The cold in the chamber lingered, unmoving and heavy. It seeped into the benches and the roots beneath their feet, filling the space like a second presence. Elder Trenlin sat rigid in his seat, no longer speaking but clearly stewing. Luna had not taken her eyes off him once.
Then the elder who had interrupted earlier stepped forward again with a calm that silenced the room.
"I am Elder Barker," he said. His voice was deep but measured, like old wood creaking under steady wind. "And once again I offer an apology on behalf of my fellow elder. Trenlin let his mouth outpace his wisdom."
Trenlin's jaw tightened. He said nothing.
"Beside him are Elder Faelar, Elder Lorent, Elder Rhistel, Elder Sareth, and Elder Owyn. All have served for decades, some longer than a tree has borne fruit. They speak for tradition, for purity, and for preservation."
His eyes shifted to the left.
