Wizards die collectively.
The Goblin Eye suddenly shattered.
The goblins deliberately leaked information.
A rumor spreads that wizards have been transformed by goblin magic.
Moss, the hero who eliminates harm for the people.
In the deputy speaker's office, Nass and Chenos sat across from each other in silence. The whiteboard beside them was filled with chaotic notes summarizing the unexpected events of the day, each one more absurd and troubling than the last.
Nass tapped a clawed finger against the armrest of his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on Chenos. "Can you still control your people?" he asked, his voice low and measured.
Chenos exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. There was a flicker of bitterness in his expression. "The wizards are furious, but for now, I can still hold the situation together. Barely." He then turned the question back onto Nass. "What about you? Can you still withstand the pressure from your own kind?"
In an instant, the two men, who only hours ago had been playing a delicate game of political maneuvering against each other, now spoke like weary comrades, each assessing the damage on their respective fronts.
They both understood exactly what was happening.
This was no accident.
It was a conspiracy.
A blatant, undeniable scheme.
And the worst part? Even knowing this, they were powerless to stop it.
It had to be Grindelwald. He had orchestrated everything to perfection, setting the goblins and wizards against each other, fracturing the alliance that had kept the Magic Congress stable.
Nass sighed, shaking his head. "I can still hold on for now," he admitted, "but I don't know for how much longer."
He and Chenos might hold equivalent influence in their respective factions, but their positions were not the same. Chenos was, for all intents and purposes, the leader of the Magic Congress, wielding the authority that should have belonged to the official Speaker.
Nass, on the other hand, was only an elder among the goblins. He was respected, even powerful, but he was not the ultimate authority. If things continued to spiral out of control, he would be the first scapegoat.
He had been the one overseeing relations with the wizards. He had been present when the Goblin Eye was destroyed.
It would be far too easy for his enemies within the goblin ranks to turn this situation against him.
Once he fell, everything he had built would be devoured by the other factions like wolves descending upon fresh meat.
Chenos studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing his next move. He had no personal loyalty to Nass, but he wasn't blind to the realities of their political landscape.
If Nass fell, it would only make things worse for him.
Right now, Chenos still needed the goblins as allies. He needed their influence to keep his hold over the Congress strong.
But if a more radical goblin faction took control—one that saw wizards as nothing more than obstacles to be crushed under magical artillery—then all of his work would be undone.
The goblins were not a monolith. Their society was divided into three distinct factions.
The peaceful evolutionists, led by Nass, who believed that goblins could reclaim their power through slow, calculated political maneuvering, like boiling a frog in warm water.
The radical suppression faction, led by the third elder, Morton, who openly called for the use of magic weapons to crush wizard control once and for all.
And finally, the neutral faction—the liberal alchemists who simply wanted to be left alone to develop new magical technologies.
Though the third faction had the largest numbers, they lacked true unity. The real fight for control lay between Nass and Morton's groups.
If Nass was removed, there was no doubt that Morton's radicals would seize the opportunity to push their agenda forward.
And that would mean war.
Chenos leaned forward, his fingers interlocking. "Are you sure you don't need my help?"
Nass hesitated. Chenos's offer was tempting.
But it was also dangerous.
If he relied too much on a wizard for support, it would only fuel the radical faction's accusations that he was a puppet of the Congress.
With a carefully measured tone, he replied, "I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it myself." Then, steering the conversation away from his precarious position, he added, "For now, our bigger concern should be Grindelwald and his Saints. These last two incidents have already pushed tensions to a breaking point. If this continues, we won't be able to control it anymore."
Chenos nodded grimly. "I know."
Neither of them needed to spell it out.
If they didn't find Grindelwald soon, things would only get worse.
And if that happened, their tenuous control would collapse completely.
Nass clenched his fists. It was infuriating. How had Grindelwald's people managed to slip through their defenses so easily? They had security, informants, countless layers of magical protection.
Yet somehow, he or one of his top Saints had infiltrated the Magic Congress itself.
And nobody had even noticed.
The conversation lapsed into silence, the two men staring at each other across the table, each seeing the same frustrated, determined look reflected in the other's eyes.
They weren't fools.
They weren't cowards.
If they had clawed their way to the top of their respective hierarchies, it was because they knew how to fight.
And they weren't about to let Grindelwald win.
Not without a fight.
Meanwhile, outside the Magic Congress, Wizard Square had transformed.
A section near the entrance had been cordoned off with wooden signs, each bearing the words "Restricted Area" in bold letters. Wizards in uniform stood watch, ensuring that no curious onlookers ventured too close.
At the center of the cordoned-off area, the shattered remains of the Goblin Eye lay scattered across the ground, its once-glowing dark green gems now lifeless fragments.
And standing on opposite ends of the wreckage were two figures.
One dressed in flowing white robes.
The other in a long black coat.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald stared at each other, their expressions unreadable.
"Gallert," Dumbledore finally said, his voice calm. "It has been some time."
Grindelwald let out a soft chuckle. "Some time? Really, Albus? Wasn't it just two months ago at Kamar Taj's opening ceremony?" His lips curled into a smirk. "Is your memory slipping, old friend?"
Dumbledore's face remained serene, unfazed by the jab. He simply offered the same gentle smile he always had.
Grindelwald studied him for a moment before his gaze shifted downward, toward the shattered Goblin Eye at their feet.
With an amused tilt of his head, he mused, "You know, Albus, I could feel it when you shattered it." He let out a low, mocking whistle. "You didn't hold back."
Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.
Grindelwald chuckled again, shaking his head. "Funny how things work, isn't it? For all our differences, it seems we're standing on the same side again today."
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