Trinity of Magic

The chamber hummed with nervous energy, a dozen conversations overlapping like waves breaking against stone. Zeke arrived precisely fifteen minutes before the appointed hour—neither fashionably late nor desperately early.

Half the Lords had already gathered, clustered in their usual factions like iron filings around magnets. The pro-Empire contingent huddled near the eastern alcove, their voices pitched low but urgent. The neutrals occupied the center, as always, while his nominal allies from the anti-Empire faction held court near the great windows overlooking the city.

Zeke chose a seat apart from them all, settling into the same chair he'd claimed last time, close to the spot he had been standing during his hearing. The irony wasn't lost on him—a few months ago, he'd stood before this very council as a petitioner. Now he sat among them as an equal.

Or so they pretended.