72Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrqm9omuMF4The green councilor exhales softly, the emerald lantern above him casting a gentle, verdant glow. His posture is calm, open, almost sorrowful — the demeanor of someone who weighs hearts, not actions.
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“You speak of rebellion, yet you show no compassion for the people you claim to protect.”
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Zack stiffens as the green light is seen washing over the hooded counselor.
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Zack:(breaks and snaps)
“Compassion? Everything I do — every order I give, every risk I take — is for the safety of our people. I have watched this… this vagabond twist their hearts, blind their judgment, turn them against the very temple that shelters them.”
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He steps forward, voice rising.
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“You speak as though I am the threat. But I am the one trying to protect them from someone who leads them into chaos. I am the one standing between peace and anarchy. If it seems harsh, it is because the people are being deceived. They cheer for murderers. They defend criminals. They call rebellion a miracle.”
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His hands clench.
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“My resolve isn't cruelty. I act because no one else will. I act because compassion without discipline is weakness. And weakness is what the enemy feeds on.”
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The green lantern dims, pulsing once — slow, disappointed — but Zack holds his ground.
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—-Directly ahead, the blue councilor leans forward, the sapphire lantern above him casting a cold, crystalline light. His presence is sharp, articulate, mercilessly precise.
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Blue Hood stands. His voice cuts through Zachary.
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“We will not lend our voice to your crusade!”
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He sits down composed, looking at his gavel rest.
Assistance is denied.”
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The words hit like a hammer. Blue slams his crystal gavel dramatically.
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WHAM!
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Final.
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Unyielding.
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—Beside him, the purple councilor barely moves. The amethyst lantern above him glows softly, its light swirling like mist — intuitive, distant, unsettling. His hood tilts as though he were listening to something far beyond the room.
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When he speaks, it touches the mind.
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“Hasan has already moved. The Raven flies. You arrive after the vision has already begun.”
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The purple light ripples across the table, and Ben’s breath hitches.
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Zack’s eyes widen.
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Ben bows his head immediately, hands clasped in front of him.
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“Honored Councilor… we meant no disrespect. If Hasan has already acted, then we rejoice that Providence is not without guidance. We only seek clarity — not to challenge the vision, but to understand our place within it.”
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He glances at Zack, then back to the glowing purple lantern.
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“We came because the situation in the village has grown… unstable. Fear spreads faster than truth. Rumors twist into doctrine. We wished only to serve the Council’s will, to ensure that whatever Hasan has foreseen is carried out with order, not confusion.”
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His voice softens further.
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“If we have arrived late, then forgive us. But please… do not cast us aside. Tell us how we may still be of use.”
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The purple light pulses once, slow and cold.
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Ben keeps his head bowed, trying to shield Zack from the consequences of his pride — trying to show the council that at least one of them still respects the chain of command.
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The pink lantern brightens, its glow warm yet crushing, like sunlight on a wound.
When the hooded figure speaks, the voice is gentle… but it leaves no room to breathe.
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(Smiles)
“Stand down, Benjamin… you as well, Zacharias. You were raised to your High Positions for a reason, serve your purpose; but this matter has passed beyond the reach. What unfolds now is greater than anything you can hope to restrain.”
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The pink light pulses once, soft as a heartbeat.
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“Return to your duties and do not trouble this council again with matters outside your authority… or your prestige will be stripped from you entirely.”
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You are both dismissed.”
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Pink crystal gavel pops.
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BOP!
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(Moments later…)
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The cathedral doors slam shut behind them, sealing the rainbow chamber away. Outside, the North City stretches across the mountainside like a galaxy of lights pinned to stone — homes carve into the cliffs, windows glow warm against the endless white. Snow drifts in slow spirals, softening the world, muting every sound except their footsteps.
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The black lacquer carriage waits at the base of the steps, its surface reflecting the lanterns like a shard of night. The horses snort steam into the frozen air.
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Zack doesn’t walk toward it.
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He storms it.
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His boots punch into the snow, each step a burst of frustration.
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Zacharias:(hissing)
“Arrogant… sanctimonious… blind!”
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He paces beside the carraige.
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“They sit on their thrones of color and dare lecture me about order? About rebellion? Metro has half the province eating out of his palm and they— they—”
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He stops, breath fogging, eyes burning with humiliation and fury.
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Ben approaches slowly, the snow settling on his shoulders like ash. He looks at Zack — really looks — past the robe, past the pride, past the anger.
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Benjamin:(voice quiet)
“Zacharias,’
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‘Look at me.”
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Zack turns, jaw tight.
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Ben’s voice drops to something deeper, something that doesn't come from fear or politics, but from the trembling place where truth lies.
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Benjamin:
“We don’t know, if Metro is a prophet… or a pretender. We don’t know if he’s a danger… or a vessel.”
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The wind stills.
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Even the horses are quiet.
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Benjamin steps closer, eyes locked with Zack’s.
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“So hear me, brother. Refrain from this pursuit for a moment… leave these men be. If the work is merely of man, it will collapse on its own.’
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‘But if it is of God…”
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(His voice softening to a warning)
‘…then you cannot overthrow it — unless you find yourself fighting against the very God you claim to worship.”
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Zack’s breath catches.
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For a moment, the fury drains from his face, replaced by something raw— doubt, or fear.
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The first crack in a long time.
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Snow drifts sideways across the courtyard, thin as ash, carried by a wind that seems to whisper through the stone arches. Ben steps into the carriage, the lantern inside casting a warm gold that barely reaches the frozen steps behind him. Zack doesn’t move.The cold settles on his shoulders, gathering in the folds of his black robe. The mountain lights shimmer across the city — thousands of windows carved into the cliffside, glowing like a constellation trapped in stone. Each one feels like an eye. Each one feels like a judgment to him.
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He swallows hard.
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A single snowflake lands on his cheek and melts instantly, a tiny warmth that feels almost like a tear he refuses to shed.
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Behind him, the cathedral doors groan as the wind pushes against them, the colors of the council chamber fading from memory like a dream that never quite made sense.
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Ahead, the carriage waits. Ben’s shadow shifts inside, patient, unmoving, a quiet invitation rather than a command. Zack finally exhales, the breath leaving him in a long, trembling cloud.
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He steps forward once, then again, boots crunching through the untouched snow. The world feels softer now, muted, as if the storm itself is giving him space to think. He reaches the carriage door.
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Pauses.
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Looks back at the mountain — at the galaxy of lights, the frozen rooftops, the silent city that raised him, shaped him, taught him what was right and what was wrong. And for the first time… he wonders if he learned the wrong lessons.
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He climbs inside.
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The door closes with a soft thud, sealing the warmth in and the storm out.
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The horses snort, hooves shifting, and the carriage begins to roll down the winding road carved into the mountainside.
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Outside, the snow thickens.
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Inside, Zack stares at his gloved hands, the doubt settling deeper than the cold ever could.
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and then Add to home screen.