Two days layer, in Crestmar Wharf
The council room breathed silence like a lung too tired to argue. Its walls, curved and dark, were lined with Glaucus sigils etched into lacquered driftwood, memories of tides that once obeyed order. The central dais glowed faintly with mana-threaded glass, casting dull reflections against the chamber floor. A dozen chairs held voices, but only a few dared speak.
An elder stood, Senator Varn, draped in ceremonial grey. His beard was long and salt-stiff, his voice cracked with age but not weakness. He addressed a peer across the chamber, a councilor with papers stacked like unsent warnings.
"Let it be spoken plainly." Varn said. "This Sea Protector has drawn a line in the sand and wrapped the rainfolk in it. He has neither banner nor appointment. No ink binds him to our writ. Yet he has claimed stewardship over a protected population without this council's sanction."
A few others nodded, murmurs low.
