Inside Elise's house, the room was cloaked in an expectant silence. Seven people were seated across the sofas, arranged with careful spacing, like pieces on a board awaiting the next move. In the center, a small wooden table bore the delicate arrangement of freshly prepared tea and a few simple pastries, set with Elise and Maria's meticulous care. Steam rose languidly from the cups, as though trying to fill the void of a conversation yet to begin.
"First of all, allow me to introduce her," Elise began, her voice firm, weighted with solemnity. "Her name is Iolanda. She is a mage of the Dark Throne."
Iolanda, who until then had remained silent, rose from the sofa in a calculated gesture. Her military bearing did not falter, not even for a heartbeat.
"As Mage Elise has said, my name is Iolanda. I am a member of the Dark Throne. It is a pleasure to meet you, Madam." She bowed lightly toward Maria.
Maria returned the gesture quickly, almost automatically.
"My name is Maria," she answered, her voice restrained, each word weighed with care. "And please, call me only Maria." She sat again beside Emanuelle and Anthony.
The seating formed nearly a circle. On the three-seat sofa to the right sat Emanuelle, Maria, and Anthony, pressed together. To the left were Marduk, Elian, and Iolanda, their gazes a mixture of coldness, curiosity, and tension. On the remaining sofa, set apart like a conductor overseeing the gathering, was Elise—her posture upright, her face serene, but her eyes sharp, missing nothing.
It was Elise who broke the silence.
"Very well. Let me begin by telling you how the conference unfolded."
And so she spoke. Her voice was like a blade: clear, precise, recounting every detail with fidelity. Maria listened in silence, her blue eyes fixed, though clouded beneath the surface. The discomfort was plain in her posture—her hands clutched tightly in her lap, her breathing restrained, as if every word resurrected a memory too painful to face.
When Elise mentioned that Ancients Marduk and Azemir had acknowledged Baron Hoffmann's guilt, Maria's eyes shifted slightly, searching for relief—but none came. To know that the culprit had been named, and yet would walk free, was like watching the blade that had slaughtered her family washed clean and handed back to the executioner. The monster would remain untouchable, shielded by the shadows of law and politics.
"Even after you said there were two other mages of the Tower of Wisdom, and that Marduk himself heard them serving a knight of the Baron… it meant nothing?" Maria's voice was heavy with pain, disbelief, and a raw undertone of rage.
"Exactly," Elise confirmed, her gaze steady but bitter. "Without concrete proof, there was no way to render a verdict in my favor."
The words rang like a cruel sentence inside Maria's chest. Her eyes fell to the floor, and tears began to slip quietly down her face. They were not only tears of grief. They carried fury—fury at impunity, fury at justice as empty theater, fury at the man who kept robbing her of everything. Her sobbing had no cries, no convulsions—only the silent weeping of one who has long since cried dry, with nothing left but wrath.
With the back of her hand, she brushed her tears away, forcing composure. She lifted her glistening eyes to Elise.
"Thank you, Elise," she said, her voice trembling, every word heavy but sincere. "I don't know how to thank you for interceding for us, for seeking justice."
"There's no need to thank me, Maria," Elise replied, her voice serene yet burdened with resignation. "It was the right thing to do." She paused, as though the next words resisted leaving her lips. "But even so… we did not achieve what we came for."
Maria drew a deep breath, her sorrow hardened into bitter resolve.
"Even so, you tried, Elise. And that means much to me. To all of us."
Across the room, Elian sat in absolute silence. Yet inside, his mind burned. It was not the body of a child that stilled his tongue, but the fury consuming him. To watch his mother cry made his heart pound like a war drum in his chest. Vengeance. The word beat like a mantra inside him. He did not want only to protect. He wanted to destroy the man who made his mother shed tears of pain and helplessness. An ancient hatred, reborn, fed by the flames of injustice.
His hands clenched in his lap until his knuckles turned white, but he said nothing.
The room sank into silence once more. Only the crackle of wood in the fireplace dared intrude, breaking the stillness like muffled sighs.
Iolanda, seated beside Elian, also kept quiet. Her face remained impassive, a mask of neutrality. Yet within, rage smoldered. She knew the scars of injustice well, and the telling of them reopened wounds that had never healed. Still, she remained unmoved. Neutrality was discipline. For now.
"Well, I believe it is time I tell you why I am here," Iolanda said at last, her firm voice cutting through the thick silence.
Elian, lost until then in the storm of his own rage, was snapped back by those words. His golden eyes flickered, and Emanuelle—seated across from him—was the only one to notice the sudden gleam in them, not a surge of energy but an emotional weight so heavy that she shrank into herself in silence.
The boy drew a slow breath. The memory of Cainã, the inevitability of leaving, struck him anew like a sharp blow. His eyes moved discreetly to Maria, to Emanuelle, to Anthony, as though trying to carve their every feature into his soul, as if he already knew his time with them was borrowed.
"Go on," Elise said, raising her head, remembering the second matter yet untouched. "Continue, Mage Iolanda."
Iolanda rose slowly. She straightened the dark tunic of her order, its red accents glinting in the firelight. Her posture radiated discipline, her bearing solemn.
"First, I would like to offer my condolences for your loss," she said, inclining her head slightly toward Maria.
"Thank you," Maria whispered, clutching her son, barely holding back her tears.
Iolanda breathed deeply, then spoke without preamble:
"I will not draw this out with needless explanation. The details can come later. I will speak plainly."
Her dark eyes locked onto Elian's. With a single gesture, she bade him rise. The boy obeyed in silence, the black tunic with red trim stark against the pale light of the room.
"As you can see, your son already wears the ceremonial robes of the Dark Throne," Iolanda declared, turning to Maria. Her tone was calm, but each word fell like iron. "During the conference, he stood before Ancient Marduk and requested to become a member of the order. The Ancient accepted… but only after Elian proved himself worthy to be one of us."
The words struck Maria like thunder. She turned at once to Elise, her eyes wide, desperate for answers. But Elise said nothing, only held her gaze, leaving Iolanda to finish the revelation.
"After his acceptance, the Ancient decreed that he must depart immediately for Cainã, where the Dark Throne's main stronghold lies," she concluded, her voice firm, inescapable, like the reading of a sentence.
Air vanished from the room. Maria clutched Elian's arm instinctively, as if to anchor him to herself, to tear back the fate others had laid upon him.
"No." Her voice was raw.
Iolanda frowned. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, eyes fixed on her.
"I said he will not leave now!" Maria cried, pulling Elian close, gripping him as though his small body were the last tether she had to the world.
The cry detonated through the room. Everyone jolted, startled by the weight in her voice—not mere words, but raw flesh and grief made sound. It was the howl of one who had already lost everything, unwilling to lose again.
Iolanda's eyes narrowed in disbelief. How could a mere commoner, a woman versed in no more than basic spells, defy an Ancient's decree? She knew the nature of the act—it was pure maternal instinct—yet her soldier's discipline could not accept such defiance.
"How did you let him do this, Elise?!" Maria cried, and even the serene figure of the mentor was shaken by the weight of her anguish.
Yet Elise did not defend herself. Her expression stayed composed, though her green eyes held something deeper: memory. She knew what it was to lose. She knew the pain of watching cruel fate tear away those she loved. And so she did not answer. Not because she accepted blame—but because no words could soothe Maria's torment.
Iolanda resumed, her voice sharp but steady:
"I will continue. After being accepted, Elian made two requests. The first—that he be allowed to remain with you for at least two more years. The second—that Ancient Marduk deploy mages to guard your family."
The revelation fell doubly heavy upon Maria. Her chest heaved, her tears ran hot and silent. To face the loss of her son was already unbearable, but to know he himself had begged for more time and for their safety—this tangled pride and grief into a knot impossible to sever.
Elian lowered his gaze, consumed by sorrow. He knew the path he had chosen demanded sacrifice, and though it cut him to see his mother break, there was no other way. This was the price for the power to protect them. His only gamble was to bind the Dark Throne's shield to his family.
Emanuelle, lost in what she could not understand, felt only her heart breaking at the sight of her mother's tears. Small and instinctive, she threw her arms around Maria and Elian, clutching them in a desperate embrace, as if her fragile body could stop the separation.
Anthony, however, stood firm. His blue eyes—his mother's eyes—were wet, yet his voice came out steady, almost adult, bearing a weight beyond his eleven years.
"Mother…" he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Let her finish."
In that moment, the boy's voice carried the echo of Arthur himself, reason piercing through the storm.
Maria lifted her gaze back to Iolanda. Her eyes, wet with grief, held the raw pain of a mother on the brink of being torn from her child. And for just an instant, the Dark Throne mage's stern mask flickered, a spark of empathy crossing her face.
With a firm motion, Iolanda reached for the dimensional amulet at her chest. From it, she drew a sealed scroll, the wax stamped with the Dark Throne's sigil. The crack of the seal breaking shattered the silence, and her voice, steady and cadenced, began to read.
"'Allow me to begin by offering my sincerest condolences to the family of my disciple, Elian.'"
Maria's heart thundered at the word disciple. The sound echoed as a decree, a confirmation that this was no passing dream.
"'As I have already told him, I refused the request for two years, but granted him one more year with his family.'"
Maria's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob. Elise lowered her eyes, silent.
"'Regarding his request for his family's protection, I grant, in the name of the Dark Throne, full safeguard. It shall extend to all members of his household. Initially, three mages would have been appointed… however, I have decided to raise this number to five.'"
A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Even Marduk, motionless until then, arched a brow, though his face remained stone.
Iolanda read on, her voice steady, weighted with authority.
"'Be proud of your son, for he is the youngest ever to be accepted into one of the three great orders. I know my words will not soothe the pain of separation so near your loss. For this reason, I send my daughter as supervisor, to show that I speak in earnest: your family shall be protected, and Elian shall be trained.'"
Maria's eyes widened, turning slowly toward Iolanda. Silence thickened, suffocating.
"'Before concluding, I leave two more resolutions. First: the Dark Throne will fund the building of your new home, alongside the branch of the order to be established in Brumaria. Of course, it will not be a gift without recompense, but the payment shall come in due time. Second: your son will not remain absent until he is twelve without return. He shall return every six months, staying one month by your side. Take this as though he had already entered the Arcane University.
"Sincerely, Ancient Demetrius Marduk.'"
Iolanda folded the parchment with ceremonial care, returning it to the amulet.
The room held its silence, heavy as lead. Maria clung to Elian, her tears still falling, torn between pride and despair. Elise watched her with sorrow, recognizing in her pain the echo of so many losses they both carried. And Elian, unmoving, felt in his chest the cruel weight of being both son and pawn in a game far greater than himself.