The Great Hall was alive again with the soft hum of conversation, the clatter of plates, and the gentle ring of goblets meeting in toast. For weeks before the siege, the students had been confined to their dorms, living off dwindling rations. Even with Chef Gusteau's skill, there had been only so much he could do with scraps. Now, at last, the hall carried the nostalgic scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, steaming pastas and rice, carved chestnut, and sugared desserts. Gusteau had spared nothing in the days since the battle's end, and the students relished every bite. It was the dwarf's way of giving back some semblance of joy and normalcy to those who had endured months under the shadow of Norsefire and Lamar Burgess.
At least, most of them. At their usual spot, Godric and his friends dug into their supper. After the long memorial and a much-needed bath, he welcomed the weight of a hot meal. Helga had piled her plate into a veritable tower, her amber eyes gleaming with satisfaction, while Rowena pinched the bridge of her nose in quiet exasperation. Helena and Jeanne laughed softly at the familiar sight.
Godric twirled strands of pasta around his fork, his crimson eyes wandering over the thinning rows of tables. Each day since the lockdown had lifted, the hall had grown emptier. With the trains and airships running again, parents rushed to reclaim their children, and after all that had happened, Godric couldn't fault them. Not when some had come to collect caskets instead of warm bodies in coats. The thought lingered, heavy, and he exhaled, shoulders sinking as he forced himself back to his meal.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Salazar said, cutting through the din. Godric turned his gaze to him. "I expected an exodus, of course. But not in such numbers, and not so swiftly."
"Honestly, can you blame them?" Godric muttered, pushing his fork through the food on his plate. "Blimey, it's been nothing but chaos since we came back to Excalibur. One week we're worrying about essays and late homework, the next we're in the middle of a damned war." His eyes dropped. "I can't imagine what it's like for the parents. You leave your kid at the station, thinking you'll see them home for the holidays, and instead, you're handed a casket."
Godric's gaze shifted back to Salazar. "And not everyone's as… well, prepared as we are. Burgess, the Tower, Norsefire. They threw everything at us, and we met them blood, steel and bone. Not everyone's that fortunate." He let out a sharp breath, the weight of it lingering.
"Sadly, I must agree, dear friend," Salazar replied, swirling the drink in his goblet. "Truth be told, I wasn't entirely convinced I'd walk away breathing. But—" his lips curved into a thin smile "—I would be lying if I said I didn't savor every second of our beloved Sheriff's downfall."
"Oi, what're you two whispering about?" Helga cut in, cheeks puffed with food like a chipmunk. She swallowed hard, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and grinned. "You're not getting all broody and dark on us, are you?"
"Helga, by the sweet merciful Gods—manners," Rowena sighed, rolling her eyes as she helped herself to seafood pie. "Just because you've got Jötnar blood doesn't mean you have to eat like one."
"And how exactly would you know how Jötnar eat?" Helga shot back, raising a brow.
"I've read the Norse sagas," Rowena said primly, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Let's just say, Vikings weren't known for their table etiquette."
Helga tilted her head with a smirk. "Fair enough. You should see my Pop and brothers when they celebrate. Food and drink for days on end. And when Ma finally stops babying me, I'll drink them all under the table. You can count on it."
"Well, I think she's perfect as she is," Helena chimed in from beside Rowena, twirling a piece of steak on her fork before taking a bite. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste before a soft chuckle escaped her. "My mum always said a healthy girl needs a healthy appetite. Drove me mad, really. Every holiday she'd try to stuff me like a Yuletide turkey. Then I'd come back here and realize I couldn't squeeze into my uniform."
Her smile faltered, sorrow flickering in her eyes. "Now? Now I'd give anything just to taste her schnitzel again."
Across the table, Jeanne looked up from her half-eaten cod, lavender eyes soft with sympathy. The others shared the same quiet ache, the unspoken understanding settling over them like the rain outside.
"The term's almost over," Jeanne said gently. "Once things return to some kind of normal, we'll all get to go home. Back to our families." She glanced at Helena. "The Lord only knows how dearly I miss mine."
Helena set her fork down, the clink against her plate breaking the quiet hum of the hall. She drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. "My parents and I… we had a fight recently," she said at last. "They want me to leave Excalibur. And I refused."
The words struck like a blow. Eyes widened around the table. Salazar nearly dropped his goblet, his hand tightening to keep it from slipping.
"B-but they can't just—" Helga stammered, fumbling for words. "I mean, aye, things have been rough, but—"
"Surely they will reconsider," Rowena interjected, her brows furrowing. "This was a tragedy, yes, but it was also an unforeseen one. They must see that."
Helena shook her head, lifting her gaze, her amber eyes shining in the crystal light. "No. You've seen it as well as I have. Students leaving in droves, whole families pulling them out. My parents aren't angry at Headmaster Blaise, or the professors. They know they fought to protect us, and I think most parents believe that too."
Her voice trembled, though she held firm. "But whether it was Burgess' madness or Norsefire's treachery, it doesn't matter. They no longer see Caerleon as safe. And by extension… they no longer see Excalibur as safe either."
Helena lifted her gaze to the enchanted ceiling. The blackened clouds smothered the moonlight, casting the hall in gloom, before she lowered her eyes again. "If this continues. If more students keep leaving, I'm not sure Excalibur can survive. Perhaps not even Caerleon itself."
Salazar exhaled with an exaggerated groan, loud enough to draw every eye at the table. "My dear Helena," he began, tone dry as parchment, "I've long admired your wit, your meticulous mind, and above all, your no-nonsense approach to the world." He fixed her with a flat stare. "So pray, enlighten me, when did you become such a drama queen?"
Helena arched a brow, clearly affronted.
"Excalibur has stood for a thousand years, and it will stand for a thousand more," Salazar went on. "Do you truly imagine the foundations laid by the Five Heroes would crumble over what amounts to a temporary inconvenience?" He leaned back, smirking faintly. "Hell, I'd wager every last Plata I possess that both this school and this city have weathered calamities far worse than the delusions of a madman with pretensions of grandeur."
Helena rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious. By the stars, I'd forgotten how unbearably pointed you can be."
"I do try," Salazar replied smoothly, his smirk widening.
Her gaze narrowed into a glare. "And for your information, I'm perfectly aware of this school's history—its disasters, its wars, its so-called calamities. But even you must admit none of it compares to what we've endured here."
"Unfortunately, I'm inclined to agree with Helena," Rowena said, her tone cool. "Excalibur and Caerleon may weather this storm, but if the Academy continues to bleed its students…" She let the thought hang, heavy.
"By Fornac's gummy gumdrops…" Helga muttered, staring down at her plate uneasily. "I don't even want to imagine being forced out of Excalibur. Where would we even go? Scholomance? Arcanix? Rigarden?" She shuddered. "Not Wallace. Gods, no. After what Bastion said, I wouldn't last a week there." She bit nervously at a nail.
Salazar gave her a flat, posh stare. "Helga, I daresay Wallace wouldn't last a week with you."
A soft ripple of laughter circled the table before fading into quiet.
"Anyway," Godric said. "Whatever happens, whatever's ahead, I'm staying here. Excalibur's my home. It's where I found all of you… my friends. It's where I found Raine, the love of my life. And though she's gone…"
His eyes dimmed, the smile on his lips softening. "Even if she doesn't remember, I do. Every kiss, every hug, every smile. They happened here, within these walls. And most of all, this place gave me something I'd never had before, purpose. A reason worth fighting for." He looked around at them, crimson eyes earnest. "And I know you feel it too."
Smiles spread around the table, faint but genuine.
"And besides," Godric added, a grin tugging back onto his face, "the only way I'm walking out of these doors is with the Ignis Visionary cloak on my shoulders."
"Ambitious as ever, my dear lion cub," Salazar drawled, raising his goblet with a faint smirk. "I do wish you luck, though the heirs to the crown are hardly the sort to surrender their seats willingly."
Rowena leaned back in her chair, her sapphire eyes cool. "Like Godric, my sights remain fixed on my House's chair. Ventus. It is tradition, after all."
Salazar arched a brow, his smile turning sly. "Yes, rather like marrying one's siblings. Tradition all the same."
Rowena's scowl could have cut stone.
"Speaking of marriage…" Helga leaned to the side with a wicked grin aimed at Salazar. "Think Údar's going to move up the date? I mean, you nearly died. Nothing like a brush with death to make a girl hurry things along."
Salazar went rigid, color draining from his face. Helena arched a brow. "Údar? As in Údar Culaan, leader of the Hounds of Cú? What in the world does she have to do with anything?"
"Oh, didn't you know? Ole Sal here's bet—" Helga's words were smothered as Salazar lunged, clapping a hand firmly over her mouth. Her muffled protests buzzed against his palm.
"Absolutely nothing!" Salazar barked, a little too quickly. "Pay her no heed, poor girl's clearly delirious from all the sugar. I daresay that mountain of cake has finally rotted what little mind she has left!"
"Huh." Helena gave Salazar a flat, unblinking stare as he continued to sweat, her look promising he had a great deal of explaining to do later.
Godric, Rowena, and Jeanne broke into laughter at the display.
"You know," Jeanne said, still chuckling as she tried to steer them back on track, "something just occurred to me. We never did solve the puzzle, did we?"
All eyes turned to her.
"What puzzle?" Rowena asked.
"The outfits," Jeanne clarified. "The ones you all wore into battle. You said they just… appeared outside your doors."
Helga's eyes went wide. Then, without warning, she dragged her tongue across Salazar's hand.
"Argh!" He recoiled instantly, groaning in revulsion. "By Scáthach, Helga, you absolute animal!" He flung the drool from his fingers with a look of pure disgust.
"Gods, I nearly forgot about that!" Helga exclaimed, grinning wide.
"You're right, we never did figure that out," Godric said with a nod. "But blimey, that gear held up in the thick of it. Saved my hide more than once. I suppose I owe whoever left it for us an apology, since mine's nothing but cinders now."
Salazar eased back into his chair with a languid shrug. "On that, we are of one mind. My little soirée with the Sheriff might have ended quite badly without the extra padding."
Rowena lifted her teacup, sipping delicately before setting it back onto its saucer. "Perhaps our mysterious benefactor will finally reveal himself now that the dust has settled?"
"I certainly hope so," Helga said brightly, beaming. "Not only did it save our skins, it made us look incredible. And those emblems? Absolutely awesome!"
"I actually did some digging into the emblem etched on those outfits," Helena said. All eyes turned toward her. "It looked familiar to me, and I was right." She hesitated a moment. "At first, I didn't bring it up. It felt too far-fetched."
"Oh?" Jeanne leaned in, curiosity piqued. "What did you find?"
The others followed suit, leaning closer across the table.
Helena drew a slow breath. "I'm not saying I'm absolutely certain, but the mark resembled the crest of… Silvers Industries."
She braced for the reaction. For shock, surprise, anything. Instead, she was met with blank stares. Godric's brow furrowed, Salazar arched an eyebrow, Rowena and Jeanne exchanged puzzled looks, and Helga scratched her head in confusion.
"Oh, right. I forget most of you aren't from Avalon," Helena said, straightening. "Silvers Industries is one of the top three leaders in technological advancement. They're part of the Collective under the Atlas Institute. Their work spans everything. Automobiles, airships, home appliances, communicator orbs. And they're owned by the Silvers, a prominent therian family, with Taurus Silvers, the eldest son, at the helm."
"So… they're important, then?" Godric asked, still lost.
"Not just important, Godric." Helena's words sharpened with emphasis. "It isn't something they broadcast, but the Silvers have contributed heavily to military research. Soldiers, delvers, even the Authority of the Slavers' Guild use their designs. Their gear is expensive, highly specialized, and usually reserved for elite units or special task forces."
"And Taurus Silvers," Helena went on, "he's hailed as some sort of new-age genius. Took over Silvers Industries at just sixteen. Practically every new innovation they've produced since then has his name on it. I don't know much about magitech, but judging by the awards and accolades he's collected, he's… well, a big deal."
"Wait, sixteen?" Godric's eyes widened. "Blimey. And here we are still trying to brew a Calming Draught without blowing half the room to bits."
"Speak for yourself, Gryffindor," Salazar drawled with a smirk. "Only you could make a disaster out of something so elementary. Well… you and Helga, perhaps."
Helga promptly hurled a grape at his head, which he dodged with a chuckle.
"That aside," Rowena interjected, her tone thoughtful, "it still doesn't explain the uniforms. The Ravenclaws are well connected in Avalon, but we've never had dealings with the Silvers. And I doubt any of you have either." She glanced at the rest of the table.
"Perhaps…" Jeanne tilted her head. "Perhaps someone from the Silvers family is here. At Excalibur."
The table fell into silence, every one of them frozen by Jeanne's suggestion.
"Now that you mention it…" Helena tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I'm fairly certain I've heard of a student here with the name Silvers. First or second year, maybe. I can't say for certain. They've kept a remarkably low profile."
"Perhaps deliberately so," Rowena mused. "If they're connected to that family, keeping inconspicuous would be the simplest way to deflect attention."
Salazar folded his arms, his tone cool. "Even so, I find it difficult to believe Taurus Silvers would hand over equipment of that caliber in secret. Demonstrating it openly would be far more profitable than hiding it away. And dabbling with the Congregation?" He shook his head. "That would do little for their reputation."
Helga's eyes widened as the thought struck her. "You don't think…"
Godric leaned forward. "That there's another genius in the family?"
A hush lingered over the table, broken only by the scrape of silver on porcelain and the soft clink of goblets against wood. Around them, the mutter of other students filled the hall, a low backdrop to their thoughts.
"That… would make sense," Helena murmured at last.
"I'd say the same," Salazar added. "Perhaps someone eager to step out from a brother's shadow, and saw us as the perfect opportunity."
"Well, until we hear it from them directly, it's nothing but speculation," Rowena said, laying her hand flat on the table. "And for all we know, they may have already left Excalibur."
"Right," Helena nodded. "I'll ask around. They're not in Ignis, that much I'm certain of. I'll speak with the other Dorm Monitors. See if I can get a name."
"Thanks, Helena," Godric said with a small smile. "I'd like to thank them in person."
Salazar lifted his goblet. "Then let us set the dreariness aside. A toast—to us, to the future, and to living life on our own terms."
Godric raised his goblet in turn, smiling. "To us."
"To the future," Rowena echoed, her sapphire eyes steady.
"To more butterbeer and sweets!" Helga grinned, lifting hers high.
"To Excalibur," Helena and Jeanne said together.
The ring of silver goblets filled the air as they touched together and lowered them again. And in that fleeting moment, each of them knew: despite the shadows that had fallen over Excalibur, despite every attempt to break them, they had endured. They had prevailed. And whatever the future held, they would meet it—together. Without fear. Without hesitation.
****
From the towering wooden doors of the Great Hall, a figure lingered in shadow. A boy, no older than twelve, grinned, a single fang catching the crystal light. His slit-pupiled silver eyes fixed intently on the six friends gathered at the far table. Silver-furred lion ears twitched atop his head of long, pale hair, while a tufted lion's tail swayed lazily behind him, its tip dipped in black.
"Master Silvers," came a low, steady voice beside him. He turned slightly to the hulking therian at his side. A man over six feet tall, white shaggy hair falling to his shoulders, thick sideburns framing a face of iron composure. The crisp lines of a tuxedo strained against his broad frame, wolfen ears flicking as his tail shifted behind him. "The car is ready. And if I may be blunt, the sooner you're away from this place, the better."
"Oh, pish-posh, Wolfram, old boy. There's no need to rush." The boy waved a hand dismissively, smoothing the creases of his Aecor uniform with deliberate care. "I merely wished to take a moment—to watch the gears begin to turn for our dear friends." His silver eyes glinted with amusement. "You did as I asked, I trust?"
"Yes, Master Sil—" Wolfram began, only to be cut off.
"I told you, and I'll tell you a thousand more times, Master Silvers is my brother," the boy interjected sharply. "Call me Leo. All that etiquette makes me nauseous."
Wolfram gave him an unimpressed look, lips thinning. "Regardless, etiquette defines us. It separates us from—"
"What? Beasts?" Leo smirked, gesturing at himself.
"Precisely," Wolfram replied without hesitation. His amber eyes hardened. "We may be therians, Master Leo, but we are far from mere animals."
Leo's grin widened, fangs flashing as he tilted his head toward Wolfram. "Animals, you say? I think you give us far too much credit. Men, beasts, everyone likes to pretend there's some great gulf between the two, but I've seen plenty of 'civilized folk' with far sharper fangs than mine."
Leo's grin faded, his silver eyes hardening. "The most glaring example would be Lamar Burgess." He paused. "No doubt The Collective and the Institute is scrambling to sever ties with the old regime. I suppose my brother was wise not to throw in his lot with that mad dog."
"Believe it or not, Master Leo, your brother has an excellent judge of character," Wolfram replied evenly, his green eyes flicking toward the six friends at the table. "And I daresay… you do as well."
Leo shrugged, feigning indifference. "Perhaps. Though I might've learned it sooner if he spent more time at home instead of burying himself in that blasted lab. Ever since Father and Mother—"
"Enough," Wolfram cut in, calm but carrying a weight that left no room for argument. His expression hardened, the wolfen lines of his face etched in steel. "As Master of the House, I will not abide a single cross word against your brother. There is no finer lad in this nation, or any corner of Avalon."
Leo flinched, his lion's ears dipping at the sharpness of the rebuke.
Wolfram's gaze softened, the edge easing as he placed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "You were but a cub when we lost Lord and Lady Silvers. A cruel tragedy, one that might have unraveled everything your forefathers bled to build. If not for Master Taurus, there would be no House, no legacy."
He exhaled slowly, his eyes briefly distant. "Your brother walked these very halls. He too wore the tides of Aecor, and I daresay he might have claimed a Visionary cloak had he wished it. But he set aside that dream, for the company. For your House. And for you."
"You have a brilliant mind, Master Leo," Wolfram went on. "A talent that could one day rival even that of your brother. I've no doubt Master Taurus is counting the days until you take your rightful place at his side."
Leo scoffed, snapping his gaze away. "Then why chain me here at Excalibur?" His tail lashed once behind him. "I've more talent than half the half-wits in these halls combined. My mind was made for science, not spells. I was stripping and reassembling crystal cores before I turned eight. I built my first working airship at ten. Ten!"
"Because…" Wolfram's tone softened, though his green eyes held firm. "He wants you to live the life he never could. To walk the path he once dreamed of. To become the student, the Visionary he was forced to abandon. Perhaps even make a few lifelong friends along the way."
Leo faltered, the sharpness draining from his face. His lion's ears drooped, and for a moment his silver eyes lost their glint as he cast them downward, the weight of Wolfram's words pressing heavier than he cared to admit.
Wolfram turned his gaze to the six friends. "As a matter of fact, it's not too late to go over and say hello. I'm certain they'd welcome the gesture. And they'd surely wish to thank you for the replacements I left outside their doors. Even for Miss D'Arc."
Leo's sly smile returned, though not as sharp as before as he shook his head. "Perhaps… another time, Wolfram. This won't be the last they see of me. Besides, Miss Abbot would most likely uncover my identity in due time." With that, he slipped his hands into his pockets and strode past the towering therian, tail swaying lazily behind him. "Now, come along. The humidity here is atrocious. It's making my fur unbearably soggy."
Wolfram exhaled, a quiet note of disapproval, before turning on his heel to follow. "At once, Master Leo."
****
As Leo and Wolfram disappeared from view, the Great Hall's chatter carried on, oblivious. Yet at their table, Godric suddenly stiffened, a prickle racing down his spine. His crimson eyes flicked toward the doors, narrowing.
"Something wrong?" Helena asked, setting down her fork.
Godric hesitated, gaze lingering on the empty archway. "I don't know," he muttered. "Felt like… someone was watching us."
Rowena's sapphire eyes followed his, sharp and searching, though she saw nothing but shadows spilling across the stone floor. "Paranoia, perhaps," she said quietly, though there was no certainty in her tone.
Salazar leaned back in his chair, swirling the drink in his goblet, a faint smirk on his lips. "Or perhaps not. One should never discount unseen eyes in this school. Particularly ones clever enough to hide in plain sight."
Helga shifted uneasily, her hand tightening around her goblet. Jeanne's expression softened, though her lavender eyes betrayed the same unease. For a moment, the group fell silent. The clamor of cutlery and laughter all around them felt oddly distant, like noise muffled behind glass.
Then Godric exhaled sharply, forcing a smile as he pushed his plate forward. "Whatever it is, if someone is watching… let them. We'll be ready."
"By the way," Helena said, steering the conversation elsewhere. "We never did finish talking about the madness during the siege." Her brown eyes shifted toward Godric. "Salazar said he was locked in a duel with the Sheriff."
She turned then to Helga. "And you, Helga, floored that brute, Barton Geddes. I can't say for certain it was him, but I did see the Tower hauling some giant off in huge chains."
"Well, was he ten feet tall, brown hair, built like a battering ram, and looked as if he'd just had the absolute snot beaten out of him by a girl half his size?" Helga asked with a wide grin.
Helena smirked faintly. "Maybe?"
"Then yup, that's him," Helga said. The grin faltered, softening into something quieter. "I won't lie. The man could throw a punch. Almost did me in. But it wasn't his fists that left the mark. It was his story. His past." She hesitated. "If I hadn't had you lot at my side, I think I'd have ended up in those chains instead of him."
"Helga, don't sell yourself short," Rowena said firmly. "You'd never have become like him. Not ever."
"I know…" Helga exhaled, shoulders sagging. "Still, I wish there was something I could've done. Maybe if I'd met him sooner. Been his friend. He might've turned out differently."
Salazar folded his arms. "We cannot live by what-ifs, Helga. We are defined by the choices we make, not the chances we missed. Would Barton Geddes have been a different man if you had been there to offer kindness? Possibly. But so too would the countless wretches rotting away in Revel's End, if only someone had played the saint for them." His emerald eyes narrowed. "Their sins are their own. Their guilt, their burden. Not yours."
Helga offered a soft smile. "I suppose you're right, Sal."
"But there's one tale I'm more curious about." Salazar's gaze slid to Godric, a knowing glint in his eye. "Our dear lion cub… and the Sword of Damocles."
All eyes turned toward Godric. He exhaled slowly, nodding. "As I told you before, it was surreal. From the moment the pact was sealed to the final clash with Burgess."
His gaze fell to his open palm, flexing as if he could still feel the weight of it there. "The power coursing through me, it was like I was untouchable. Invincible. I pushed Vis Vitalis to its limit. I could swear I felt my muscles tear, my bones shatter with every strike, only for them to knit back together in an instant, as if nothing had happened."
The others leaned in, listening closely.
"And the sword…" Godric's eyes narrowed. "It becomes what its wielder wills it to be. In Asriel's hands, it was a claymore. But when I held it, it shaped itself into a longsword. Familiar, yet… overwhelming. As if every scream, every ounce of anger, sorrow, and grief in the world had been hammered into its steel. The moment I gripped it…" His crimson eyes darkened. "All I wanted. All I needed, was Burgess lying dead at my feet."
Jeanne shifted uneasily, her lavender eyes fixed on him. "Didn't you say Nemesis made a wager? That if you'd surrendered to it, you'd have been claimed, just as Asriel was?" Her voice tightened. "What a vile deity. A twisted wager."
"Yes," Godric admitted, running a hand through his hair before letting out a breath. "But I don't think it was born entirely from malice. Not really." He looked up at them, his expression heavy. "I had the sense Nemesis wanted to believe. Needed to believe. That something greater than vengeance exists. That this power could be wielded for more than death and ruin. And in that void, when I saw the faces of all who came before…"
He clenched his fist, raising his gaze to meet theirs. "I think even Damocles himself longed for another way. And now—" his tone steadied, "there is."
"By the way," Helena said, brow raised. "Any idea where the sword is now?"
"Last I heard, the Tower secured it," Rowena replied. "And if their protocols still hold, it will be surrendered to the Wandering Sea, locked away in the Library of Alexandria."
"In all honesty," Helga muttered, "a thing like that belongs in a crate, shoved into some dark warehouse, and forgotten forever."
"I'd say that's sensible… and yet, tragic." Salazar's words drew their attention. He leaned back, emerald eyes narrowing. "That blade exists for one purpose—to grant the wronged the retribution they are owed. Without it, Asriel and his fellowship would never have punished those who deserved it. The Tower's rot would have remained hidden. Burgess would never have been unmasked."
"And with Nemesis' power sealed away, what, pray tell, is to stop the next Burgess from rising unchecked? What is left to those powerless, crushed beneath the weight of tyrants and their influence?"
"They do what we all must, Salazar," Rowena said firmly. "They turn to the system. To the sanctity of the law and the will of the righteous."
Salazar rolled his eyes. "Please, spare me. Not even you still believe in that drivel. Not after your dearly disgraced former uncle turned the system into his personal stage."
"You're right." Rowena's jaw tightened. "It is hypocritical of me, given what's happened. But admitting it's broken, that's the first step in repairing it. The Tower and the law it once stood for may be in ruins, but they can be rebuilt. They must be rebuilt." Her sapphire gaze hardened. "Besides, Asriel had a code. What if the next wielder of that sword had none? What if they became worse than the monsters they sought to punish?"
She looked around the table, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "Call me naïve if you wish. Most people do, but justice must remain both a scale and a sword. Not one or the other. There will always be another Lamar Burgess. Another tyrant. Another lunatic loosed upon the world. But we choose who we become, and unlike them, we must be better."
"I agree with Rowena," Jeanne said. "To dream of a world without wickedness is a fool's hope, but we still have to try. For Asriel. For the ones we've lost. For all those who've been crushed or broken by the powerful." She clasped her hands together on the table, her lavender eyes shining. "We owe it to them. Every last one."
Silence settled over the group. Then, one by one, their gazes met. Godric, Salazar, Rowena, Helga, Helena. No words were needed. They all gave a single nod, Jeanne's conviction binding them in quiet agreement.
Then a faint vibration broke the stillness, drawing their attention to Rowena. Her sapphire eyes widened as she slipped a hand into her pocket and withdrew a communicator orb. At her touch, it floated into the air, casting a pale emerald glow as a screen of light shimmered before her.
Rowena's gaze scanned the message. Her face hardened, sapphire eyes narrowing as the screen winked out and the orb settled back into her palm. She drew in a steadying breath, then lifted her eyes to the others.
"That was from Bran," she said. "Burgess' trial and sentencing is will be at the Palace of Justice in Camelot, three days from now. And I intend to be there."
A heavy silence fell. Helga's grip clenched so tightly around her fork it nearly bent in her hand. Jeanne's lips pressed thin. Salazar's smirk was gone, his gaze like stone. Godric looked from one to the other, his crimson eyes burning with the same resolve.
"Then we're coming too," he said firmly.
No more words were needed. They each gave a single nod, united in grim silence.
****
Across Avalon, the message flashed bright and merciless. Communicator orbs vibrated in mid-air, casting their emerald light as Guardians, Aurors, and Tower personnel read the words etched upon their holographic screens. And with every face, the reaction was the same. The jaw set, the teeth clenched, the eyes darkened. Anger. Resentment. Hatred. For the man who had cost them everything. For the monster who had jeopardized their lives, their careers, the very dreams they once swore to uphold beneath the Tower's emblem. An emblem once worn with pride. Now with shame.
In Camelot, Frank deactivated his orb, his mustache twitching as his gaze lifted skyward toward the bruised clouds above. His thoughts drifted to Wilhelm, and how the old man might have met this day, had he lived to see it.
At a lonely diner, Langston sat with fingers steepled, elbows pressed to the scarred table. A single cup of black coffee cooled before him, steam curling into the dim light as his eyes stayed fixed on nothing at all.
Within the Citadel, Roland stood behind his desk, staring out at the Crown City as its lights flared to life against the gathering dark. His reflection in the glass stared back at him. Expression tight, unreadable.
And in Caerleon, Bastion closed his fist around the glowing orb until his knuckles whitened, the weight of it sinking into his chest. With a heavy breath, he slid it back into his coat pocket.
"And so it begins, old man," he muttered under his breath. His mismatched eyes hardened, a shadow crossing his face. "The final act."