"We cannot assume anything yet without concrete evidence," an Elder interrupted, uncertainty and denial rich in his tone. "This could be one of many forms of otherworldly attacks. Humans against vampires, werewolves against demons, witches against faeries, or even among themselves,"

"Elder Themoldyth is right," another Elder spoke in agreement. "We cannot be certain of anything else without evidence. This is an accusation, a higher one for that matter—one that might invite the Tithes at our doorstep,"

"I, too, agree. There have been no traces of him anywhere around the werewolves, nor the Trinity,"

A tense silence settled across the chamber after the last Elder spoke, the kind that did not soothe the room but sharpened every instinct and resolve. Torchlight trembled against the stone walls, shadows stretching long across the council table where the map lay scarred beneath pins and fresh ink.

Vaeron’s hazel gaze remained fixed on the parchment, though his thoughts moved far beyond it.

If Malachi truly had found a way to exploit the Walkers, then this was no longer a border issue. It was contamination, a corruption spreading through realms that were never meant to touch.

Lord Acheron shifted, a movement that cracked through the stillness of the room. "Then we begin with what we do know." He started.

Several eyes shifted toward him.

"The mortal realm has seen increased vessel corruption," he said, voice measured and grave. "The northern wards have suffered instability. Deathhill and other provinces as well have already been compromised," His gaze moved slowly across the room. "Whether this is Malachi’s hand or the work of another force, we cannot afford hesitation."

Pride exhaled sharply through his nose, arms folding over his broad chest. "Hesitation is exactly what this sounds like," he said, his scarred face hardened in the torchlight. "If the Walkers are being weaponized, then waiting for certainty gives whoever is behind this more time."

"And acting without proof invites war at the wrong gate," Elder Themoldyth countered.

Vaeloria let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "War is already at our gate."

That silenced the room again, because no one could deny it.

Rheonara straightened from where she leaned over the table, amethyst eyes glinting. "The corruption of the vessels concerns me more than the feeding itself," she said, and her fingers brushed lightly over the marked regions of Veximoor. "If the hosts are adapting faster than expected, then whatever toxin remains in their blood is evolving."

Sloth’s expression darkened. "Meaning?" he inquired, that being the only word he’d uttered ever since Vaeron arrived.

His red hair shimmered with vitality that was almost alive, falling like liquid flame over his shoulders and around his back. Those storms of green flecked with gold remained cold and threatening.

Vaeron answered before she could. "It means the corruption is no longer behaving like a foreign essence," The words dropped like stone, collecting breath across the room. "It is learning the body."

A low murmur rippled across the gathered lords. Even Greed’s expression sharpened at that.

Lord Lucerion’s icy gaze narrowed. "That should not be possible."

"No," Vaeron replied coldly. "It should not,"

His gloved fingers pressed harder against the edge of the table. "Unless something is altering the Walker essence before it crosses the Gate." This time, the silence it left was immediate, heavy, and suffocating.

Vaeloria’s eyes lifted slowly. "You truly believe someone is tampering with the Gate itself."

Vaeron’s jaw tightened. "I believe someone wants the corruption to spread beyond controlled feeding."

Wrath’s hand dropped to the hilt at his side.

"Then say his name," The room seemed to freeze when he mentioned, that no one spoke for a long moment.

Then Pride’s voice cut through the stillness.

"I do believe we already know."

One of the Elders shifted uneasily. "We still have no proof that he has access to the Trinity."

Vaeron’s gaze lifted then, sharp enough to cut.

"No. But we have proof of intelligence," He gestured toward the map. "Deathhill," he listed. "On our way to Blackvale, we were being attacked. And these creatures are known to be the Umbrathallas, the same creatures we’ve prevented, creating a ward that should’ve deterred them," Uneasiness spread through the room when he revealed, glances exchanged between one and another.

"You mean the... Umbrathrallas?" Envy repeated.

Vaeron nodded. "They gained leverage over what was supposed to kill them, turning them stronger. Just like the Phantoms, they multiplied at the same rate," he walked across the table, and his gaze moved to the northern lines. "The breached wards..." he listed, and then to Veximoor. "The Walker instability," and finally, his eyes swept across the council. "These are not isolated incidents. They form a pattern."

Rheonara nodded once. "A progression."

"Yes."

Lord Aurelion’s expression turned grave. "Then we proceed under the assumption that someone is orchestrating this from behind the Gate."

Greed leaned back against a wall, amber eyes gleaming. "And if that someone is not Malachi?" His question seemed to have stilled the room when silence fell at once.

Vaeron’s stare cut to him, and so did the others.

Greed’s smile deepened, the kind that always arrived before he sank a blade where it would hurt most. "What if it is someone we do not suspect?" he drawled. "Someone not acting of their own will, but being... kept."

A stillness moved through the chamber, something colder in the air and sharper in another mind. The Elders exchanged glances, the weight of the implication settling almost immediately.

Rheonara’s brows furrowed. "Kept?"

Greed inclined his head, amber eyes never leaving Vaeron. "A vessel," he said smoothly. "A body used as a passage. A living conduit through which another force may move unseen," The words landed with the force of a blade meeting stone.

Vaeron’s jaw tightened. Of course, Greed would say it like that, not direct enough to accuse, but enough to plant doubt.

Lord Lucerion’s expression darkened. "You speak as though corruption can wear a face, Greed."

Greed’s smile sharpened. "Can it not?" he asked. Then his gaze slid over the room, returning to Vaeron with pointed intent. "We have already established that vessels are being altered; hosts corrupted, Walkers feeding through bodies not meant to sustain them," He paused, letting the thought settle. "What is to say this has not progressed beyond the Gate?"

Wrath shifted where he stood, scars catching in the torchlight. "You’re suggesting possession?"

"I am suggesting a possibility," Greed corrected, voice deceptively mild.

Vaeloria straightened slightly against the pillar, eyes narrowing. "Or you are suggesting a scapegoat."

That earned the faintest laugh from him. "I merely find it curious that every discussion we have returns to unseen hands, unseen breaches, and unseen movements," His eyes flicked once more toward Vaeron. "Perhaps we should begin considering what is being kept within our own walls, just like you suggested,"

The room changed palpably, subtle tightening in the air. Several lords shifted uneasily, so that even the torch flames seemed to bend lower.

Vaeron’s expression turned glacial. Something cold and lethal moved beneath the stillness of his face. "You tread dangerously close to an accusation," he said, voice quiet enough to freeze blood. "I find your pain quite an obsession, Greed,"

Greed’s smile did not falter. "Do I?" He asked and his head tilted. "Or does the possibility simply trouble you more than the others?"

The silence that followed was immediate and oppressive because everyone in that room understood what he was doing.

Vaeron’s hands folded behind his back, but the rigid line of his shoulders betrayed the violence simmering beneath. "If you have something to say... brother," he said at last, each word sharpened to a blade’s edge, "... say it plainly."

Greed’s amber eyes gleamed at his words, filled with something close to obsession. " For once," he murmured, "I believe I already have."