Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 105: The meeting of the Vampire Lords (1)

Chapter 105: The meeting of the Vampire Lords (1)

It was Anarael who broke the silence.

— So, as Naraphin foretold... we are gathered.

Her voice was steady, clear, unwavering. Each word seemed weighed, delivered with the calm clarity of those who never needed to raise their voice to be heard.

She continued, in a tone that allowed neither comment nor delay:

— We shall hold council. Each shall speak in turn. And each shall listen with the respect owed to this assembly.

Simple. Clear.

And yet, the word echoed in the tent like the beginning of a ritual.

A slight rustle of fabric.

A barely perceptible tension.

Mikaem moved. His irritation was obvious, barely contained. He spoke, cutting through the calm with a sharp, almost contemptuous tone.

— I don’t understand why this lesser vampire is allowed to sit at this table.

But he didn’t get any further.

The response burst out, immediate, sharp, like a blade drawn without hesitation.

Fillin.

He had straightened in one swift motion, his body stiff in a rigid, strict, military bow.

— MIKAEM!

His voice cracked like an order. Harsh. Deep. Unquestionable.

— You overstep your class. Aranael decided he would reside here, among us, for this consensus. You have no right to question her will... unless you doubt her word?

A sudden silence fell.

Heavy. Complete.

Tension rose, dry and cold, like a thread of frost running up the spine. The air, already icy, grew harder still — almost biting. A strange cold, dense, not quite physical... but so present it made you want to hold your breath.

But Aranael, in a neutral tone, neither angry nor warm, cut in without even raising her voice:

— That is enough. Sit down.

No hesitation. No inflection.

She continued, with the same cold clarity:

— I have decided he must be here. So he will be. This subject is closed.

No reply followed. Just a docile, constrained silence. The decision had been made. And no one, not even Mikaem, dared oppose it.

And I... I finally understood.

Why I was here. Why I had been allowed to cross that threshold. Why a place awaited me at this table.

It was her. It was thanks to her.

Aranael must have heard something. Something from Noctis. And she kept the secret. Like one keeps a blade in reserve.

Then, without leaving room for the slightest whisper, Aranael spoke again. Her voice had not changed. It carried no visible emotion. Only the cold, imperious drive of a command that needed no repetition.

— Let us focus on what matters. Ornée, you will preside. Present the issues we must resolve.

— Of course, my Lady. I shall do so with honor.

Ornée bowed deeply, her hands crossed over her heart in a slow, precise gesture, filled with respect without servility. Then she rose with the slowness of a ritual she seemed to have performed a thousand times — and never betrayed.

When she spoke again, her voice was fluid, calm. She did not seek authority. She embodied it.

It was as if she spoke on behalf of time itself.

— First of all... know that, according to our best experts in universal magic, the seats will be limited.

She paused. A polite, measured silence, placed there like deliberate punctuation, before continuing with the calm precision of those accustomed to being heard:

— This first obstacle, however, has already been resolved by the Metamorphic Sovereign himself, during the Council of the Vestiges held at Terra Neutralis. He decreed that each race shall have the right to four representatives. No more. No less.

Her gaze briefly swept around the table, brushing over each of us without insistence. A check. A test of impact.

Then she continued, without losing her breath or clarity:

— The second point is more delicate. Again, according to the experts, access to the world contained within this crystal will be strictly limited to individuals who have not yet reached level one hundred. All those who have passed this threshold... will be excluded. The crystal will refuse their passage.

And then, without warning, I felt the tension drain from me. A quiet, inner relief, almost shameful in its intensity.

I hadn’t reached that threshold. I had aimed for level one hundred, yes. For a long time. Stubbornly. And that... would have closed the door for me.

But I had made another choice. I had focused on the essentials. On my skills. On refinement. On Lysara’s intensive training.

And today... it was that choice that kept me in the game. I had chosen well. Without knowing it... I had chosen well.

But a question kept nagging at me. Persistent. Unsettling. All of this... wasn’t it, once again, the design of that damn god Noctis? Wasn’t he, silently, slyly, still playing with me?

I felt something... an invisible thread, familiar. And the feeling that had clung to me for too long returned, heavier than ever: that of being a puppet.

But not an ordinary puppet.

No.

A puppet whose strings were growing stronger, more deeply anchored, as time went on.

The more power I gained... the more I felt like that power didn’t truly belong to me.

And it gnawed at me. Silently. But deeply.

With a grave expression, Ornée resumed.

Her voice did not tremble. It was calm, but carried by a quiet authority, grounded in years of listening and assumed power.

— This point obviously raises several issues regarding the composition of our expedition team. But again, the Metamorphic Sovereign anticipated this. He authorized internal tournaments within each race, provided they occur without fatal bloodshed. A measured solution... a controlled outlet.

She wasn’t trying to convince. She was stating facts.

And I thought, silently:

He is one of those who understand that violence, when channeled, can prevent war. He is not just strong. He is lucid. And perhaps that was what troubled me most.

Her tone remained the same.

Distinguished. Calm. Measured in every word, as if nothing should go too far.

— Thus, we will proceed with a fair selection. Each of the eight people gathered here will be entitled to nominate a candidate for the vampiric tournament.

She paused. Not long. Just enough for everyone to grasp what that implied.

Then she continued, with the same quiet confidence:

— Only three spots will be available — for Cassandre, blessed by the great Noctis, and not yet having reached level one hundred, is already appointed. Her role as healer, her link to our god, and her neutrality make her an obvious choice.

She let her words settle. Not as an announcement. As a law.

Each syllable seemed to sink slowly into the minds, deep enough that no one would dare question them.

Then, with the same measured clarity, she continued:

— The first three qualifiers will form the core of the squad. The tournament will continue until a captain is chosen from among them. A final, legitimate choice, accepted by all... which will avoid resentment and discord.

A solemn silence settled.

Ornée slightly lifted her chin. Her gaze swept, without hostility but with cold precision, across each face around the table.

— Any objections?

Nothing.

The silence persisted. Dense. Unbroken.

Not a single breath disturbed the tension.

— Perfect, she concluded simply. Then let us proceed. Each of you... shall name your chosen one.