"...What?"The single word hung in the air like a suspended blade. Marco stared at Tresh, his face frozen somewhere between disbelief and fury.Tresh Mavarin, Guildmaster of the Crimson Scale for nearly five decades, sat behind her mahogany desk with perfect posture. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back in its customary severe bun, not a strand out of place despite the chaos of the past week."I said," she repeated with deliberate clarity, "I am stepping down as Guildmaster. The Crimson Scale Guild will cease operations by the end of the month."The silence that followed her second declaration was even heavier than the first. Around the room, guild officers and senior staff exchanged glances, some resigned, others alarmed. None looked particularly surprised. They'd all seen this coming after the auction disaster.Marco stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides. "You can't be serious.""I assure you, I am entirely serious." Tresh's voice remained level, almost bored. "The decision has been made. I've already begun the paperwork for the dissolution.""After one setback? After one public embarrassment?" Marco's voice rose. "Guilds weather these storms. They rebuild."Tresh's eyes sharpened. "One setback? Our warehouse burned to the ground. Our dye stocks are gone. Our seat in the House of Merchants is as good as lost. Deroq attempted murder in front of the Imperial Inspector and the Archmage." She ticked off each disaster on her fingers with clinical detachment. "This isn't a storm, Marco. It's an extinction event.""So you're just giving up?" Marco looked around the room, seeking allies. "After so many years, you're walking away at the first real challenge?""The first?" Tresh actually laughed, a sound so rarely heard that several staff members flinched. "I built the Crimson Scale from nothing. We rose to the tenth seat at our peak. We've been declining for years - down to thirteenth, then (...)