Vel Dranith stood alone before the Cultural Equilibrium Board, thirteen figures seated in a semi-circle on an elevated platform. The chamber's design emphasized their authority—the subtle upward tilt of the floor, the perfectly calculated acoustics that amplified their voices while diminishing his, the lighting that left their features in shadow while exposing him completely.
None of these psychological architectures bothered Dranith. Power was merely a framework, and frameworks could be understood and manipulated.
"They walked silently through a public square," he said, his voice measured and precise. "That was all."
He paused, allowing the statement to hang in the air—stark, simple, true.
"So we made sure no one would ever remember that's all they did."
