The Silent Council had become a snake eating its own tail. The Weaver’s campaign of misinformation had not merely sown discord; it had fundamentally broken the trust that bound the Council together. Every glance was a potential accusation, every whispered word a possible betrayal. The hunt for the Weaver had turned inward, a frantic, paranoid purge that consumed their energy and eroded their authority. The rebellion, the very thing they were meant to suppress, was now an afterthought, a distant rumble compared to the storm raging within their own chamber. The Weaver, from her unseen perch, watched the architects of silence tear their own temple down, brick by agonizing brick.