A few days later, as night pressed close around the Viridion estate, the kind of quiet that felt deliberate, as if the darkness itself were listening. Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows of the grand meeting hall, scattering fractured hues of gold and violet across the polished marble floor. The colours slid over unmoving figures and carved pillars, softening nothing. If anything, they made the stillness sharper.
At the far end of the chamber, beneath the crest of the Viridion lineage, Valmire Viridion sat upon the elevated throne. He did not lean back. He did not fidget. Even in stillness, his presence carried weight, like a mountain that did not need to remind anyone it existed. Along the sides of the hall, the elders sat in rigid lines, their robes whispering faintly whenever someone shifted. Eyes flicked toward the throne, then away, then back again—calculating, restless.
Beside the throne stood Alaric Viridion, straight-backed, hands clasped behind him. Shadows gathered along the sharp planes of his face, making his expression harder to read. Only his eyes moved, slow and measured, taking in every elder, every twitch of irritation, every breath drawn too sharply.
The tension snapped.
One of the elders surged to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the stone.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
The words rolled through the chamber, striking every wall before settling into the bones of those present.
"You allowed an outsider to take the Light Goddess's trial—an orphan, no less!" His voice climbed, thick with disbelief. "And after receiving the goddess's blessing, she dares refuse marriage into our family? Refuses us?"
A ripple passed through the room—sharp inhales, low murmurs quickly swallowed. Some elders leaned toward one another, lips barely moving. Others kept their gaze fixed forward, as if detachment might shield them from the storm.
The elder did not stop.
"And Kael—" his fingers curled against the table's edge, knuckles paling "—he discovers Enmu in our mine, and you simply hand it over? To him? He belongs to the Flamecrest Family, not ours! You've given away both power and opportunity. Tell me, Family Head—whose interests are you protecting?"
Silence followed, heavy and expectant.
Valmire's gaze shifted, slow and precise, settling on the elder. The man's breathing was uneven now, chest rising too quickly beneath his robes.
When Valmire spoke, his voice was quiet.
"This matter—Enmu—is already settled."
The words were not loud, but they landed with finality. The elder's jaw tightened; he swallowed whatever argument had been forming, though it lingered in the tension of his shoulders.
"But Samantha—" he pressed on, voice lowering but no less intense. "She carries the Light Goddess's blessing. That is not something we can allow to wander freely. If another family claims her—"
Valmire did not raise his voice.
"No one will be forced into marriage."
A faint shift moved through the hall again, subtler this time. A few elders exchanged glances—some irritated, others thoughtful. One or two leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against their armrests as if reconsidering their approach.
Another elder rose, far more composed. He smoothed the front of his robe before speaking, his tone measured, almost conversational.
"There are… gentler ways to secure loyalty."
His eyes flickered briefly toward the others before returning to the throne.
"My son has known Samantha for years. They trained under the same master, Felix Drayton. There is familiarity there. Affection, perhaps." A small smile touched his lips, polite but edged. "If given the chance, I believe he could win her over naturally."
He inclined his head just enough to show respect without diminishing himself. "Surely, the Family Head would not interfere with something so… organic."
The word lingered.
Valmire regarded him for a moment, unreadable. Then, a slight nod.
"If it happens naturally, I will not stand in the way."
The elder's smile deepened, and he lifted his teacup with practised ease. Steam curled upward, carrying the faint scent of herbs. He took a slow sip, eyes half-lidded.
Under his breath, barely more than a thread of sound—"If she refuses to serve my son, there is no reason for her to live."
The words should have vanished.
They did not.
Valmire's gaze shifted again, locking onto him. For a brief moment, the air seemed to thin, as if something vast had leaned closer. The elder's fingers paused against the porcelain cup, just long enough to betray that he had noticed.
Valmire said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The warning settled anyway—quiet, cold, and absolute.
The first elder cleared his throat, dragging the room's attention back before that silence could deepen further.
"There is another issue," he said, tone tightening. "Ronan. At the academy arena, Amelia was… severely beaten."
A few heads turned at that. Someone exhaled softly through their nose.
Valmire lifted a hand.
The gesture was small. The effect was immediate.
"If Ronan acted wrongly, the academy will handle it."
The elder frowned. "But—"
"The academy will handle it."
There was no rise in tone, no visible irritation—just the same even cadence, repeated. It closed the matter more effectively than any argument could have.
The elder's lips pressed into a thin line. He sat.
From there, the meeting shifted, though the earlier tension lingered like the aftertaste of something bitter. Voices lowered. Discussions turned toward trade routes, resource allocation, minor disputes between branches—practical matters that required attention but lacked the sharp edge of what had come before.
Time passed. One by one, the elders rose and departed, their footsteps echoing faintly as the heavy doors opened and shut. The hall gradually emptied, leaving behind only the quiet hum of lingering Aether and the faint scent of tea.
At last, only Valmire and Alaric remained.
The silence stretched—not uncomfortable, but deliberate.
Then the doors opened again.
Roderick and Aria stepped inside. Dust clung faintly to their boots, and there was a tightness in their movements that spoke of recent exertion. Still, they approached with steady steps, stopping a respectful distance from the throne.
"We've completed our mission," Aria said, bowing.
"Good work," Valmire replied. His gaze moved between them. "Anything unusual?"
Roderick glanced at Aria. It wasn't a long look, but something passed between them—agreement, or perhaps hesitation.
"Hard to say," Aria answered, straightening. "There were signs. Faint. Someone tried to erase them." Her brows drew together slightly, as if the memory itself resisted clarity. "It didn't feel like any elemental Aether I've encountered. The traces were… wrong."
Roderick nodded. "Like something was there—and then not. Not concealed. Removed."
Valmire leaned back slightly, fingers resting against the arm of his throne.
"That confirms it," he murmured. "Someone is manipulating events from within."
Alaric's gaze sharpened. "You believe we have spies among us?"
"Most likely."
The words settled heavily.
Valmire's eyes returned to the two before him. "Keep this between yourselves. Not a word to anyone."
"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.
A brief pause followed, then Valmire's tone shifted, lighter by a fraction.
"Take a few days to rest." His gaze lingered on Roderick. "You heard the elders earlier."
Roderick exhaled quietly. "I did."
"I also heard," Valmire continued, "that you confessed to Samantha."
There was no accusation in the words—just fact.
Roderick didn't look away. "I did."
"And?"
"She refused." The answer came without hesitation, but his fingers curled slightly at his sides before relaxing again. "Said if I pushed it, she wouldn't even consider me a friend."
A brief silence followed.
"I dropped it."
Valmire watched him for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"Good."
The approval was simple, but it landed.
"You'll be leaving again soon," Valmire continued. "Orin and Ronan will accompany you this time."
Roderick's brows drew together. "Their Tier is far below ours. Won't that slow us down?"
Valmire's lips curved faintly, something almost amused flickering beneath the surface.
"You'll understand once you travel with them."
He shifted slightly. "Orin is your cousin. Distant, but still blood. He keeps to himself for a reason. There's something buried there. See if you can uncover it."
Roderick nodded, slower this time. "We'll try."
"We will," Aria echoed.
Valmire turned his head slightly.
"Lianxi. Come out."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the air near Roderick shimmered, like heat rising from stone. A translucent figure slipped free from his chest, stretching languidly as if waking from a comfortable sleep. Her form was delicate, almost too perfect, features softened by an otherworldly glow.
"What is it now?" Lianxi asked, voice light, edged with mild annoyance.
Valmire's brow lifted. "Do not meddle with minds and illusion."
Aria's head snapped toward Roderick, her eyes narrowing.
He immediately raised both hands. "Hey—don't look at me like that. I didn't ask her to—whatever she did."
Aria huffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest. She turned her face away, but not before he caught the sharp flicker of disapproval in her eyes.
Lianxi rolled her shoulders, unconcerned. "I prefer pleasure dreams," she said, examining her nails as if the conversation barely held her interest. "You should try one sometime. Might fix that scowl."
Valmire exhaled slowly. "Call them whatever you like. But listen carefully."
Her gaze shifted, just enough to show she was paying attention.
"On this mission, you will meet a boy named Ronan." His voice dropped slightly, the weight returning. "You will not use your 'dreams' on him."
Lianxi tilted her head. "Oh?"
"He is… not like the others." Valmire's eyes darkened. "There is something unnatural about him. Something steeped in malice."
The faint amusement on Lianxi's face wavered. Just a fraction.
Then she clicked her tongue. "Fine. No dreams." She folded her arms, expression souring. "Boring."
Roderick suppressed a smile.
As he and Aria turned to leave, the tension that had filled the hall seemed to loosen, if only slightly. The doors creaked open, cool night air brushing faintly against their skin as they stepped out.
For a few steps, neither spoke.
Then Aria leaned closer, her voice low.
"That spirit of yours is going to get us killed."
Roderick let out a quiet breath, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah," he said. "But at least we won't die bored."
Aria stopped.
He barely had time to register the shift before her foot lashed out, striking the ground with a sharp kick. Dust scattered.
"Ugh! You and your filthy mind—" She cut herself off with a frustrated noise, turning sharply away. Her steps were faster now, shoulders stiff, muttering under her breath as she headed toward her quarters.
Roderick watched her go for a moment, the grin lingering—then fading slightly at the edges.
After a second, he followed.