home

search

46: The Ivory Tribunal

  **The Hall of Whispers** The *Sanctum of Dawn* stood suspended among the clouds, its abaster spires piercing the heavens like the ribs of a long-dead titan. The air here was thin, sterile—scrubbed clean of earthly odors by the altitude and the ever-present hum of purification arrays.

  Youhang stepped onto the central dais, his boots sinking slightly into the plush white carpet that muffled all sound. Before him, arranged in a crescent of obsidian thrones, sat the seven *Luminarchs*—their faces obscured by the deliberate py of light and shadow. The only illumination came from the colossal oculus above, its shifting clouds casting a spotlight that made Youhang feel like an actor in some celestial courtroom drama.

  At the center, Elder Nan—cd in silk so white it seemed to glow—stroked his beard with fingers like gnarled roots. "Where is that insolent brat Guann?" His voice was the crack of ice over a frozen ke. "An attack on *Arkate*, and he can't be bothered to report?"

  Youhang kept his gaze lowered, the back of his neck prickling. "Elder Nan, with respect, Guann was on a *Recmation Mission*. Communications were—"

  "*Excuses!*" The old man's fist came down on his armrest, sending a tremor through the floor. "If we weren't hemorrhaging capable hands, I'd have him stripped of rank!"

  A murmur rippled through the shadowed figures. Then, from Nan's right, a voice like wind chimes cut through the tension:

  "Still... this *Qin Hong* intrigues me."

  Youhang dared a gnce. *Elder Lian*—her hair a waterfall of moonlit silver—leaned forward, revealing a face untouched by time. Smooth cheeks, lips like rose petals, eyes that held the cruel curiosity of a child dissecting insects. The dissonance made his stomach lurch.

  "To survive Dick’s self-destruction?" She giggled. "I’d love to *study* him."

  Youhang swallowed bile and stared at his boots. The debate above him unfolded in hissed sylbles and weighted pauses, the Luminarchs' silhouettes shifting like specters. Finally, Nan spoke again:

  "Mobilize all avaible officers from Arkate, Feron, and *Vennos*. Double fruit collection quotas." A pause. "And tell Guann to reactivate the transit conduits between Arkate and Vennos."

  Youhang's head snapped up. "But—"

  "*But what?!*" Spittle flew from Nan's lips. "Does he pn to nurse that grudge until we're all dust?! Go!"

  #### **The Weight of Shadows** Outside, the *Pza of Dawn* stretched endlessly—a chessboard of white marble tiles leading to a fleet of levitating skiffs. Youhang slumped into his assigned vessel, its leather seats sighing under his weight.

  "Rough session, sir?" The pilot—a junior adept with nervous eyes—handed him a vial of amber liquid. *Stress tonic.*

  "Young man," Youhang sighed, downing the bitter draught, "do you know what happens when immortals get bored?" He gestured to the floating citadel receding behind them. "They invent *problems*."

  The skiff banked, revealing Vennos below—a geometric nightmare of identical white buildings, their symmetry broken only by the central *Sanctuary* and its four satellite temples. "Gods, this pce is depressing. Nine thousand tiles east, nine thousand west, and not a single *color*."

  #### **The Lesson of Blood** Meanwhile, at Vennos HQ, Guann stood before the new recruits, the afternoon sun painting his silhouette long and lean against the training grounds. Behind him, the vil’s windows gred like accusing eyes.

  "The attack on Arkate," he began, "cimed many lives. Among them—Friet, a rookie like yourselves." His gaze swept over them, lingering on Qin Hong (now sporting Sisi’s oversized sungsses, his repaired eyes still weeping in the light). "If you wish to avoid his fate, find your resolve *now*."

  A snort cut through the silence. "Honestly?" *Ilen*—lounging against a pilr—flipped a dagger between his fingers. "Friet was an idiot. Charged in like a bull. No strategy, no *self-preservation*."

  The air turned to gss.

  Then, from the back row, *Tiffany*’s voice dripped honeyed venom: "Funny. I recall him shielding *you* from the bst."

  Ilen’s face purpled. "I *never* asked—"

  "*Enough.*" Guann’s voice didn’t rise, but the ground beneath them seemed to tremble. He turned to Ilen with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Your perspective is... *valuable*. If you all think like Ilen, mourning fallen comrades will be easier." A pause. "Of course, that requires having comrades *worth* mourning."

  Ilen’s jaw clenched. Qin Hong adjusted his gsses, the lenses hiding eyes that had seen too much.

  "*Sensei!*" *Merkel*—eager as a puppy—bounced on his toes. "What training awaits us? Can we join your division after a year?"

  Guann chuckled. "If you’re alive in a year... *ask me then*."

  The blood drained from twenty faces—all except Qin Hong’s. His fingers brushed the fresh scar where his right eye had been. *Death was an old acquaintance.*

Recommended Popular Novels