The following days were not empty.
They were silent.
And silence, in a kingdom like that of the cyclopes, meant internal movement.
We were not called immediately after the audience. The king kept his word. The decision would be debated among the nobles.
That meant politics.
And politics is never simple.
The next morning, while we walked through the outer areas of the palace, I noticed a subtle change in the way we were observed. There was no open hostility. But there was calculation.
Some saw us as a solution.
Others, as a risk.
Rai'kanna commented as we descended a wide staircase.
"They are measuring every step we take."
"Yes."
Lyannis added:
"It's not personal distrust. It's institutional concern."
Elara kept her gaze attentive to the stone structures around us.
"For them, the stone is more than a magical artifact. It is symbolic stability."
Liriel walked beside me.
"But the king did not dismiss us."
"No."
I replied.
"He wants consensus."
Vespera, always observing the microexpressions and postures of others, murmured:
"And consensus means resistance."
She was right.
That afternoon, we were invited to attend, as observers, a public session of the council. We would not participate. Only witness it.
It was a strategic gesture.
To show that nothing was being decided in secret.
The council chamber was smaller than the main throne hall, but equally solid. A circular stone table occupied the center. Each seat had the crest of a noble house carved behind it.
The king was present.
The nobles as well.
We remained at the side, in a neutral position.
The discussion had already begun when we entered.
A noble with a long beard and rigid posture spoke:
"Handing the royal relic to a foreigner is a dangerous precedent."
Another replied:
"It is not a permanent delivery. It is a strategic loan."
The first retorted:
"And if he dies?"
Discreet gazes turned toward me.
I maintained a steady expression.
The king intervened:
"Takumi has faced high-ranking demons and survived."
The noble countered:
"That does not make him infallible."
"No."
The king replied.
"But it makes him a relevant variable."
The discussion continued.
Some nobles argued that helping a renowned hero would strengthen future alliances. Others feared that losing the stone would weaken the legitimacy of the royal lineage.
One of them raised a crucial point:
"If the stone truly has a connection to the weakness of the Fourth General, keeping it inactive may be more dangerous than lending it."
Momentary silence.
It was the first time someone spoke in terms of global responsibility, not only local.
I observed the king.
He listened more than he spoke.
Rai'kanna murmured low enough for only us to hear:
"They respect strength, but they respect stability even more."
"Yes."
Lyannis analyzed each argument as if she were arranging pieces on a board.
The discussion extended for hours.
No shouting.
No insults.
Only firm disagreement.
At a certain moment, one of the younger nobles stood up.
"If the Fourth General is immortal, as they say, then no kingdom is safe."
He breathed deeply.
"If there is a fifty percent chance of weakening him, ignoring that is a political choice."
The hall fell silent.
The king placed his hands on the table.
"The stone was not made to remain inactive."
It was the strongest sentence so far.
Some faces hardened.
Others nodded.
The bearded noble spoke again:
"Your Majesty, and if the hero fails and the stone is destroyed?"
I looked directly at him before answering.
"If I fail, I will return the stone intact."
He narrowed his eyes.
"And if there is no time?"
"Then I will not be here anymore to discuss it."
The silence was heavy.
But necessary.
The king stood up.
"The council will have until the next sunset to formalize the decision."
The session was concluded.
We left in silence.
Outside, the dry mountain wind blew steadily.
Elara broke the silence:
"It is not personal opposition."
"No."
I replied.
"It is fear of instability."
Liriel placed her hand on my arm.
"They feel responsibility for their own people."
"As they should."
Vespera added:
"But the majority is beginning to lean in favor."
Lyannis agreed.
"The pressure is shifting."
Rai'kanna smiled slightly.
"They don't want to be the kingdom that refused to help when the threat arrived."
That was the truth.
The decision was not only about an artifact.
It was about historical positioning.
That night, we dined in controlled silence.
It was not tension.
It was focus.
I knew that if the authorization came, the responsibility would double.
If it were denied, we would have to find another path.
But something inside me indicated that the balance was moving.
Before sleeping, I went to the balcony of the diplomatic wing.
I observed the distant forges still burning.
The cyclopes were a people who built based on permanence.
Nothing there was fragile.
Nothing was improvised.
If they decided to support us, it would be out of conviction.
The next day, the atmosphere in the palace was different.
No longer debate.
But expectation.
We spent the morning training lightly in the external courtyard designated for high-level guests.
Coordination tests.
Synchronized movements.
Nothing excessive.
Only maintenance.
At sunset, a royal messenger approached.
He slightly inclined his head.
"The council has concluded the deliberation."
My group stopped immediately.
"The king awaits you tomorrow at dawn."
He did not say the result.
He did not need to.
The fact that we were being called formally indicated progress.
Rai'kanna crossed her arms.
"If it were negative, there would be no new audience."
Lyannis nodded.
"Formal elaboration means approval with conditions."
Elara breathed deeply.
"So tomorrow we will know."
Liriel kept her gaze firm.
"Regardless of the decision, we are prepared."
Vespera concluded:
"The next move will define the rhythm of the entire arc."
I agreed.
As the sun disappeared behind the cyclopean mountains, I felt something different.
It was not the presence of the General.
It was not external pressure.
It was the weight of collective choice.
Tomorrow, the Kingdom of the Cyclopes will decide whether to bet on me.
And if they do,
I will not fail.
The sunset ended.
And with it,
the waiting time ended.