The grand hall of the Pendragon Keep simmered with tension as Sebastian stood before the council, his measured plea hanging in the air like a drawn blade. His face, though calm, betrayed a man weathered by too many battles—each scar etched in silence. The council's stony expressions concealed layers of loyalty and long-held suspicion.

"After Charlevoix fell, I knew the Empire wouldn't stop there," Sebastian began, his voice low and grave. "They've grown bold. Cornwall, the Magus Order, the villages… none of us are safe. Avalon is their next target, and if we don't unite, we're all lost."

At these words, the room's heavy silence deepened. Flickering torchlight stretched wavering shadows over ancient stone, and dissent began to surface. Amera, a council elder renowned for her unvarnished candor, leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "Your words stir fear, Sebastian—but what proof have you that your loyalties remain unsullied?" she challenged, her tone edged with wary authority.

Winston, leaning casually against a pillar, folded his arms. "You've been playing all sides, Sebastian. Why should the Pendragons trust you now?" His cool words carried the weight of hard-earned experience, resonating with every cautious soul in the hall.

Without a trace of hesitation, Sebastian met Winston's gaze. "Because I've seen what's coming," he declared. "I was once a Vanguard, yet Avalon's future has always been my concern. When Charlevoix fell, I marshaled every resource to relocate survivors via the Magus Order's temporary bridge. They are safe—for now. But make no mistake: without decisive action, the Empire will crush us all."

Agravain, another council member with furrowed brows, stepped forward. "And what of the Magus Order's ambitions? Shall we trust their motives blindly?" His question hung like a gauntlet, challenging the very core of Sebastian's plea.

Sebastian's eyes darkened with resolve as he shook his head slowly. "My power lets me slip through the fabric of reality—I cannot carry another soul with me. The Order constructed that bridge as a fleeting refuge, yet they lack the martial strength to stand alone." He paused, his voice rising with determination. "Cornwall holds the knights, the leadership. With the Pendragons and the Magus Order united, we may yet push back this tide of conquest."

The council exchanged uneasy looks—trust and trepidation intermingled beneath centuries of tradition. Returning to the chambers, Albion finally broke the silence. "We must act, yet we need to see for ourselves. I propose a visit to the Magus Order. Let us inspect the situation firsthand before we bind our fates."

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Adele's tone was calm but resolute as she stepped forward. "I have regained some of my strength. I can teleport us to the Magus Order at once." In that moment, a subtle tension sparked—a promise of swift action amid the uncertainty.

A flicker of relief softened Sebastian's tired features. "That would save us precious time. We have none to spare."

With the dissenting voices of Amera, Agravain and the cautious elders trailing behind, the group—Albion, Adele, Winston, and Sebastian—left the Keep. The streets of Cornwall pulsed with restless energy. Knights readied for an unseen battle; townsfolk hurried along bustling markets, their whispers of destiny interwoven with the pulse of ancient runes humming beneath Albion's skin.

"Well, this has escalated quickly," Winston remarked with a wry smile as they moved through the city. "From Charlevoix to Avalon's fate—no pressure, right?" His tone mingled levity with lingering doubt.

Albion shot Winston a sideways glance, a brief, knowing smile tugging at his lips. The laughter felt hollow against the looming weight pressing at Albion's ribs. Yet beneath that calm exterior, a private flicker of apprehension stirred—a memory of past losses and promises unkept, a silent reminder that every alliance bore its own risks.

At the edge of Crystal Lake, the cool air and shimmering water offered a deceptive calm. The surface glowed with an ethereal light as day yielded to dusk. The beauty of the scene did little to dispel the gravity of their impending decisions.

Adele stepped forward, her eyes narrowing in focused concentration. "This should only take a moment." She intoned a series of precise incantations. As her words filled the air, a magical resonance quivered over the lake—a subtle ripple, as if the water itself hesitated before the shift. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath, as if afraid to interrupt her spell. The landscape blurred, and the ancient stone towers and hallowed halls of the Magus Order emerged in a breathless instant.

The sudden teleportation left Albion momentarily off balance. When his vision cleared, the towering architecture of the Magus Order's main keep loomed before him. In that disoriented instant, his heart seized as a familiar figure stepped forward, poised and expectant. Time splintered—memories colliding with the unbearable present.

Becca.

For a split second, Albion's heart clenched—a visceral, unbidden reaction that bridged his duty with buried memories. In that brief inner moment, he recalled promises made in quieter times, the subtle warmth of a connection once thought lost.

"We have a lot to talk about," she said quietly, her gaze locking onto his with a gravity that stilled even the undertones of magic.

The world fell silent once more, and in that charged silence, the weight of alliances, betrayals, and destinies converged—setting the stage for a reckoning that promised to reshape Avalon.

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