Before I could take a step, the blue-haired mage to our right broke formation. I saw her cloak lift in the wind as she stopped before the boy, her shadow swallowing his smug face.
"What did you just say about Miss Emanuelle?" she asked, her voice sharp as a blade.
His smile vanished at once. What remained was only a boy trembling before something he didn't understand. His eyes went wide; the color drained from his face.
"I—I… I didn't say anything…" he stammered, choking on his own words.
"So you're calling me a liar?" the mage shot back, taking a step forward.
"N-no! I… please, forgive me!" his voice cracked, and I watched the damp stain spread across his trousers. The sour-sweet reek of humiliation seeped into the air.
"Leave him, Anna," Iolanda said, firm, without even looking back. "We'll speak to his father later."
The mage returned to her place at our side as if nothing had happened. We moved on.
Mother kept silent, though I saw tension harden her expression. Emanuelle… she just held my hand tighter. The name "Anna" still echoed in her ears. Anthony said nothing, only watched with those quiet blue eyes.
I, however, couldn't quiet the storm inside me. I kept walking, but my gaze stayed fixed on the boy now cowering behind his friends, the mask of arrogance peeled away by fear. I didn't need to say a word. He knew I'd heard him. And if he dared again, there wouldn't be a mage to save him from me.
We finally passed under the archway. The instant I stepped inside, my eyes widened. The hall was vast—far larger than Elise's house. Not as grand as the chapter in Askov, but still breathtaking.
Overhead, floating mage-lights cast a warm, steady glow that both lit and gently heated the space. Directly ahead rose an imposing statue: a triangle ensnared by roots, and at its center a tree bursting upward, branches carved as if striving to break through the ceiling.
The walls were lined with paintings—stern portraits of the eleven current elders who composed the council. Among them I recognized Marduk at once, his red eyes rendered on canvas as if truly watching me. Above those hung four older portraits of honor: the founders of the Dark Throne, the first elders who broke from the Tower of Wisdom to raise their own order.
Their presence—even in paint—commanded respect. It was more than history; it was a reminder that the laws set by the four founders could never be betrayed by the eleven who now bore the weight of the order.
As I took it all in, trying to contain the mix of awe and tension tightening in my chest, Iolanda approached, her voice cutting through with quiet authority:
"Maria, Elian… Elder Marduk is waiting for you upstairs, in the back, before the presentation."
I nodded silently. We followed her down the main corridor, passing mages in black robes stitched with red, nobles in lavish attire, and merchants whispering to each other, their eyes latched onto us. With every step I felt the weight of expectation, as if everyone was waiting for something—or judging everything.
Polished stone stairs carried us to the second floor, where the air felt even more solemn. At the end of the hall rose a double door of walnut, heavy and tall, metalwork etched across it in the shape of interlaced roots.
Iolanda stopped before it and knocked twice, firm. A brief silence, then a grave voice from within gave permission to enter.
The office was broad, dominated by dark wooden bookcases that reached the ceiling, crammed with gilded spines and ancient volumes whose covers bore arcane sigils. Some were bound by enchanted chains that whispered in an old tongue, as if the grimoires themselves were breathing.
On either side, astral globes rested in stands of black iron, projecting constellations onto the ceiling—silent star maps that drifted and shifted, revealing lost routes in the firmament. On a side table lay magical artifacts: a ritual dagger with a silvered blade, a circular mirror of obsidian, and a crystal reliquary pulsing red, as if it guarded the heart of something still alive.
The room was warmed by a hearth of black marble where bluish flames crackled without smoke. Three wine-colored leather sofas with gold stitching framed a low table set with crystal goblets and a bottle of ruby wine. The scent of the drink mingled with incense burning in a brazier in the corner, heavy and nearly suffocating—a blend of myrrh and dried blood.
At the center, behind a walnut desk carved with old runes, stood Elder Marduk.
His mere presence filled the room to the point of pressure. He wore the kind of attire one could not ignore: a black mantle lined in scarlet flowed behind him like a living shadow, his shoulders capped with silver pauldrons sculpted as lions and serpents. Cross-chest ran red chains like crystallized veins. Rubies flashed from his rings, his cuffs, his shoulders, even the dark silver crown resting on his brow. His eyes—cold, penetrating—burned like embers in all that ritual darkness.
Beside him, reclined with easy elegance on one of the sofas, sat another man—a noble whose appearance rivaled Marduk's in presence, though of a different nature.
He wore a long coat of deep blue velvet, silver embroidery curling in waves and spirals like ocean currents. Beneath, a high-collared white tunic fastened with a sapphire brooch cut in the shape of a star. His trousers were gray-ash, close-fitting, tucked into polished navy leather boots that caught the firelight. Silver rings gleamed on his fingers, each set with small blue stones; in his right hand, a slim ivory cane tipped with a translucent crystal.
If Marduk emanated war, blood, and absolute power, this noble projected glacial refinement—like a treacherous tide that swallows without warning. Fire and sea, authority and calculation.
Both were silent when the door opened, but their combined gravity made the air feel dense, each breath an effort.
"I've brought them as you asked, Elder Marduk," Iolanda said, bowing to her father.
"Thank you, Iolanda," he replied, his deep voice rolling through the office. His red gaze fell on us like honed blades. "Sit on one of the sofas." It didn't feel like a suggestion.
We settled onto a four-seat sofa—me at the front edge, Mother beside me, then Emanuelle and Anthony. The wine-dark leather creaked beneath our weight; in the room's hush, the sound boomed.
"First, I would like to thank the four of you for coming," Marduk said, one gloved hand resting on his chair's arm. "I know how difficult it must be to face who will be downstairs today… but still, it pleases me to see you here."
His voice carried more than courtesy; it tested our courage against an unavoidable truth.
"I'm the one who should thank you for the invitation, Elder," my mother answered, inclining her head. Her voice—steady yet strained—held emotion. "It is an honor to witness the opening of a chapter. And one as magnificent as this."
Marduk dipped his head, satisfied.
"Good. I also called you because I want to introduce you to a friend."
The man beside him leaned forward slightly, offering a polished, almost aristocratic smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, voice calm and controlled. "I am Count Albert Avenue."
Mother's eyes widened, surprised, and my first thought was: Who is this man to draw that reaction from her?
As if reading my mind, the Elder clarified:
"He is the lord of these lands. Brumaria lies within the County of Avenue."
The words hung heavy. So this man stood above even Baron Hoffmann—a count who, with a few sentences, could steer the fate of this whole region. But why did he want to meet us?
Marduk leaned back slightly, his scarlet cloak rippling like liquid blood.
"That was a selfish wish of his," he said, almost dismissive. "He wanted to meet my disciple in person."
The count's smile remained restrained, but his eyes held more than curiosity—there was calculation there, and interest.
Silence settled again, dense, broken only by the hearth's crackle and the delicate clink of a runic chain guarding a grimoire on the shelf. We remained like that for a few minutes, each sealed in our own thoughts, until Iolanda stepped closer, unobtrusive as a shadow.