The Prophet Hermes declares that Phyron should be freed:
A hush fell over the gathered council. The air inside the neon-lit chamber of the Resistance pulsed with tension. Holographic screens displayed live feeds of the ruined city—smoldering skyscrapers, rivers of molten glass, the aftermath of Phyron's rampage. And yet, here she stood, pale and resolute, delivering her decree. "He must be freed."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the chamber. General Voss, his uniform still dusted with ash from the battlefield, slammed his fist against the console. "Are you out of your mind, Prophet? That monster turned half the city to slag! We barely contained him!" Hermes met his gaze with the calm certainty of one who had seen beyond the veil of time. "And yet, you cannot see what I see." Hera, arms crossed, leaned in with a skeptical glare. "Then enlighten us, O Seer. Because from where I'm standing, you're asking us to unchain a pyromaniac who tried to incinerate an entire civilization." Hermes exhaled, slow and measured. The visions still pulsed behind her eyes—fractured glimpses of futures yet to unfold. She had seen the wheel turning, the cycle repeating. She had seen Phyron's fall, yes—but also his rise. Not as a destroyer, but as something else.
"If Phyron remains in chains, the Void will consume him," Hermes said, her voice steady. "Ungar left him broken, his fire diminished, but what happens when the embers reignite in the wrong hands? If the League of Shadows comes for him, they will forge him into something far worse." A heavy silence. Even Voss hesitated, his scowl tightening. "Then what do you propose?" a voice asked from the shadows. The Council turned as the High Arbitrator stepped forward, his cybernetic eye glinting in the dim light. He had been silent throughout the debate, watching, waiting. Hermes lifted her chin. "Release him under my command."
Another explosion of protest erupted. Voss cursed under his breath, Hera muttered something about suicidal tendencies, and a dozen other voices clashed in dissent. The High Arbitrator, however, merely raised a hand. Silence returned. "You believe you can control him?" he asked. "Not control," Hermes corrected. "Guide." A flicker of something—amusement? Understanding?—crossed the Arbitrator's face. "And if you fail?" Hermes' grip tightened around the edges of the console. "Then the fire will consume us all."
For a long moment, the Arbitrator considered her. Then, with a slow nod, he turned to the Council. "Motion to release Phyron under the custody of the Prophet." The vote was cast. The decision was made. By nightfall, the cell doors would open. The city, still trembling from his destruction, would soon tremble again—but for a different reason. For better or worse, Phyron would burn once more.