Page 2 of The Ninth Element

Now, all I can do is wait.

The silence that follows is so thick you can choke on it. It stretches and stretches andstretches, each agonizing second amplifying the drumming of my heart. I can practically feel their gazes boring into me like tiny, judgmental spears. My palms are slick with sweat, and a single bead of perspiration is making a daring escape down my temple.

Every single councilman looks poised to deliver some earth-shattering pronouncement. Mouths open, snap shut, open again… but no words come out. Their bulging foreheads, however, speak volumes.

Meanwhile, Ahira Emmengar remains the portrait of serene composure in this sea of sputtering outrage, although a flicker of something—is it concern?—briefly clouds his usually placid expression.

“You want Firelands’s support to join Martysh.” It’s not a question but a statement, as if he’s trying to break the awkward tension that has taken over the room.

“I do,” I reply.

“You are aware of the implications?”

“I am.”

Ahira Sunar, the second senior councilman after Ahira Emmengar, snarls, “Your allegiance to Firelands will be relinquished. You will be required to declare your loyalty to the Union.”

“I am aware,” I say with the gravitas of someone making a truly monumental sacrifice. “It was a difficult decision for that precise reason. However, I have thought about it long and hard, and I have made this difficult choice. For Firelands.”

I plaster on my most sincere expression, trying to look like I am not currently performing a one-woman act of heartfelt devotion.

But the actual truth is that this wasn’t a choice; it is my destiny, a yearning that has been clawing its way out of my soul for what feels like an eternity.

Maybe the first two years after I arrived at Firelands were a little different.I tried, I really did, to fit in. To feel the Ahira pride that everyone else seemed to radiate. But it just… didn’t happen. I was scared, lonely, and constantly made to feel inferior and weak.

Then, when I was eleven, I came across a book about Martysh in the library. It reminded me of someone from my past—the only person who had ever shown me any real kindness. It told the story of the legends, the Martyshyars.

And that was it. Decision made. I promised myself that one day, I would get out and join Martysh. Not only was it the best way to escape the clutches of Firelands and the predetermined path laid out for me as a sorceress, but it also offered a chance to prove my worth beyond my limited role here.

Ever since, I’ve only dreamed of Martysh—a place where I will not seen as weak, unworthy, invisible. A place where I would finally matter, where I would have power, where I wouldbelong.

Ahira Frankel, the youngest member of the council, yet older than me by four decades, addresses me with venom in his voice. “Martysh is no place for a sorceress. Our traditions and customs have long dictated that females are best suited for other roles in service of Firelands. Martysh requires a level of physical and mental toughness that is better suited to others.”

A raspy voice, drier than a week-old bread, crackles from the corner. “Do you forget your place? You are barely a four-ringed sorceress and have only just achieved that rank! We should send only five-ringed or above sorcerers from the army. We wouldn’t want anyone thinking poorly of Firelands’s superior skills, even if we do not intend to win,” wheezes Ahira Mahand, older than time itself and looking suspiciously like a well-worn rug come to life. Every word that escapes his lips sounds like a rusty hinge protesting his existence.

“I understand this is an unconventional request, but I have spent many years preparing for this moment. My talents and skills lie not in alchemy or bookkeeping but in the art of strategy. I have trained relentlessly. I believe I can serve Firelands best by joining Martysh and protecting the peace and safety within the Union. I am not asking for this opportunity out of selfishness or pride. I genuinely believe that I can make a significantcontribution to Martysh and, by extension, to Firelands. I am willing to undergo the Martyshyar trials to prove my worth.”

The council chamber goes so silent you could hear a feather fall, if feathers were allowed in this hallowed hall of white marble and disapproving stares. (They’re not. Feathers are strictly prohibited, along with laughter and any expression of joy.)

I feel their gazes, heavy with disapproval and simmering anger. Yet I refuse to cower, maintaining my composure as I meet Ahira Emmengar’s penetrating stare. His expression is so unreadable, it could rival a statue, leaving me wondering if he is contemplating my future or simply trying to remember where he left his beard comb. Finally, with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of a thousand disappointed ancestors, he leans back in his chair.

“Arien, with your exceptional abilities as a sorceress, the potential for your future is boundless. It is within your reach to grasp a position on this very council in due time.”

The council chamber erupts in a cacophony of gasps and splutters as if Ahira Emmengar had just suggested they replace their white robes with pink tunics. The notion that a sorceress—a creature of delicate weakness in their eyes—could ascend to the hallowed ranks of the council is clearly more shocking than a snowstorm in Myra.

“I also earned my fourth ring at twenty-one. My role could be yours one day. Wasting your talent for a seat in an army is a waste. Would you ask a dragon to light a campfire?”

His voice is smooth, steady, and for a moment, I almost imagine it: me, sitting at that grand table, a council member, bathed in the warm glow of respect and power.

The image is… tempting. Safe. Especially compared to the uncertainty that waits for me in Martysh. And isn’t that what I claim I want? To have power? To not be invisible? To matter? He is dangling that possibility right in front of me, a path I’d never even dared to imagine in Firelands.

Doubt slithers in like an unwelcome guest. Subtle at first, but chilling nonetheless. It whispers sweet dreams about retreating, about slinkingback to my chambers and letting this whole grand plan crumble under the weight of second thoughts.

No! You’ve been dreaming this dream for far too long to let it go now.

“Ahira Emmengar,” I begin with a steady voice despite my inner turmoil, “I value your high regard, but a position on the council is not my aspiration. My path lies elsewhere, and I have chosen it deliberately.” I meet his gaze, hoping he sees the sincerity in my eyes. “I trust that my decision will be understood and honored, just as the wishes of those who preceded me in this council.”

I stop and hold my breath, waiting for his response. Ahira Emmengar’s gaze cuts through me, piercing and assessing. Standing under his intense gaze, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by anxiety. What if he says no?

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