Hearing Clyde's cold declaration, the chamber thickened with tension as if the very walls held their breath. The seven high council members stirred like stirred embers before a storm.
Vernik stood first. His aura flaring violently crimson, sharp like blades.
Madri followed, her energy rippling in golden arcs, furious and raw.
The bearded elf in the center —the one Clyde still didn't know by name — rose slowly, and when he did, his face had changed. No longer calm but now carved into hard expression.
"You dare," he said, voice low and shaking, not with fear but with fury. "You dare walk in here and declare things as if you rule this hall?"
Maethion, from the third seat, only sighed, rubbing his temple with a weariness that suggested he had expected this.
Clyde chuckled softly, the sound like gravel underfoot. He stood unmoved as power bristled from all corners of the chamber.
"Oops," he said without sincerity, "looks like I misspoke."
