Chapter 28. The Remembering

Light came down like a command.

Not the pretty white of rites or the soft blue of cooling wards—this was the old silver, the color steel tries to remember. It laced the Hall of Phases from dome to dais, webbed through the thrones, soaked the floor until the mirrored glass drowned in it. People gasped because breath is a habit; the light didn’t need it.

The First Luna did not lift her hands. She didn’t have to. She set her gaze on me, and memory obeyed.

“Objection,” Ilyra said, poised and unhurried. Her voice skimmed the silver like a pebble sent across a lake. “Conclave protocols require anchor and witness for a Shared Remembering. We’ll not be decorating the walls with whatever the gods fancy.”

The Full Moon Seer tilted her mask as if hearing distant music. “Anchors are present,” she said. “Witnesses are many.”

“Many isn’t the same as qualified,” Ilyra replied. “But proceed. I like to catalog mistakes while they still think they’re triumphs.”

The