A week passed until the day of the meeting finally arrived.
Elian and Elise left Brumaria, bound for the neutral city of Askov, located in the heart of the Kingdom of Elveron. The journey, slow and cautious, took three full days, crossing roads flanked by abandoned fields and villages that seemed suspended in time. There was no room for distractions: this was no leisure trip, but an audience before the Arcane Council — composed of three elders from each of the great orders and the kingdom's own Prime Minister.
Maria, Emanuelle, and Anthony remained in Brumaria. Elise knew bringing them along would be useless and dangerous. To ensure they would not be left unprotected, she requested that the Tower of Wisdom assign magical guards to watch over them. The tower promptly complied, sending two trusted names: Gremory and Marduk, who had already formed a natural bond with the family.
At this point, one might wonder how Elise secured such a meeting, given that she held no official position within the orders. The answer was simple: influence and old debts. Elise was still respected within the Tower of Wisdom — even in her absence — and certain high-ranking figures owed her favors. Favors she had decided to collect.
Another inevitable question: why so much effort for a mere "apprentice"?
The answer was honor… and something darker. Elise could not ignore the assault committed against Elian. She had two possible paths:
The first was to act on her own and destroy Baron Hoffmann and his entire family.
Yes, Elise had the power for that. But it would be a risky choice. Without solid proof, her actions would be seen as an unjustified attack, and any retaliation would fall not only on her, but on Elian and his family as well. Moreover, no one could predict how many mages the Baron might have under his command — and Elise was not naïve enough to underestimate the strength of a resourceful enemy.
The second path — the one she chose — was to seek the Arcane Council, presenting her arguments and attempting to prove the Baron's guilt. Even if she failed to prove it, the meeting itself would serve as a permanent mark on the political board: from that moment on, for years to come, both the Baron and Elian would be under the watchful eyes of the orders.
This did not remove the danger. The Baron could still resort to bandits or mercenaries, but any move against Elian would become far riskier… and in this game of power, even the smallest misstep could prove fatal.
"Just a few more minutes and we'll be called in," said Elise, her tone serene, though her eyes scanned every subtle movement in the corridor.
"Yes," Elian replied, his voice calm, almost neutral, though his gaze betrayed the tension building within.
The antechamber where they waited was at least fifteen square meters in size. The high ceiling supported magical chandeliers suspended by golden chains, their crystals floating gently, casting soft reflections along the walls. At the far end, two dark green velvet sofas faced each other in a quiet invitation to rest. Persian rugs, worn only at the edges, warmed the polished stone floor, muffling footsteps.
In the left and right corners, lit fireplaces radiated a comforting heat, flanked by vases of enchanted flowers — sunflowers that turned toward the flames and tulips that opened slowly, releasing a sweet, soothing fragrance. The walls were adorned with paintings of ancient landscapes, depicting valleys and fortresses from the kingdom's early days, their carved wooden frames gleaming under the golden light.
Elian was dressed almost like a noble mage: a white tunic with gold detailing that fell to his knees, fitted trousers in the same pale tone, and a dark leather belt fastening the narrow sheath of a ceremonial dagger. His red hair, tied back at the shoulder, formed a short ponytail that left his serious face in full view.
Elise, in contrast, wore the ceremonial garb of the Tower of Wisdom: a deep wine-red tunic embroidered with golden floral patterns, falling in layers that nearly brushed the floor. Her hair was fixed in a tight bun, revealing her defined profile and upright bearing. On her chest, embroidered into the fabric, the symbol of the order — a golden triangle with an eye at its center — seemed to watch them as intently as they observed the room.
Outside, footsteps echoed through the corridor, followed by muffled voices. Time seemed to drag, as if the room itself tested the patience of those waiting.
The antechamber door opened slowly, revealing a mage in a gray tunic, his expression as impassive as stone. He said no more than was necessary:
"Elise, Elian… the Council awaits you."
Elise rose first, her movements controlled, her posture that of someone well aware of the weight of what was to come. Elian followed, adjusting the tunic at his shoulders and casting one last look around the room — as if committing every detail to memory in case he never saw it again.
The corridor awaiting them was long and silent, lit only by magical light orbs suspended at regular intervals. The pale stone walls were adorned with the banners of the three great orders — gold and white for the Golden Dawn, black and scarlet for the Dark Throne, and wine-red with gold for the Tower of Wisdom. Each banner seemed to watch them, a reminder that they were about to step into a domain where these symbols held more power than any crown.
Their footsteps echoed against polished marble, accompanied only by the muffled sounds of distant conversations that faded away with every corner they turned. In the air lingered a faint scent of incense, mingled with the dry chill drifting in through tall, narrow windows, giving the sense that the castle itself breathed slowly.
Elian kept his eyes fixed ahead, though he could not help but notice the imposing, closed doors they passed — each one hiding secrets and decisions that had shaped the fate of entire realms. Elise walked beside him with firm, unhesitant steps.
As they advanced, the corridor narrowed and the light grew brighter until, at last, a massive double door came into view, forged from black wood reinforced with golden metalwork. It did not seem to guard just a room… but an entire world.
The mage guiding them stopped before it, turning only to say:
"When you enter, speak only when permitted."
Then he placed his hands upon the doors and began to push them open, the deep groan of the hinges echoing like thunder in the corridor.
★★★
"Elders and Prime Minister, I present to you the Second-Hierarchy Mage, Elise, and her apprentice, Elian," the herald announced, his voice resonating through the space as if the chamber itself carried it forward.
Elise entered upright, her steps short and assured. At her side, Elian matched her pace, not daring to break the solemn silence that dominated the hall.
The antechamber had been grand… but what opened before them belonged to another scale entirely. The vast, oval chamber seemed not merely built, but shaped to be a point of convergence for power itself. The walls were no mere surfaces: delicate runes were carved along their length, pulsing faintly, almost imperceptibly, as if the stone itself breathed magic. The light was neither bright nor dim, but a perfect balance between shadow and illumination, creating an atmosphere suspended between the sacred and the enigmatic.
The air was thick with scents — myrrh incense mingled with the freshness of dried leaves and a faint floral note, as though each fragrance had been chosen to keep the mind alert yet serene. It was a scent that recalled ancient temples but bore the refinement of a royal hall.
Everywhere, wealth was evident. Silk tapestries bearing the symbols of the three orders hung from the walls; black marble columns supported the vaulted ceiling, adorned with golden rings and tiny crystals that caught the light. Upon tables and pedestals, magical artifacts rested beneath glass domes: orbs spinning slowly in place, scrolls floating inches above the surface, ceremonial swords with blades inscribed in forgotten tongues.
At floor level, twenty people sat in a perfect semicircle: five members of the Golden Dawn, five of the Dark Throne, five of the Tower of Wisdom, and five representatives of the kingdom itself. Each group wore distinct attire, and while it was clear that the kingdom's representatives lacked the magical aura of the others, their quills moved swiftly over parchment, recording every word and gesture, their gazes making clear that their voices too carried weight.
At the highest point, raised by three broad steps, four imposing chairs dominated the view. Three men and one woman occupied these seats — the three Elders of the orders and the Prime Minister of the realm. Each bore the presence of one who not only governs but decides the fate of entire nations.
In the chair to the left sat the Elder of the Golden Dawn.
"Elder Nefertiti, representative of the Order of the Golden Dawn," the herald announced with deep respect.
She sat upright, clad in white robes richly embroidered with gold, which seemed to catch every glimmer of light in the room. Her hood rested over long hair the color of a crystalline river, tinged with gold at the tips as if light itself had chosen to dwell there.
Her gaze was gentle yet firm. And even in the solemnity of the moment, she smiled — a smile devoid of scorn or condescension, carrying instead the calm serenity of one unshaken.
When Elian's eyes fell upon her, the thought slipped through his mind:
She is… beautiful.
It was not an arrogant or cold beauty, but something akin to a quiet dawn, the first light of day reflecting over golden fields. A beauty that seemed to speak of peace and wisdom, even in silence.
Beside her sat the Elder of the Tower of Wisdom.
"Elder Azemir, representative of the Tower of Wisdom," the herald proclaimed.
Azemir sat with flawless posture, his hands resting upon the arms of his chair as though they carried the weight of centuries. His long gray hair, tied in a low tail, fell to mid-back, and his well-groomed beard lent him an air of unshakable authority.
He wore a black robe richly embroidered with golden arabesques, and over his left shoulder draped a wine-red cape adorned with golden and scarlet floral embroidery, as if nature itself had chosen to rest there. His eyes were a deep gray, steady and piercing, giving the sense that he could see beyond words — perhaps even beyond the soul.
When Elian met his gaze, he thought:
He is serious… and not the sort to be easily deceived. Perhaps… even just.
At his side, Elise inclined her head in a respectful bow, a gesture the Elder returned with the briefest nod, never breaking his composure.
In the central chair, seated at the forefront, was the man who represented the kingdom's political power within the council.
"Ralf Von Bauer, Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Elveron," the herald declared.
Ralf was an imposing man — not through height or muscle, but through the weight of authority he carried. His short, neatly kept blond hair caught the magical light of the chamber, and his green eyes, tinged with an unusual shade of scarlet, seemed to measure and weigh every person who dared to meet them. His face was slightly rounded, his build somewhat robust, though it was softened by the fine noble garments he wore, richly embroidered in gold.
He sat upright, his expression serious and unshakable, as though forever caught in the midst of a decision that could alter the fate of the realm.
When Elian looked at him, an old, unwelcome tightness gripped his chest:
It doesn't matter if he's just or not… every noble carries the scent of my father's death.
His gaze turned away almost instantly — not out of fear, but to prevent that repulsion from becoming visible.