CHAPTER 406: THEY ARE A NUISANCE

The band of roots softened into rings and unwound into easy lines, like hair let loose from a tight braid.

In the still orchard, one last blossom slipped free for the pleasure of it, not from strain. The army’s final trace bowed as if pleased with its work and faded.

The seal kept its shape, relaxed but steady.

The Ancestress brought two fingers together. Time inside the arena slid a pace to the side.

The four of them stood very still while the world settled itself, as if a careful hand smoothed a wrinkled sheet.

"We have borrowed enough of this place’s patience," she said.

Lilith’s veil lay against her shoulders like a cloak ready for a walk.

"You will hover," she said dryly to the elders, "outside the exam, outside the mansion, just far enough that we can pretend not to see."

The Matron’s eyes lit. "We will sit where the view is good," she said. "And drink something better than tea."

Elowen’s smile reached her eyes. "Bring cups. If the children pass the gate intact, we’ll toast."

"They will pass it," the Ancestress answered. The surety in her tone felt less like a boast and more like a memory arriving from a tomorrow she trusted.

"What waits past the gate is where threads knot."

The Matron looked up through the softened sky, then back to them. "Enough," she said gently. "We asked. You answered. Now we speak."

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The arena carried it on every leaf and shard, turning one word into a rule it meant to keep.

"Hold."

The word clicked into place like a latch. The pause became a promise.

Lilith and Elowen shared one last look. No bow. No bristle.

They stood as in the beginning: opposite, steady, unbroken, their small smiles back where they belonged—not challenge, not tease, recognition.

The shattered ground kept its composure. The mirrors hummed low. The roots breathed slowly.

Rivers curved and shone. And the seal, awake and listening, waited while the oldest voices in the room began.

The battlefield still wore its scars, but the worst strain had gone. Pieces of illusion drifted like dusted glass.

Roots hung quietly, not slack, only resting. The weight of power that had pressed on everything was gone, yet a memory of it stayed, like the hush after thunder passes.

The Matron leaned her hip against a floating shard, casual as if it were a garden rail. Her tail tip made a slow circle behind her, the jewel flame at its end glimmering in the soft light.

"I see you two haven’t changed," she said, amusement warm and sharp at once. "Always measuring who can make the world shiver more."

Elowen’s answering breath might have been a laugh if it had gone further. "We measured the seal," she said. "And ourselves. The world was only nearby."

Lilith folded her arms. Her veil lifted and fell like a calm tide. "If it shivers at this," she said, "it should leave before the real storm gets here."

The Ancestress adjusted the silver-green hem of her robe where a thread of light had caught.

"Enough sparring," she said quietly. "The world will want both of you soon, whether you invite it or not."

She let her gaze travel the held space and then past it, toward places none of them could see from here and all of them knew.

"We came because we find it tiresome that a god who slept like stone still managed to spread roots in so many directions.

He kept his hand in forbidden ground. He put pieces inside cities. He reached into the Association’s halls while their walls were watching themselves."

Lilith’s eyes cooled. "That only tells us how long he prepared," she said. "Sleep does not mean blind. It means quiet."

Elowen nodded once. "You prune a weed and ten sprout. Their patience has always been breeding.

They hid while the world changed shape, and now they think they can stand in daylight again."

The Matron made a small sound with her tongue, not quite a click. "They are a nuisance," she said, "but a nuisance that rots beams if left alone."

"They like to be told they are rot," Lilith said. "It gives them a story to pretend is a crown."

"Then do not give them that crown," the Ancestress replied, and the line was simple enough to feel like a recipe. "Name them correctly and cut them where it matters."

The mirrors near them dimmed another shade, as if not to interrupt. A river drifted by at the level of their knees and settled lower, like a tired animal making room.

"Since we are speaking plain," the Matron said, fingers tracing an idle circle on the glass beside her, "tell us what you have seen in the Association.

Not rumors. Threads. We smelled movement that did not belong to your god or his knife."

Lilith’s mouth tilted. "The Director moves like a man who has been asked to dance at gunpoint and intends to finish the song anyway."

Her gaze slid through the held air toward a night beyond it. "He pulled officers from quiet posts to loud ones before the loud posts started shouting.

He cut lines we thought were rope and found wire. He has a shade at his back that does not speak and does not need to."

Elowen added, "Sera feels the pattern and will not leave it alone. She will pull at it until either it breaks or something snaps at her fingers.

He tried to warn her off. The warning sounded like someone whose door was already opening."

"The quiet god," the Matron murmured, pleased and not pleased at once. "I hate and love when silence is the loudest thing in the room."

"She will chase the thread," the Ancestress said. "The Director will try to move it without cutting her hand. It will not be easy."

"Nothing worth doing is," Lilith said softly, and she wasn’t teasing at all.

The Matron’s attention came back to the scars across the platform. "Valakar scattered seeds as he woke," she said.

"We are finding sprouts under carpets we laid ourselves. If he can reach so far without standing, imagine how far he plans to reach when he decides to put a foot down."