Gold Hall did not invite us to a debate this time.
It invited us to a map.
That was worse.
The chamber had been rearranged since the Ethics Salon. The central table was gone.
The map did not merely show territory.
It showed assumptions.
Gold Hall's western block was drawn wide and clean, with reinforced borders and elegant approach paths. The chapel annex glowed as if devotion itself respected geometry. Healing Hall sat in white symmetry. Obsidian Dormitory appeared as a dark corner with three official exits, all wrong in ways anyone who lived there would notice immediately.
A map made by power always looked accurate to the people power fed.
That was why it was dangerous.
Bad maps did not only hide roads.
They trained everyone to forget who walked them. In its place, a floor-sized academy diagram stretched from wall to wall, made of enchanted ink, faction markers, colored pins, and enough arrogance to require ventilation.
Gold Hall at the west.
