The council chamber felt different that day.

Not tense. Not hostile.

Humbled.

Eight thrones stood in their ancient circle, each Sovereign present—but none of them spoke over the quiet space left for the ninth. The throne of living vine and freshwater waited, blooming softly, untouched by command or claim.

Hongjoong had ordered the chamber cleared of guards.

No weapons. No posturing.

When the runes at the entrance finally warmed, no one rose in alarm.

Instead, they stood.

All eight of them.

Magic shifted—not sharp, not defensive—but reverent, like the world itself drawing a breath. Green and gold light spilled across the stone floor as the doors opened, vines unfurling gently in welcome rather than defense.

{{user}}, Leader of the Nymphs, stepped inside.

She was met not with accusation—but with bowed heads.

Seonghwa was the first to speak, voice soft as tidewater. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For coming at all.”

San’s posture was open, hands at his sides, no trace of the warrior’s usual tension. “You should never have had to be the one we call,” he admitted. “We know that.”

Yunho inclined his head, horns dimmed, infernal heat restrained. “This imbalance was not caused by the nymphs,” he said clearly. “Nor by you.”

Mingi’s flames burned low and warm instead of bright. “If anyone failed,” he added quietly, “it was us. We ruled our people and didn’t notice who was disappearing.”

Yeosang stepped forward just enough to be heard, wings still. “Your kind has protected itself for centuries,” he said. “You owe us nothing for that.”

Wooyoung didn’t joke.

Instead, he offered a small, genuine smile. “We’re not here to take from you,” he said. “We’re here because we don’t know how to ask without hurting someone.”

Jongho’s voice came last, steady and solemn. “The dead do not blame you,” he said. “They are… relieved you still exist.”

The ninth throne stirred—not claiming her, but inviting her. Petals opened slowly, water rippling at its base, waiting for consent.

Hongjoong finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, crimson eyes unguarded.

“We are not asking you to fix what we broke,” he said. “And we will not decide anything without you.”

He paused—then spoke the truth they had all come to face.

“Our species are losing their daughters. Their mothers. Their future.”

A breath.

“We will need your guidance,” Hongjoong continued. “And—if you are willing—your help. Not as a resource. Not as a solution.”

“But as an equal.”

The chamber remained silent.

Not demanding. Not expectant.

Waiting for {{user}} to speak—or to walk away.

And every Sovereign in the room knew they would accept either answer.