Cyrene watched this rare scene with both emotion and amusement, quietly squeezing Trianne's little hand and whispering, "That punk… actually knows how to lead."
Hyacine completely stopped feeding Ica, propping her chin with interest, a playful smile lingering at the corner of her mouth.
Mydei stood with his arms crossed, grinning openly, not hiding the envy on his face for this brotherly bond.
And Castorice pressed her lips tightly together, her cheeks flushed with faint pink from excitement. She didn't blink, as if recording every frame of this scene with her very soul—the screaming in her heart had long since blown the roof off!
The attention of everyone present was firmly captured by this unique brotherly dance. Even the air seemed to shimmer with starlight and warmth.
…
As the banquet drew to a close.
Phaethon skillfully guided Aglaea away from the table emitting the enticing aroma of grilled fish, bringing her to a relatively secluded spot in the shadow of a corridor pillar.
"Phaethon," Aglaea's voice was very low, like heavy lead falling between them. Her perceptive eyes locked onto him. "The more deliberate your absurdity tonight, the more it… alarms me. This isn't you, or rather, this isn't how you should be."
Phaethon wore his usual, almost cynical slight smile, raising a hand to adjust the once unbearably heavy clothes he now wore.
He said lightly, "Lady Aglaea, you worry too much. Turning twenty, one should have a proper farewell ceremony, shouldn't they? A farewell to those carefree days where one only needed to nap in the sun. Heavy responsibility is already knocking at the door. I just wanted to… take one last, indulgent breath of free air before it completely consumes me."
Aglaea fell silent for a moment, as if trying to dissect the true intent beneath his smile.
Finally, she let out a very soft sigh, a mixture of helplessness and resolve.
"…Very well. But I must remind you again: as the guardian of the Holy City, I must consider its stability. The Council of Elders—those poisonous vines entrenched in the heart of Okhema—I despise their decay and greed more than anyone. However, publicly, I cannot, and will not, openly support you acting against them."
Her tone grew even more grave. "Moreover, their roots have long sunk deep into every inch of Okhema's soil; pulling one affects the whole. If you were to truly uproot them in an instant… the consequences are unpredictable… Enough… I have always respected your choices."
Before her words fully faded, she slipped something into Phaethon's hand—a golden thread shimmering with a strange, warm and gentle luster.
Her voice dropped even lower, almost to a whisper.
"Listen, Phaethon," her eyes suddenly turned extremely serious. "I will prepare for… an Okhema without the Council of Elders. But this does not mean I can keep you safe! You must remember, the reason the Council has persisted is not just due to their deep roots, but more so because of that rather renowned 'Theoros'! His existence is their greatest reliance. This also means—after you do 'that'—I cannot publicly offer you shelter before the eyes of Okhema's thousands of citizens. Under the public gaze, rules are rules."
"But, if… I mean, if you truly encounter a problem you cannot solve alone. Use this. It will connect you to me in real time. The Golden Descendants already consider you one of their own. We have always been behind you."
The smile on Phaethon's face didn't change in the slightest. Only deep within his sapphire eyes flashed a barely perceptible trace of emotion, gone as quickly as a mirage.
He calmly tucked that golden thread, imbued with great risk and promise, into his sleeve. "I understand, Lady Aglaea."
He gave a slight, elegant nod, yet it carried an indisputable finality. "But rest assured, I know my limits."
His gaze inadvertently swept to where the grilled fish had been placed earlier—it was now completely empty. Even the silver platter had vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed.
A truly meaningful smile finally appeared at the corner of Phaethon's mouth. He said softly:
"After the Council of Elders made such despicable, bottom-line-threatening threats against me and those close to me…"
"They actually had the audacity today to specially send 'congratulatory gifts' for my birthday banquet? Under the pretext of 'celebrating' my birth?"
He let out a short, icy scoff. "Heh. Though I must admit, those wines were indeed 'clean,' even containing century-old treasures. But the act itself…"
Phaethon slowly turned, with his back to Aglaea, facing the profound night outside the banquet hall doors.
His silhouette stood tall and solitary as a lone peak in the shadows. What radiated from him now was no longer the earlier ease or pretense, but a concentrated, razor-sharp aura of lethal intent, potent enough to tear through the night.
"This is no longer ordinary behavior. This is a blatant provocation, a wanton trampling!"
"Towards such scum who treat others' bottom line as nothing…"
Phaethon did not look back. He took a step, his figure resolutely merging into the dense darkness beyond the door, leaving only one final, icy sentence echoing in Aglaea's ears:
"They must be met with the heaviest blow!!!"
…
Deep within the Council of Elders, Caenis's banquet hall.
The light from crystal chandeliers illuminated the luxurious hall as if it were daytime. The air was thick with the scent of expensive incense, exquisite delicacies, and the cloying, rotten sweetness of power.
Golden wine cups clinked, emitting crisp yet hollow sounds. The Elders sat around a long table, their faces flushed with the ruddy glow of assured victory.
"Hahaha, Elder Caenis, that move of yours was truly inspiring! If you ask me, we should have used such thunderous methods against that arrogant kid who doesn't know his place long ago!" A portly Elder raised his glass obsequiously, his oily face piled with flattery.
"Exactly! The third day is almost upon us," a gaunt Elder immediately chimed in, his eyes glittering with greed and cruel light. "Once the deadline arrives, there's no worry that Phaethon won't bow his head and become our most obedient puppet! Then, the Holy City…" His voice trembled with excitement.
Caenis sat at the head of the table, her crimson lips curved in a arc of looking down upon the world. She raised her glass high, her voice slightly shrill from rapturous joy:
"Everyone! For our impending total victory! For completely crushing those self-righteous 'Golden Descendants' who were born to be trampled underfoot! A toast!"
"Toast!!" Fanatical cheers nearly lifted the roof. The Elders were intoxicated with the prospect of seizing ultimate power.
Yet, at the edge of the noise, in a corner of the banquet, Lygus seemed to suddenly realize something.