The Neutral Council met inside a repurposed observatory—glass dome cracked, telescopes warped by age, but stars still visible overhead. A fitting place to ask questions that couldn't be answered with certainty.
Sera Vex stepped into the chamber carrying the Divergence Index. It pulsed faintly—magic woven into its pages, but subdued. Truth didn't glow. It hummed.
Around her sat twelve council members—teachers, artists, former Whisper aides, children selected by communal vote. No hierarchy. No symbols. Just presence.
She placed the Index at the center.
"I'm not here to teach," Sera said. "I'm here to submit. This contains contradictions, distortions, and secrets Kael Dross used to forge his purity doctrine. But I won't demand it be burned or believed."
One council member, a playwright named Oren, picked it up.
He read aloud:
"Caelum Dross feared clarity. So Kael gave it claws."
Another, a teen historian named Mael, flipped to a margin note where Caelum had written:
"What if silence only works when love is the speaker?"
Silence spread.
The council debated.
Some questioned whether exposing the truth might cause instability—fracture Kael's followers, spark retaliation. Others insisted on transparency.
Sera didn't speak again.
This wasn't her flame to stoke.
Finally, the youngest member—a girl who once sketched rebellion into the margins of math books—stood.
"Let the people read it," she said. "Not to destroy the myth. To understand it. To choose what parts to carry forward."
The council agreed.
By morning, the Index was public—printed, shared, archived. Kael's foundation cracked. Some followers left. Others doubled down. Cities lit lanterns not in protest, but in conversation.
And Sera?
She stood by the old telescope, watching the stars.
The devil joined her, uninvited.
"You could've led," she said.
Sera smiled.
"I'd rather watch the world write its own fire."