The dining hall smelled of roasted herbs and warm bread, the air humming with the chatter of plates and low voices. Shadows from the chandeliers trembled across the long oak table, glinting off silver cups and steaming bowls.

Maris moved with the unhurried grace of habit, her motions fluid and practiced. Each dish she set down carried the quiet care of someone who found comfort in routine—fragrant stew, roasted roots gleaming with oil, a golden-crusted fowl that filled the air with warmth. Her braid slipped over her shoulder as she leaned forward, a soft smile touching her lips when Alice's eyes lit up as though the meal were a small miracle laid just for her.

Eddy's plate sat half-filled, untouched. He hunched slightly over the table, fingers drumming faintly against the surface as if keeping time with his own restless thoughts. His gaze drifted past the warm glow of the overhead lights, unfocused, his brow furrowed in quiet weight. The noise around him blurred, just whispers beneath the pull of his imagination.

The talks from the conceptorium replayed in his mind, voices speaking of the invaders, their words looping like an echo he couldn't shake. Gloomshapers twisting sorrow into shapes that moved and breathed. Veilstorms swallowing whole cities in a swirl of mist. Ashwalkers trudging endlessly through ruin and fire. The words pulsed through his thoughts, painting grim images behind his eyes, their weight pressing heavier with every beat. He drew in a slow breath, shoulders lifting, and then exhaled heavily.

The sigh broke through the rhythm of eating like a blade through silk. Lyric's head tilted first, her fork pausing midair. Her eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity softening the edge of her frown.

"That sigh was loud enough to wake the dead," she said, her tone clipped but not unkind. "What are you brooding over now?"

Eddy blinked, his body giving a faint jolt as if pulled from a dream. He straightened, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish glance around the table. "I was just... thinking. About the worlds, the species, all of it. I've read and heard so much, and now being here—" He shook his head, mouth twitching as if searching for words. "It feels like I'll never really understand it."

Aiden chuckled through a mouthful of bread, leaning back in his chair with the lazy ease of someone too used to discomfort. His smirk deepened as he lifted an eyebrow. "Welcome to the club. Except we've been at this since we opened our eyes. You? You've barely been here twenty-four hours."

Alice's laughter bubbled up like sunlight. She wagged her spoon at him, her cheeks flushed pink from warmth and amusement. "And already sighing like a weary warrior who's lost his sword."

Thorne swirled his wine, the dark liquid catching the light in red arcs. He lounged in his chair, posture deceptively relaxed, but his eyes, sharp and molten gold, glinted with knowing. "Understanding doesn't come from replaying our conversations, boy. It comes when the things you talked about finally try to bite back. And trust me, facing them is slower than talking about them."

Maris placed another dish on the table with a soft clink, the sound carrying gentle authority. Her gaze flicked toward Eddy, softening around the edges. "Don't rush. The world doesn't reveal itself in a day. It takes patience... and more meals like this."

Eddy managed a crooked smile, color rising faintly in his cheeks. He looked down for a beat, then back up, eyes brighter though still uncertain. "Guess I'm the overeager one at the table."

Lyric's lips twitched, not quite a smile, more a reluctant approval. Her eyes, however, stayed sharp, glimmering like moonlight on glass. "Eager is fine. Just don't mistake eagerness for understanding."

Across from her, Cassandra lifted her gaze from her plate. She had been silent, her posture composed, each motion deliberate. Now her eyes, cool and unreadable, met Eddy's. "She's right. Curiosity can be strength, but unchecked, it becomes recklessness. And recklessness here costs more than time."

Elias raised his goblet, movements precise, almost ritualistic. The dark surface of the blood inside shimmered under the chandeliers. His mouth curved faintly as he took a measured sip. "At least he admits he doesn't know," he murmured, voice low but carrying. "Most of us pretend we understand more than we do."

Aiden barked a short laugh, but it faded as his gaze flicked to some invisible point in the distance. His fingers twitched against the table's edge, the faint stir of Fenrik's unease rippling beneath his calm exterior.

The others fell into quiet agreement, the mood settling. Spoons dipped again, cups clinked softly, and the hum of the dining hall returned, a heartbeat of warmth and rhythm in the cold stone around them.

Then, Sentinel set his cup down.

The sound was faint, glass meeting wood, but it rippled through the air like a shiver through still water. Conversations died mid-breath. Every head turned toward Sentinel.

He sat motionless, one hand resting lightly beside the cup, his expression carved in calm stone. Only his eyes moved, measured, deliberate, sweeping over each of them with quiet command. The air thickened, as though even the chandeliers dared not sway.

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"You all speak of patience, eagerness, recklessness..." His voice flowed steady and low, each word slicing through the silence. "And you are not wrong. But these things matter more now than ever. Because whether you rush or wait, your powers are stirring."

Cutlery froze midair. The faint hiss of the fire in the sconces filled the stillness where no one spoke.

Sentinel's gaze drifted from face to face, pausing long enough to make each feel its weight. "You are finally gaining your true selves. And that is not a gift to squander. You must learn to control what wakes within you... before it controls you. Or harms those beside you."

Aiden's grin faltered, his jaw tightening as the playful spark in his eyes dulled to something more guarded. His hand, still gripping the fork, whitened at the knuckles. The faintest flicker of golden light passed behind his gaze, Fenrik stirring restlessly within.

Lyric's posture stiffened. Her fingers, once idly tracing the edge of her napkin, clenched it tight until the fabric crumpled in her palm. The memory of her untamed magic shadowed her face, eyes distant, lips pressed thin.

Alice shifted uneasily, her spoon clinking against the bowl. She cast a quick glance toward Lyric as though seeking reassurance, but when she found none, she lowered her gaze, shoulders drawing inward.

Thorne leaned back, a lazy smirk flickering at the corner of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. One brow lifted, a silent acknowledgment, though the faint tension in his jaw betrayed that he was listening closer than he wanted anyone to notice.

Maris's jaw set, the smallest muscle twitching near her temple. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, eyes flicking from Sentinel to the group, calm on the surface but carrying a quiet current of worry beneath.

Cassandra exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate. Her lips pressed into a line, the gesture sharp with restrained thought. When she finally nodded, it was with the resignation of someone who had expected this truth long before it was spoken.

Then Sentinel's gaze stopped.

Elias froze mid-motion, his goblet suspended just before his lips. His shoulders went rigid, pulse visible in the hollow of his throat. Confusion clouded his eyes, flickering like a candle in the wind, unsure why Sentinel's stare lingered on him. Cassandra's head turned too, her expression unreadable, watchful, as though waiting for a revelation neither of them could name.

Elias's voice broke the silence, low and steady, though his throat moved with the effort.

"...What is it? Is there something you want to say to me?"

Every gaze shifted to him. Even Eddy, who had been absently chewing, stopped mid-bite, his fork hovering in midair.

Sentinel didn't blink. "Nothing. Only this, when you fight, you lose control. And when you lose control, it isn't just yourself you endanger. It's your team."

The words landed with invisible weight. Elias's fingers twitched, the goblet trembling slightly before he set it down. He didn't fully understand, but something in Sentinel's tone felt personal, like a blade wrapped in cloth.

Heat crawled up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. His eyes dropped to the plate, where the stew's reflection shimmered faintly. His thoughts snagged on the memory of the last time, energy crackling, the ground splitting too close to someone else's feet.

"I... don't know how to stop that," he admitted quietly.

"Nobody does," Sentinel replied, his voice level as iron. "At the beginning, control is not given. It is forged. Over time, through training."

Elias inhaled slowly, forcing his gaze upward. His eyes steadied on Sentinel's. "Then... I'll try."

"You should," Cassandra said, her tone slicing through the hush. She leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, eyes glinting like tempered steel. "And not eventually. Soon. Because in a real battle, hesitation won't just cost you, it will cost them."

Her words cut through the quiet, sharp enough to still even the glow around them. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to dim, shadows edging across their faces.

Elias straightened, spine taut, hands curling into fists in his lap. Resolve smoldered beneath the flush of shame. "Then I'll learn. No matter how long it takes."

The silence that followed was taut as a held breath. Then Eddy shifted, pushing his plate forward with a faint scrape that drew every gaze. His brow furrowed, eyes darting from Elias to Sentinel before he spoke, hesitance flickering in his movements.

"Look, war is at our door. We don't have the luxury of endless training. Why don't we use the Eclipse Heart, just this once? It could give us the edge we need, help them control their powers before it's too late."

The sound of Cassandra's fork hitting her plate was like a spark snapping. Her eyes blazed, posture tightening as she turned toward him. "No." The word cracked sharp and final. Her jaw flexed, and the tension in her shoulders spoke more than her tone. "We can't. The Eclipse Heart isn't some tool to wield at our convenience. It has its own will. Its own purpose. You don't prod at it like a trinket."

Eddy recoiled slightly, eyes wide. His fingers twitched near his plate as he blinked rapidly. "Right... I didn't mean it like that. I just thought... maybe it could help."

Sentinel's composure didn't waver. He shifted only enough to draw their focus back to him. His tone came calm, each word deliberate, carrying weight without anger. "It's not what you think, Eddy. Yes, the Heart is powerful, beyond anything you can imagine. But it does what it chooses, when it chooses. Always for balance, always for the good of this world. What you and the others need..." His gaze slid once more to Elias, the pause thick with meaning. "...is control. The Heart has already given you what no one else possesses."

Eddy's brow furrowed. "Given me?"

Sentinel's eyes locked on him, steady and unblinking. "You're human, Eddy. Yet you carry echo-weaving magic. Do you understand what that means? Witches and fae spend lifetimes chasing such a gift, and most never touch it. You already hold it."

A faint tremor ran through the room, silence deepening, eyes widening, breaths held. Even the chandeliers seemed to flicker slower, the light itself pausing to listen.

Eddy swallowed hard, his hand brushing over the faint symbol on his wrist as if trying to feel the truth beneath his skin. His voice came soft, uncertain. "Then... could I see it? The Eclipse Heart, I mean. Just once." His tone dropped to a whisper, careful, almost reverent, like he feared the hall itself might judge the question.

The table stilled. Every head turned to Sentinel. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

A flicker crossed Sentinel's eyes as Vaelthar's whisper brushed against his mind, quiet but insistent. We should let him. If he is to understand what he's entangled in, he must see. And the Heart's reaction to him... that will tell us more than words ever could.

Sentinel's jaw tightened, muscles shifting beneath his beard. His gaze lingered on Eddy for a long, unreadable moment. Then, with a slow, resigned exhale, he gave a single nod. "Finish your dinner first. Then... we'll go."

Cassandra's chair scraped sharply against the floor as she leaned forward, eyes flashing in disbelief. "You agreed? Just like that? No objection at all for him to stand before the Eclipse Heart?"

Thorne, mid-sip, nearly choked on his wine. He coughed, grinning as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, that's a first. Sentinel, agreeing to something in one go? I was bracing for a two-hour lecture first."

Aiden barked a laugh, nearly sending a chunk of bread tumbling from his fingers. "Honestly, I thought you'd sooner chain Eddy to the table than let him peek at the Heart."

Sentinel's gaze slid toward him, sharp as a blade. The faintest muscle twitched in his cheek, but his tone stayed composed, cold steel wrapped in calm. "If the Heart does not wish to be seen, no power in this hall could force it. His request changes nothing, the choice will always belong to the Heart itself."

The words hit like quiet thunder. Even the flames in the sconces seemed to dim for a moment. Around the table, glances shifted, uncertain, thoughtful. Elias's fingers toyed absently with his spoon. Lyric's gaze fell to her plate, her expression distant. Aiden leaned back, his grin fading to something softer.

Then, slowly, the room stirred again. Spoons clinked, cups lifted, a hum of conversation tried to return but never quite regained its ease. Even as food met lips, every mind lingered elsewhere, on the Heart, and what awaited beyond dinner.

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