Part 1. The Eve

  The night before the Council, Lelya couldn't sleep.

  She sat in her office surrounded by folders of documents, reading Radimir's speech for the hundredth time. Every word had been weighed. Every argument backed by facts. Every counterargument anticipated.

  On paper, everything looked perfect.

  But Lelya remembered recordings of past Councils. She remembered how Radimir faltered under pressure, how his impeccable logic crumbled when opponents changed tactics on the fly. Paper didn't account for the human factor. And at the Council, that was what decided everything.

  A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

  "Come in."

  Radimir looked as exhausted as she felt. Dark circles under his eyes, a rumpled shirt, disheveled hair.

  "You're still here," he stated, settling into the chair across from her.

  "Can't sleep."

  "Neither can I." He stretched, his neck cracking. "So I thought I'd stop by. Maybe together we'll think of something important."

  Lelya set the documents aside.

  "Radimir. Are you ready?"

  The question hung in the air. They both knew what she was really asking. Not about the speech. Not about the arguments. About him.

  "Probably," he answered after a pause. "As ready as it's possible to be."

  "Remember what we discussed about pauses?"

  "I remember. I have the right to think. I don't have to answer instantly."

  "And about eye contact. Not at the floor, not at the ceiling—into the eyes of whoever you're addressing."

  "Lelya." Radimir smiled tiredly. "We've rehearsed this twenty times. I've learned it. Honestly."

  She knew he'd learned it. But she also knew something else: knowing and doing were different things. In the practice room where she played the opponent, he handled it perfectly. But there wouldn't be hundreds of mages watching him there, waiting for a mistake.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just nervous."

  "So am I." He stood and walked to the window. Beyond the glass, dawn was slowly breaking—a pale strip of light above the rooftops. "You know, I've been thinking about Dragomir. About how he spoke at Councils. He didn't just talk—he made people feel. Believe. I can't do that."

  "You can do something else. You see the system. You can prove you're right with numbers and facts."

  "What if that's not enough?"

  Lelya walked over to him, stood beside him.

  "Then you remember why we're doing this. The northwestern territories aren't just land. They're people who live there. They're trade routes that thousands of families depend on. They're the balance of power that keeps the world from war." She paused. "You don't have to be Dragomir. You just have to be yourself. That's enough."

  Radimir looked at her—a long, searching look.

  "When did you become wiser than me?"

  "I'm not wiser. I just see you from the outside."

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  Dawn was brightening beyond the window, turning the sky from gray to pink. Somewhere below, the city was waking—car engines, voices, the ordinary lives of people who knew nothing of mages and their games.

  "Radimir," Lelya said quietly. "Whatever happens today—you're not alone. We've done everything we could. Meetings, agreements, arguments. Now only one thing remains: believing it will be enough."

  He nodded, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, in his clenched fists. Fear. Ordinary human fear of things not working out.

  "Go home," he finally said. "Get at least a couple hours of sleep. I need a clear head beside me when I get back."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. And that's an order from your minister."

  Lelya smiled—faintly, but sincerely.

  "Yes, Minister."

  She left the office, and only in the corridor did she allow herself to exhale. Her hands were trembling—from exhaustion, from nerves, from the premonition of something large and inevitable.

  At home, she fell asleep almost instantly—heavy, dreamless. She woke to the phone ringing.

  "Lelya." Miroslav's voice was tense. "The Council begins in an hour. Varvara wants you at Alnar. She's arranged a direct broadcast for you—in your office."

  Lelya sat up in bed, shaking off the remnants of sleep.

  "Just for me?"

  "The other ministers are all going to the Council. You're the only one staying. Varvara said you need to see this, but as first deputy minister, you don't have the right to attend in person yet."

  She hung up and dressed quickly. Jeans, silk blouse, cardigan—her standard work outfit. No ceremonial robes, no formality. Just an ordinary day on which much would be decided.

  She rushed out of the apartment, caught a taxi, and spent the entire ride staring out the window without seeing the city beyond the glass.

  One hour until the Council. Sixty minutes until the moment when all their work would be put to the test.

  Part 2. Alone in Alnar

  Alnar was almost empty.

  Lelya walked through the lobby—usually noisy, full of mages and assistants—and heard only the echo of her own footsteps. All the ministers of the Supreme Council had left. Svarog, Roslava, Shotsky, Polina, Mislav—even Varvara. Only technical staff remained at their posts.

  Lelya climbed to her floor. The corridor of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was deserted. Miroslav hadn't even been given access to the broadcast.

  She entered her office. On the desk stood a laptop with the broadcast already open. The screen showed the empty hall of the World Council—a circular amphitheater with tiered benches, a podium for speakers in the center.

  Lelya sat down, pulled the laptop closer. Adjusted the sound. Checked the image quality.

  Everything worked.

  Now she could only wait.

  The hall on screen began to fill. Chief mages from around the world, their ministers, advisors. Lelya recognized faces: the representative from the House of All Winds—that same Elin she had met with. The delegation from the Freeport League, led by Einar. The Coastal Union.

  Then Monolith's representatives entered. Varvara first, in a dark, severe dress, her hair gathered in a low bun. Behind her Svarog—silent as always, his face unreadable. Roslava, Shotsky, the others.

  And Radimir. He walked last, carrying a folder of documents. Lelya watched him scan the hall, searching for familiar faces.

  Monolith's delegation took their seats on one of the middle benches. Varvara sat in the center—by right of chief mage. Svarog to her right, Radimir to her left. The other ministers arranged themselves nearby.

  Opposite them, across the entire hall—the Citadel's delegation. Their chief mage, a young-looking man, was clearly in high spirits. Beside him, the minister of foreign affairs.

  Lelya leaned back in her chair. A strange feeling—watching this through a screen, in complete solitude. As if she were watching a film rather than a real event.

  The Council chairman appeared on screen—a representative of the Council of Elders of Kiudar-Muna, whose task was to maintain order and protocol at World Councils. He ascended the podium, and the hall instantly fell silent.

  "The World Council is now in session," he announced. His voice was amplified by magic, filling the space. "First item on the agenda: the dispute over the northwestern territories between Monolith and Citadel. The floor is given to Monolith's minister of foreign affairs."

  Radimir rose. Lelya involuntarily leaned forward, bringing her face closer to the screen.

  He walked to the podium slowly—or did it only seem that way because she knew his every step by heart? He climbed the steps, placed his folder down, raised his head.

  A second of silence. Two. Three.

  "Begin," Lelya whispered, though he couldn't hear her. "Just begin."

  Radimir opened his mouth.

  And spoke.

  "Esteemed members of the Council," his voice sounded steady, but Lelya, who had known him for months, heard a slight tremor in the first words. "The northwestern territories are not simply disputed land. This is a question of the principles upon which our world rests."

  He paused—as they had rehearsed. His gaze swept the hall.

  Good, Lelya thought. Calm. Continue.

  She picked up a pen from the desk—she needed something to do with her hands—and began mechanically taking notes. Time of speech. Hall's reaction. Moments where Radimir handled things well, and moments where he began to falter.

  Outside her office window, it was an ordinary day. The sun was rising over the city, people were going to work, cars sat in traffic.

  And she sat alone before a screen, watching a battle unfold in which she could not participate.

  Only watch.

  And take notes.