Every declaration, no matter how small, is the first spark of change.
Declaration
The apprentice's voice, firm yet slightly nervous, cut through the lingering tension in the room. "Everything is ready, Master Livius."
A nod from Livius signaled that it was time to proceed. He stepped forward, raising his hand to silence the murmurs that had begun to swell among the crowd. The council chamber, a blend of elegance and formality, seemed to shrink as everyone's attention fixed on the long, polished desk that ran down one side of the room.
I settled into my seat and I took a quick glance at Alex and Berti, who sat beside me. Alex was shifting slightly, his curiosity burning bright in his eyes, while Berti's expression was that mix of awe and tension.
Livius's voice rang out, clear and commanding. "Let's begin."
I leaned back and equipped my mask with a casual wave of my hand, my eyes flicking to the leaders seated around me. To my right were Mazen and Lil, their faces were unreadable. To my left, Valerus and Livius sat, both with a presence that could fill a room. At the end of the table, Violan's dazzling smile was still in place. Olie's expression shifted from impatience to barely-contained irritation, while Edie's eyes, watched everything with a calculated calm.
Alex gave a quick nod before slipping on his own mask. I glanced at Berti, who was holding his bone mask like it was an object of ancient curse.
"Need some help?" Alex asked, his voice laced with a kind of exasperated amusement.
Berti shot him a desperate look, the kind you'd see on someone who's just realized their favorite book was missing the last chapter. "It won't stick! It's like it's got a mind of its own," he muttered.
I couldn't help but chuckle. "It's not going to bite you, Berti. Try pressing it on with more conviction."
Alex's expression faltered as he pushed the bone mask onto Berti's face. The mask wobbled, resisting with the tenacity of a cat that didn't want to be bathed. With an exasperated sigh, Alex pulled back.
"Berti," Alex said, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, "your magic... it's rejecting the mask."
Berti looked sheepish, his eyes darting around the room. "I guess it doesn't like it. Maybe it's too... constricting?"
I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath, "Some rubber band should have been included with that mask, just for Bert." I waved my hand toward the mask. "Des even drilled two holes in it for a reason."
"Oh." Alex let out a small laugh and glanced at the mask. "I'll go see if one of the apprentices has some string or something," he said, standing up and giving Berti a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
Lil's lips were twitching with suppressed amusement, and Violan, for once, was smirking, eyes glinting with mischief. Even Edie looked like he was holding back a smile, and Mazen—poor Mazen—had resumed massaging the bridge of his nose, as if seeking some semblance of sanity in the chaos.
Alex soon returned with a scrap of black ribbon, and after a few more attempts, Berti's mask was secured, held in place with a makeshift tie. Berti's smile was triumphant, if a bit lopsided, as he adjusted the mask, fingers brushing over the drilled holes with a hint of regret.
"Better?" I asked, amusement dancing in my voice.
"Much," Berti said, now looking every bit the part, even if the mask was slightly askew.
Livius cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention like a conductor preparing the orchestra. His voice rang out again. "Let us begin."
The air seemed to crackle with energy as the apprentices flitted into their final positions. Across the long, polished desk, an apprentice stood by, holding an artifact that looked like a blend between an ancient camera and an enchanted object. Its metallic surface shimmered, and faint runes glowed on its side as the lens focused and hummed softly, ready to capture what would come next.
"Welcome," Livius began, his voice a calm anchor in the sea of noise. "To all gathered here, and watching from afar, this declaration will set the course of our next chapter."
The camera clicked and whirred as if it too was leaning forward in anticipation.
"Not long ago, we faced the greatest threat our community has known in decades—the Time Mage, whose power threatened to unravel the very fabric of our existence. This was not a battle fought by any one side, but by mages of all affiliations—white, dark, and even those who dwell in the spaces between. It was a testament to our unity, a reminder that when faced with true peril, our divisions become irrelevant."
Livius took a deep breath, the solemnity of his expression settling into a kind of reverence. His eyes glued to the artifact, his voice dropped to a tone that carried the weight of history. "In the battle against the Time Mage," he said, pausing as if choosing the right words, "it was not just the strength of individual mages that won the day but the unity of our efforts. The mages present played an integral role in forming the spatial isolation spell that prevented the Time Mage from escaping. It was a feat of coordination and power, one that required the combined efforts of our greatest minds."
Livius's tone shifted, his posture growing more authoritative as he moved on. "As we look to form a more unified magical community, I understand that the contributions of all sides must be recognized. The dark mages and the neutrals have, without a doubt, played crucial roles in the battle against the Time Mage."
I could see the subtle tightening of Mazen's jaw, a glint of something unspoken in his eyes.
Livius continued, "To that end, I am proposing a series of measures that will grant certain benefits to these groups. Dark mages will be permitted to operate freely, without the constant threat of undue persecution. They will be allowed to contribute to the magical development of our world, assisting with projects that further our understanding and collective power."
The apprentices shifted in their seats, eyes flicking between the dark mages and Livius. He turned his gaze to the side where the grey mages sat, Violan's smile still in place but clearly rigid. "And for the neutrals," Livius said, his voice taking on a slightly warmer note, "there will be trade privileges and opportunities for independent research and partnerships. A recognition of their importance and contribution, without requiring them to abandon their position."
I felt the tension in the room. Livius's offer, while generous on the surface, was strategic in a way that would keep the balance of power skewed in favor of the white mages. There were no significant changes in leadership or political influence in his proposal, just the subtle acknowledgment of a role that would not disturb the status quo.
Mazen let out a sigh that spoke volumes. It was a carefully controlled, slow exhale, a sound of resignation mixed with frustration. Violan's smile had become tighter, his expression sharpening with a calculated edge.
Mazen stood and spoke with a voice that was steady and clear as if every word had been chosen for maximum impact. "We, the dark mages, played our part in the battle against the Time Mage, as you well know. It was our power, our resources, that helped shift the tide. But we did not do this to be silenced or to fade back into the shadows once the fight was over." He let the silence stretch, daring anyone to interrupt him. "We want a say. A voice in the decisions that shape the future of our world, the same as the white mages."
The apprentices paused in their work. The young mage holding the artifact that resembled a camera shifted nervously, the mechanical lens seeming almost too bright under the sudden weight of the moment.
Livius's gaze locked onto Mazen's, sharp as the edge of a blade, the muscles in his jaw tightening. For a split second, he looked as if he were about to respond, but the words stalled, caught between his teeth. He blinked, then inhaled, exhaling slowly as if trying to dispel the heat building in his chest.
"It's not that simple," Livius said, his voice low and controlled, his words more a warning than a reassurance. "The magical community is built on a delicate balance. Allowing the dark mages to voice their influence politically—it could tip that balance into chaos."
Mazen tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "And leaving it as it is will only lead to more secrets, more divisions. We seek nothing but transparency and equality. Nothing more."
Violan's smile turned into something more intense, his voice smooth yet laced with a challenge. "If we're talking about transparency and equality," he said, leaning forward, his eyes glinting with the thrill of the moment, "then the grey mages stand with the dark in seeking a voice in the future of this community."
Livius's brows furrowed as he scanned the room, taking in the gravity of Violan's declaration. The apprentices, already uneasy, exchanged glances that spoke volumes, and Valerus's expression shifted, eyes narrowing with a sharp, calculating edge.
"Lord Violan," Livius said, voice strained, "this is not a request that can be met lightly."
Violan's smile widened, almost playfully. "And yet it is a request that must be made. The grey mages have always been the ones who tread between light and shadow. It is only fair that we, too, have a part in shaping what comes next."
Livius's voice, when it came, was strained, forced through the barrier of his growing frustration. "I will consider your words, but I can offer no promises."
Mazen's lips twitched as if to withhold a disgusted sneer, while Violan shrugged with a grace that suggested he was already prepared for whatever outcome would follow.
"Before we proceed further," I said, voice clear and cutting through the low hum of the room, "let's not forget the truth of what led us here. Violan was the one who contributed one-third of the spatial isolation spell that protected us all. Without his efforts, the battle would have been lost before it even began."
Violan's lips curled into a smile, one that was both sly and triumphant. His eyes danced as if daring anyone to argue against my words.
"And," I continued, "the lust mages, who have long been wrongfully marginalized within this community, have faced centuries of prejudice that was never righted. That, too, is a fact we can't ignore any longer. As a neutral king, I offer my full support to the neutral mages and their right to a seat at the table."
I took a breath, letting it hang in the silence before adding, "And to be perfectly clear, Violan is my ally."
The air felt electric, charged with the implications of those words. Livius's brows knitted tighter, his hands clenching subtly. I let the room settle into the tension of my last statement before continuing, my voice slicing through the anticipation.
"As for the dark mages," I said, meeting Livius's eyes once more, his frustration flickering like the spark of a dying flame, "Mazen is my subject. His loyalty and strength are my precious assets, and as long as that remains true, he will have my unwavering support."
The weight of my words was pushing forward like a tide. But I was not done. Not yet.
"If Mazen wishes for a say in the matters of the magical community," I continued, pausing for emphasis, "then the Hueless King will be his voice."
I glanced at Mazen, whose expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a faint light in his eyes, something deeper than indifference. Violan leaned forward, the smirk on his face now a little more brilliant, and Olie snorted, a sound that broke the charged silence like a spark meeting dry tinder.
Livius took a deep breath, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he fought to maintain composure. His voice, when he spoke, was calm but carried the undercurrent of tension.
"Hueless King," he began, his eyes fixed on mine, searching, pleading for understanding. "This is not a matter of personal loyalties or individual power. This is about unity, balance—"
"And the illusion of it," I cut him off, my voice cold, sharp enough to make the room flinch. "Unity, Sorcerer Lord, is not achieved by silencing the voices that have been calling out for centuries. By pushing people into corners and demanding they accept what little you choose to give them."
Livius's expression tightened, the pale skin of his face drawn taut. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, his words faltering, unsure. "I understand the desire for change, but this isn't the way to do it. We need to work together, not fracture what little stability we have left."
The room fell into a profound silence, the kind that spoke volumes in its weight. All eyes turned to me, the declaration hanging in the air like a challenge that could not be ignored.
"I'm founding a neutral power," I said, my voice steady, cutting through the tension. "Magic having 'colors' is bullshit anyway. It's a construct that keeps mages divided, a system that has forced them into narrow roles they never agreed to."
I shifted my gaze to Livius, whose face was a mask of astonishment. "I'm not a king bound by ancient constructs or traditions. I will not stand under a banner that marginalizes people because they don't fit within its boundaries." My eyes swept over the room, challenging anyone to disagree. "My allegiance lies with the individuals who prove their worth, with neutrals who fight not just for power but for something greater."
Livius's jaw clenched, and his fingers drummed on the armrest of his chair as if he were trying to keep his composure.
Violan's voice, light and daring, cut through the murmurs. "Well, I guess, I've always found the 'grey' label too boring anyway."
"Let the mages know," I continued, my voice steady, "that the Hueless King does not discriminate based on colors."
Livius straightened in his chair, his presence suddenly sharper, more commanding, as though he had been holding back until now. His gaze bore into mine, his calmness taking on a dangerous edge. "Hueless King," he said, his tone formal, yet laced with warning, "you might be a leader of men and monsters, but you do not rule over magic itself. Matters of the magical community are not yours to command."
The room tensed at his words, and even Violan's usual smirk faltered slightly. Alex shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between us, while Mazen's eyes narrowed, his unreadable expression giving away just the faintest flicker of interest.
I leaned forward, matching Livius's intensity, refusing to let him dictate the terms of this conversation. "No, Sorcerer Lord, I don't rule over magic. But I am a king with mages as subjects, allies, and enemies alike. Do you expect me to stand by while decisions are made that could destabilize my court, or worse, destroy the delicate balance you are talking about?"
Livius's fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair, his knuckles whitening. "Balance requires structure," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "And structure requires decisions made by those who understand magic's intricacies—"
"Structure requires inclusion," I interrupted, my voice a low, steady force. "Your council of six is outdated. It's a relic of a time when only a few voices were deemed worthy of deciding the fate of many. If you want unity, you expand that table."
It was Violan who broke the tension, his voice light and teasing but with an edge of truth. "Oh, don't look so grim, Sorcerer Lord. You've got a king offering you a chance to modernize. Isn't that what every progressive leader dreams of?"
Livius regarded me for a long moment.
Livius's gaze flickered to Violan, and for the first time, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're enjoying this far too much, Violan."
"Of course," Violan replied with a grin, leaning back lazily. "Why wouldn't I? Watching history unfold is a rare treat."
I turned back to Livius, my voice softening but losing none of its resolve. "You don't have to like my involvement, Livius. But you'd be wise to accept it. Because whether you acknowledge it or not, the era of isolated councils and exclusive decisions is over. The mages deserve better."
I could almost see the realization cross Livius's face, the flicker of disappointment quickly masked by his composed exterior. He had prepared his speech, his declarations, his grand vision for the future, expecting to shape the narrative. Livius had thought this would be his declaration, a way to solidify his authority, to remind everyone of his power and influence.
Violan raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his face as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Mazen, with that half-smile that spoke of knowing more than he let on, gave the tiniest nod.
I knew, deep down, that I had shifted the game. This time, it was my declaration that changed everything.