In the dimly lit halls of an abandoned stronghold, a different kind of meeting was taking place.

  The rulers of the lesser Dominions—those who had survived Phase One but found themselves overshadowed by the rising powers—had gathered in secret.

  They did not come as friends.

  They came because they shared a common problem.

  And that problem’s name was Selene.

  ---

  Lord Brannor of the Iron Pact sat at the head of the table, his large hands clasped together, his gaze grim.

  He had fought his way through the Trial, securing four territories, fortifying them with discipline and steel.

  But even he saw the danger.

  “The Court of Balance grows stronger every day,” he said. “And if we let it continue, none of us will be left standing.”

  Across from him, Lady Revera of the Verdant Accord scoffed.

  “She’s not a god,” she said. “You all talk as if she’s already won.”

  Brannor’s jaw tightened.

  “Then tell me, Revera. How many of your neighbors have surrendered to her?”

  Revera hesitated.

  Then looked away.

  Brannor pressed on.

  “She didn’t just take Blackwell’s lands. She took Blackwell. She didn’t just break Vargis. She made him kneel.”

  His voice lowered.

  “She is not fighting to destroy us.”

  He exhaled.

  “She is fighting to own us.”

  The room was silent.

  Because no one could argue against that.

  ---

  There were seven Lords present, each one a Dominion leader.

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  Brannor of the Iron Pact—a defensive strategist, pragmatic and wary.

  Revera of the Verdant Accord—a ruler of nature-bound lands, cautious but proud.

  Lord Tarven of the Obsidian March—an aggressive warlord who had built his Dominion through brute force and terror.

  Lady Ilya of the Dawn Covenant—a diplomatic leader, preferring alliances over conquest.

  Lord Maelrik of the Ember League—a firebrand, ambitious but reckless.

  Lord Danton of the Gilded Chain—a trader and economic ruler, holding vast wealth but little military strength.

  And finally, Lady Cyrienne of the Azure Dominion—a master of deception and subterfuge, preferring shadows over open war.

  Each had their own strengths.

  Each had survived the first phase.

  But now, they had to decide what came next.

  ---

  Tarven leaned forward, his scarred face twisting into a scowl.

  “You all sound like cowards.”

  His gauntleted fist slammed onto the table.

  “Selene is strong, yes. But she bleeds like anyone else. If we’re afraid to strike now, when will we?”

  Brannor sighed. “It’s not a question of fear, Tarven. It’s a question of timing.”

  Tarven sneered. “You sound like a man who’s already given up.”

  Brannor’s gaze sharpened.

  “No. I sound like a man who understands that rushing in blindly is a fool’s death.”

  Tarven growled, but said nothing.

  Lady Ilya exhaled softly.

  “We cannot fight her alone,” she murmured. “But if we work together, perhaps…”

  Lord Danton adjusted his gilded rings. “Fighting her is one thing. But if she falls, who takes her place?”

  A pause.

  The Lords exchanged glances.

  Because that was the real issue.

  If they defeated Selene, who would rise in her place?

  Would they simply turn on each other?

  Would their temporary alliance crumble the moment she was gone?

  Lady Cyrienne smirked.

  “You see the problem, don’t you?” she mused. “She has built something we do not have.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Unity.”

  ---

  Brannor exhaled.

  “So what do we do?”

  Silence.

  Then, slowly, Revera spoke.

  “We do not need to destroy her outright.”

  Brannor frowned. “Then what?”

  Revera’s eyes gleamed.

  “We need to weaken her.”

  She leaned forward.

  “If we strike all at once, she will crush us.”

  “But if we bleed her piece by piece… if we isolate her vassals, cut off her supply lines, force her to fight too many battles at once—”

  Tarven grinned.

  “She will collapse under the weight of her own empire.”

  The Lords nodded.

  A plan was forming.

  A slow, methodical attack.

  Not a war.

  A pressure campaign.

  If they could force her to spend resources, spread her armies, stretch her forces thin—

  Then when the time came, they could break her.

  ---

  Brannor studied the map.

  “She controls five territories,” he murmured.

  Revera nodded.

  “We strike at the edges. We do not go for the heart. We pick off her weaker allies first.”

  Maelrik smirked. “Which means Blackwell.”

  Brannor nodded grimly.

  “He was once a Lord himself. But now, he’s just her servant.”

  Lady Ilya exhaled. “So we cut him off. Make him question his loyalty.”

  Lord Danton folded his arms. “And if he doesn’t break?”

  Revera’s eyes darkened.

  “Then we break him for her.”

  A hush fell over the room.

  And then, one by one, the Lords agreed.

  They would not fight Selene head-on.

  Not yet.

  They would chip away at her empire until it collapsed under its own weight.

  And when the time came—

  They would be the ones to take her place.

  ---

  As the meeting ended, Lady Cyrienne remained seated, watching the others leave.

  She smiled faintly.

  They thought they had a plan.

  They thought they were in control.

  But in truth?

  They were already too late.

  Because Selene had seen this coming.

  And when they made their move—

  She would be waiting.