Morning light stretched thin across Greyhold as Arden and his party moved together through the town's still-quiet streets.

No words were needed, the invitation had already weighed on their thoughts through the night. By the time the castle loomed before them, the air felt heavier.

Greyhold's castle wasn't as vast as the one Arden remembered from the city ruled by House Caelum, but its walls were solid and imposing.

The stones carried an old gray tint, marked by faint runes that still pulsed with protective aether.

To others it would look grand, but to Arden it lacked the sharp pride and brilliance of Caelum's keep, and the thought lingered quietly in the back of his mind, a memory not his own yet sharp enough to sting.

The guards at the gate looked more disciplined than the usual city watch, their armor polished, spears gleaming with faint aether lines. They said nothing, only motioned for the group to follow, guiding them through the long halls until the sound of their boots echoed into a vast chamber.

From outside the room itself, Arden could already feel the pressure pressing down. The weight of presence, steady and suffocating, reminded him of deep waters.

He slowed his step just slightly, turning his head enough to murmur to the others, "Brace yourselves. Don't let their pressure crush you."

Rael's jaw tightened. Nyra's hand curled into a fist, but she nodded. Even Zephyra's tail gave a restless flick, her scales dimming slightly as if she sensed the weight too.

When they entered, the chamber stretched wide, its high ceiling carved with patterns of storms and beasts.

The council sat in tiered seats, elders robed in varying colors of their factions, and above them all, on a throne set higher than the rest, sat the lord of Greyhold. His presence was commanding, though not flamboyant. The man's beard was streaked with silver, his eyes steady like a hawk, and his dark robes bore the crest of Greyhold embroidered in crimson thread.

Arden let his eyes scan the council without bowing too deeply. He offered only a polite tilt of the head, the kind given out of respect, not submission. The others mirrored him. No one spoke of it, but the lack of elaborate greeting hung in the air.

Nyra stiffened suddenly when she spotted a familiar face, the man who had been present at the Guild's hall, and had casually ordered the receptionist to dispense the amount they traded of the beast parts. Rage prickled in her gaze, and she almost stepped forward, but Arden's hand brushed against hers.

A subtle grip, firm yet gentle, pulling her back without drawing attention.

She looked at him, meeting the calm certainty in his eyes, and though her chest still burned, she exhaled, letting the moment pass.

An elder leaned forward and glanced at the lord, who gave the smallest nod. Taking that as a sign, the elder spoke first, his voice clear.

"Your party has done well. To return alive, and even more, to succeed, it is worthy of recognition.

Consider this council's congratulations for becoming a legalized party under Greyhold's seal."

Arden returned a small smile, dipping his chin. "We'll take your thanks. The road was long enough to earn it."

Before the mood could settle, another elder cut in, his tone sharp. "Isn't it discourteous to stand before us masked? Does the council not deserve to see the face of the one speaking?"

The silence that followed carried tension, eyes narrowing toward Arden. He didn't flinch. Instead, his reply came steady, polite, yet edged with dismissal.

"My face adds nothing to this meeting. I believe there are more important matters on your minds than how I look."

The elder scoffed, lips curling, but before he could press, the lord raised his hand.

The chamber fell silent instantly. His gaze held Arden for a moment, unreadable, then he simply said, "Leave it. Speak as you are."

Murmurs followed, but none dared challenge the order.

The questions came next, structured like blades searching for cracks.

"Where did you come from?"

"What family name do you carry?"

Arden's answers were light, almost careless. "Far from here. A place forgotten to most. The name no longer matters." Half-truths, stitched together with enough vagueness to give nothing, yet not enough to brand him as a liar.

Their eyes narrowed, but they pressed further.

"The dual affinities. Not just you, but the others beside you, how are they stable? It shouldn't be possible. And yet, here they are."

The man from the Guild's hall leaned forward, eyes fixed on Nyra. His words carried quiet accusation. "I knew this one before her exile. She was unstable, drowning under her own power. This change is not her doing. It is yours."

Arden didn't waver. His tone held the faintest hint of amusement, as if the question itself was tiring.

"Ancient techniques. Lost to most, but not to all. Some truths are buried, and I merely unearthed them."

That answer made the chamber stir. Greed sparked in several pairs of eyes, the hunger for what he claimed twisting their calm expressions. They pressed again, sharper this time, demanding the method, but every answer he gave slid away like mist half-formed explanations, words that hinted at secrets but revealed none.

He was never rude, yet never useful, and that balance left them gnashing their teeth quietly.

The lord eventually lifted his hand again, silencing the back-and-forth. Suspicion lingered in his gaze, but he didn't push further. Instead, his next words struck harder.

"Then tell us what you know of the Creed."

For the first time, Arden's eyes flickered.

A subtle reaction, there and gone, but enough that his companions noticed. He forced it down, his voice calm as ever.

"They've attacked us more than once. Always aiming to capture, not kill. Whatever they're planning, I don't know. But we've survived. Nothing more than that."

The elders muttered to themselves, trading hushed voices that Arden couldn't fully hear, but he felt the weight of their stares. They wanted more, but he had already given them only what he chose, and no more.

He stood steady, his mask still in place, and in his silence the balance of the meeting shifted.

A/N:

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