."

Elorin's heart sinks. She knew this would be difficult, but the Council's hesitation is more troubling than she'd anticipated.

"We don't intend to use it as a weapon," Elorin says quickly. "The relic's power is tied to intention. It can be used for good—for balance. But if it falls into the wrong hands, it could destroy everything."

Councilor Tormek leans back in his chair, his arms crossed. "And you expect us to take action? To send the Vale's forces into battle against this Varkos, based on the word of two travelers and an ancient artifact?"

Elorin's pulse quickens, and she feels the tension rising. The Council is wavering, their trust in her story hanging by a thread.

Before she can respond, Arlen speaks again, his voice calm but firm. "We do not question your bravery, Elorin, nor yours, Rhylen. But the Vale cannot be thrown into chaos based on ancient prophecies and relics. We need proof—concrete evidence of the threat that Varkos poses."

Elorin's heart sinks. She expected resistance, but she hadn't anticipated that the Council would refuse to act. The door is closed for now, but Varkos is out there, and every moment they delay gives him more time to prepare.

"We don't have time for proof," Rhylen snaps, his voice tight with frustration. "Varkos is out there, and if he finds another way to open the door—"

"Enough," Arlen says, cutting him off. His tone is sharp, leaving no room for argument. "You have brought us a warning, and for that, we are grateful. But the Council will deliberate on this matter. Until then, I suggest you rest and prepare yourselves for whatever may come."

Elorin clenches her fists, her frustration boiling beneath the surface. They've done everything they could—fought, bled, and sacrificed to save their world—and still, the Council hesitates.

"Arlen," she says, her voice low but insistent, "you can't ignore this. If we don't act, the world will fall to Varkos and the power beyond that door."

The Council remains silent, their expressions unreadable.

"Thank you, Elorin," Arlen says, his voice soft but final. "You will be informed of our decision soon."

With that, the doors to the chamber open, signaling the end of their audience.

Elorin and Rhylen exchange a glance, their unspoken frustration clear between them. They've done all they can—for now.

But as they turn to leave the council chamber, Elorin can't shake the feeling that time is slipping away, and the longer they wait, the closer Varkos comes to his goal.