The Fury of Theron

The Council Chamber, carved deep into the coldest part of the Exile mountain stronghold, was a place of perpetual shadow and abrasive granite. It was not a place built for deliberation, but for dominance.
Theron, Lord Protector of the Exiles, stood at the head of the obsidian table, his face a mask of purple fury. He was gripping the chair-back so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. He had just heard the report from an ashamed Tyrus regarding the "incident" in the High Cave.
“Paralyzed? By a mere Guard?” Theron’s voice was a ragged snarl, ricocheting off the stone walls. “Kael did not draw steel. He did not shout a challenge. He simply… touched Jevan’s wrist, and the boy screamed like a broken child?”
Councillor Sarga, a thin, sharp-featured woman who oversaw the Exile mages, leaned forward, her eyes bright with professional interest. “The report states Kael used a nerve-strike technique that is unknown to our combat mages, Lord Protector. He poured a focused energy ripple—not fire, not frost—directly into the nerve center. It’s a precision of power we do not possess.”
Theron slammed his fist down. “Precision! It is an act of aggression! A clear, undeniable violation of the Treaty of Shared Sovereignty!”

The War of the Veins

Before Theron could summon a decree of retaliation, Councillor Verris—a portly man concerned only with profits—cleared his throat.
“With respect, Lord Protector,” Verris began, adjusting his heavy fur collar. “The violation is… debatable. The Treaty prohibits the use of Shadow Guard power against the Exiles' collective security. Kael used a non-lethal, momentary disabling strike to enforce a request for water for the children. Tyrus confirmed Jevan was obstructing the passage and denying basic provisions, a violation of the Treaty's humanitarian clause.”
“So we are the offenders?” Theron spat, glaring at Verris.
“No, we are not,” Verris corrected coolly. “But if we retaliate by invoking the Red Protocol—war—over a temporarily crippled wrist, we look like greedy tyrants to the Outer Holds. And more importantly, Lord Protector: we stop mining.”
The last three words were the true anchors of power in this chamber. Verris and his allies cared nothing for justice or honor; they cared only for the Cryos Shards currently being extracted. War meant the immediate cessation of all mining operations, which would halt their enormous profits.
“Verris sees the Queen’s move as a tax on profit,” Theron realized bitterly. “A small, annoying fee to continue our primary goal.”

Elara’s Calculated Deterrent

Sarga, however, saw the deeper threat. “The Queen knew this, Theron. She used Kael to establish a clear deterrent without costing herself the Treaty. She told us, without words, that the ten years of peace will come at a price. She has a fully operational Guard, and he will use that power to protect her. We can’t simply ignore him, or they will be running the perimeter within a year.”
“So what is your solution, Sarga?” Theron demanded, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Do we kill Kael and break the Treaty entirely?”
Sarga shook her head, a slow, cunning smile spreading across her lips. "No. We utilize the situation. This 'incident' justifies a hardening of the terms. We can increase the guard rotation, Theron. We can restrict their rations down to the very limit of the Treaty. We can use their own 'aggression' to tighten the noose."
“And,” Sarga continued, tapping a finger on the table, her suggestion laced with venom, “this incident is excellent justification for immediate access to the Crown’s suppression rites. We tell them that Kael’s volatility proves their methods are unstable. We demand the rites now, for the safety of our own Council mages, or we invoke the war protocol.”
A chill went through the chamber. This was the true endgame. Elara's plan was built on the premise that Theron would grow complacent for ten years. But Sarga, keen and ruthless, was using the violence to demand the accelerated delivery of the betrayal.
Theron looked at the table, his fury slowly transmuting into cold, political calculation. If the Queen refused to hand over the rites, the war was hers. If she agreed, she lost her ultimate leverage.
“It is done,” Theron finally declared, his voice low and dangerous. “Sarga, draft the demands. We will send a delegation to the High Cave at sunrise. The Queen has tested us. Now, we will test her mettle.”
He had fallen directly into the Queen's trap—not the initial one, but the secondary snare. Kael’s action had given Elara a powerful, immediate defense, but it had also forced her hand on the timing of her ultimate deception. She had to be prepared to receive the delegation and turn their accelerated demand into her own advantage.