The Hall of Concord had never felt so alive.
Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, touching rows of scholars dressed in muted colours, their faces filled with anticipation rather than fear. For a moment, it felt as though wisdom itself had returned to its rightful place.
Kim Soo-min paused at the entrance and smiled faintly.
"Even divided minds," she said softly, "still come together when truth calls."
Shino, walking beside her, allowed himself a rare, almost amused glance around the hall.
"Truth has a habit of inviting everyone," he replied. "Even those who are afraid of it."
The debate opened with courtesy.
Ideas flowed freely—ancient philosophies discussed with fresh interpretations, disagreements expressed with respect rather than hostility. The crowd listened closely, nodding, reflecting. It was the kind of exchange scholars dreamed of.
For a brief while, hope felt real.
A young philosopher stood and said with conviction,
"Knowledge does not weaken society. It strengthens it by teaching us how to think, not what to think."
Soft applause followed.
Kim Soo-min spoke next, her voice calm and confident.
"Wisdom grows when it is shared," she said. "And a society that trusts its people to think is a society that never truly falls."
The hall warmed to her words.
Then the tone shifted.
A senior scholar, backed quietly by political authority, rose with a measured smile.
"Freedom of thought is admirable," he said, "but unchecked ideas can create disorder. Surely, restraint is also a form of wisdom."
Silence followed.
Kim Soo-min met his gaze without hesitation.
"Restraint imposed from fear is not wisdom," she replied gently.
"It is simply fear wearing educated robes."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the hall—some uneasy, some inspired.
From above, Shino watched closely. This was the turning point. The moment when philosophy stepped into the territory of power.
Despite rising tension, the debate never lost its dignity.
Arguments sharpened, but voices remained controlled. Scholars challenged one another not with anger, but with clarity. Even disagreement felt purposeful.
One voice rang out clearly from the crowd:
"Progress begins the moment we stop pretending that silence is peace."
That line lingered.
Guards stood alert, yet no one panicked. The people inside the hall were no longer afraid—they were thinking, questioning, awakening.
When the session ended, there was no clear victory.
But something better had emerged.
Understanding.
As scholars exited the hall, many exchanged quiet smiles, respectful nods, and thoughtful glances. Lines had been drawn, yes—but so had connections.
Outside, Kim Soo-min breathed in the evening air.
"Today wasn't a failure," she said. "People listened."
Shino nodded.
"And once people listen," he said calmly, "they begin to see."
She smiled, a hopeful spark in her eyes.
"Then maybe this world still has time."
"It always does," Shino replied. "As long as courage exists."
Unseen by most, officials recorded names and observations. Quiet reports were prepared. Power, after all, never ignored awakened minds.
Yet something had already changed.
The shadows had debated—but the light had spoken too.
And this time, it had been heard.