The chamber was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air smelled of old parchment, melted wax, and something less tangible—secrecy. They had gathered in silence, a shared understanding already passing between them as the heavy oak doors sealed shut. No guards. No scribes. No witnesses.
Tonight, they would not just discuss Nexar Kaspian.
Tonight, they would begin to destroy him.
The High Chancellor exhaled slowly, fingers steepled, his gaze shifting between the faces in the room. They were all waiting, watching. Some with masked impatience, others with silent calculation. No one spoke yet. The weight of what they were about to do settled in the space between them.
Finally, he spoke. "The king hesitates."
His voice was calm, but sharp. The words themselves weren't new—Hders had hesitated before—but this time was different. This time, hesitation was dangerous.
A councilwoman scoffed, shaking her head. "He is too sentimental. He believes Nexar still serves him."
"Perhaps," one of the others said, leaning back in his chair, fingers drumming against the wooden armrest. "But Nexar's magic has been… unstable."
There was a shift in the room. Small, but noticeable.
The High Chancellor tilted his head slightly. "Explain."
"There are whispers," the man continued. "His spells flicker. His energy wavers. It's faint, but noticeable. A misstep here. A delay there. Something is wrong with him."
A silence passed through the chamber, stretching long enough to feel uncomfortable.
Then, a slow smile crept onto the lips of the oldest council member, the one who had been silent the longest. "Then we must ensure it does not stop."
The others turned to him. His voice had been quiet, but there was an edge to it—something deliberate, something dangerous.
"But we cannot simply wait and hope his magic continues to unravel," another interjected. "He is strong. He could find a way to stabilize it before it becomes too dangerous."
The High Chancellor nodded once, then turned his gaze toward the hooded figure seated at the far end of the table. Unlike the others, this one had remained still, unmoving, uninterested in the debate. Until now.
The Chancellor spoke carefully. "Then we push him further."
A silence.
Then, a soft chuckle.
"You want me to break him?" the hooded figure murmured.
No one spoke.
The Chancellor leaned forward. "Can it be done?"
A pause.
Then, the hooded figure answered, voice calm. "It is already happening. His magic is like a dam with cracks forming. We merely need to… widen them."
"How?" someone asked.
Another smirk. "Simple. Magic is not just power—it is balance. We unbalance him."
They did not attack Nexar outright—that would be foolish. He would sense it. Fight back. No, their approach was subtler, built on patience and precision. Through whispered incantations woven into the castle walls. Through sigils carved into places he would never think to check. Through the disruption of leylines, drawing magic away from him in fragments, forcing it to surge at the worst moments.
He would feel it first as fatigue, then irregularity.
Spells flickering. Failing. Misfiring.
And when the moment was right—when his own doubt took root—his magic would collapse on itself.
And the world would see.
The effects began almost immediately. The energy flickered. Faltered. Then lashed out wildly, sending a sharp, uncontrolled blast across the room, shattering glass and splintering the wooden table beside him. He stepped back, breath heavy. Something was wrong.
But he did not yet know that it was by design.
Across the castle, the council reconvened, watching their plan unfold. They were careful, methodical. They did not meet often, but when they did, every word mattered. Every decision was measured.
"He will try to hide it," one of them mused, watching the flames dance in the center of the room.
"At first, yes," another agreed. "But magic like his—power like his—it does not go unnoticed."
Soon, others would see it. The king. The guards. The people.
They would fear him.
And when that fear took root—when the whispers turned into truth—
That is when we strike.
There was no rush. The best traps were the ones laid in silence, in the shadows, while the prey still believed itself free.
They had all seen what Nexar was capable of at his full strength. He was the Mage of the Cosmos, a title that carried both reverence and danger. If he had truly wanted the throne, if he had been an enemy, there would have been nothing left of Dastan but ashes and ruin. That was why Hders hesitated. That was why the king still clung to the idea that Nexar could be reasoned with.
That was why they had to act in his place.
As the meeting adjourned, the council dispersed into the castle's corridors. No one spoke as they left. There was no need.
The decision had been made.
By morning, the whispers would grow louder.
By nightfall, fear would consume the kingdom.
And soon—
Nexar Kaspian would fall.
Not by sword.
Not by trial.
But by the very magic he once commanded.
And the kingdom would watch it happen.