Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 70: The Birth of a Dynasty

Chapter 70: The Birth of a Dynasty

After the ceremony, I was led into a dark room, a place shrouded in mystery, where the air seemed thick with forgotten secrets.

The room was filled with ancient artifacts, each object steeped in millennia of history, and frescoes carved into the black rock, depicting scenes of distant battles and ancient pacts.

Lysara walked beside me, like a faithful shadow, silent as always.

Yet, in the subtle gleam of our family crest, draped over her like a second skin, her mere presence was enough to affirm that she was now an integral part of the Thalaris Von Estarion.

She had not received the title of Grand Varkh, no, but bearing that name bestowed upon her a status that placed her within the highest circles of nobility, those of the Dukes themselves.

It was not a territorial house, but a house of immense prestige, almost intangible.

A house free of any formal allegiance, yet whose influence extended beyond borders, capable of swaying the course of a war, of influencing entire kingdoms without ever submitting its freedom.

We were ushered into a softly lit chamber, its atmosphere heavy, almost palpable, as if each wall absorbed the light.

There, in the shifting shadows of the room, stood a stretched figure, draped in infernal silk veils of abyssal black.

The demon, Varxis, stood waiting, a presence both imposing and ethereal, like a shadow woven of mysteries.

His name was known in the darkest circles, personal secretary to the High Council of Lords, a position steeped in power and secrecy.

Upon our entrance, he bowed deeply, his gesture measured and precise, arms crossed horizontally before his chest—a ritual respect that demonic etiquette required when addressing a peer.

His eyes, hidden beneath a translucent veil, followed each of our movements with icy precision.

– Grand Varkh Thalaris Von Estarion... he said in a drawling, almost musical voice. – If you permit, I will now present the major benefits attached to your elevation.

He did not wait for my approval.

With a fluid, almost imperceptible gesture, he unfurled a living scroll, a piece of parchment that seemed to breathe beneath his fingers.

The document quivered, vibrating slightly, as if invisible veins coursed through its silky body, reacting to Varxis’s touch.

The letters seemed to draw and redraw themselves, shifting shape, as if the parchment were a living entity, ready to adapt to the will of its handler.

Each movement of Varxis seemed to give it new life, new direction.

– Your rank of Grand Varkh grants you the status of Eternal Ambassador without domain, Wealthy by merit and legend– Enhanced political immunity, you may only be judged by a Lord or Council of Lords– Absolute tax exemption, No taxes or levies may be imposed upon you– Permanent Seat Rights, A place reserved in every major fortress—at the lords’ table, or upon an empty throne, depending on local traditions– Perpetual Embassy, May reside indefinitely in all demonic bastions– Right of Speech at Dark Conclaves, Even without territory, your exploits and fortune grant you voice and weight in political debates– Right of Appeal to the Phoenix Pact, Once per cycle, may demand military or magical aid from Lord Xagros, in the name of your rank– Conditional divine immunity, A special demonic mark temporarily protects the bearer against priests and agents of the gods, often preventing them from acting without consequence– Preferred exchange rates, Extreme discounts for artifacts, rare materials, or summons– Vault of Absolute Trade, A teleportable banking artifact, directly linked to the heart of the continent, secured and connected to your funds– Exceptional licenses, Right to commission forbidden works, lost relics, taboo enchantments, forbidden symbioses, or impious pacts

Varxis slowly raised his eyes, his slit pupils gleaming with a cold, calculating light, catching the infernal glow of the lamps suspended in the room’s heavy air.

Those eyes, like two dark slits, seemed to absorb the light, transforming it into red and orange sparks, as if the very soul of hell had imprinted itself within them.

Every glance he cast seemed to pierce the darkness, searching for hidden truths, concealed within the room’s shadows, and within the shadows of the souls present.

– Your name is now a seal. And every demon who utters it will owe you respect. Even the Lords will have to reckon with you, whether they wish to or not.

To my left, Lysara tilted her head slightly, a gesture both subtle and significant.

Was it a sign of assent? Of interest?

Her eyes remained fixed ahead, but something in her posture suggested she was reflecting, weighing the implications of each word spoken.

She said nothing, as was her habit, but her fingers discreetly brushed the emblem sewn onto her sleeve.

The crest of our house—a new house, but which, upon closer look, seemed older than it let on, bearing echoes of a forgotten history, of a past marked by struggles and lost alliances.

This symbol, at once simple and powerful, seemed to resonate with a weight that few yet understood.

Varxis bowed, his movement fluid and calculated, almost ceremonial, as if every gesture was dictated by an ancient rule, an invisible etiquette commanding even the smallest of his actions.

The inclination of his head, heavy with respect and gravity, seemed in itself a silent declaration, a compromise between submission and authority.

His eyes remained ever piercing, cold, observing everything, but he upheld this formality unfalteringly, a measured movement imbued with a significance that should never be underestimated.

– The rest, you will discover for yourself, he said with a discreet smile, heavy with insinuation.

– I will now announce what the Palace owes you, Grand Varkh...

He slowly unfurled the document, each movement imbued with an almost ceremonial delicacy.

A reddish wisp escaped from the parchment, floating in the air like a light mist, imbued with subtle and threatening energy.

The light from the lamps flickered briefly, as if this emanation had disturbed the room’s balance, bringing with it a sense of oppression.

The parchment seemed more than a mere object—it vibrated, it breathed, as if it carried a suspended story, ready to be revealed.

– After the grand collection of ores, materials, and sealed remnants, we have tallied precisely a total of 254.39 tons of raw resources.

He raised his eyes, a respectful glint crossing his pupils, a gaze that seemed both calculated and sincere.

There was no submission in that look, only a silent acknowledgment of the situation, an awareness of the dynamic unfolding between us.

It was not a mere gesture of courtesy, but a measured, thoughtful act, as if he weighed each of his glances with the same precision as his words.

His respect was not due to hierarchy, but to a tacit understanding, a respect for the implicit power blossoming in the air around us.

– As agreed with Lord Kharz’Gol, you are entitled to exactly 15% of that amount... which is 38.1585 tons.

He paused, savoring the effect of his words like a master orchestrating the silence before the next act.

Each second seemed to stretch, and in that suspended moment, his gaze meticulously scanned every reaction, measuring the weight of his words.

He had no need to speak further; the air around us was already charged with the tension of what had been said.

Silence grew heavy, like a promise yet unfulfilled, and he, impassive, seemed to revel in the impact of his words, ready to unveil the next part of his game.

– This amounts to a net value of 2,861.89 Varkhs.

His smile widened slightly, without losing its dignity.

– Congratulations, Grand Varkh. You now hold the wealth of an entire city.

An impressed silence settled, deep and heavy, like a wave engulfing everything in its path.

Even among the stiffest guards, those whose duty was to remain unshaken, a flicker of admiration—or perhaps fear—pierced their stoic demeanor.

The air seemed to freeze around us, each breath, each movement suspended in that palpable tension.

The noise of the outside world faded, giving way to that imposed quiet, that silence speaking louder than any word.

Varxis rolled up the parchment with almost theatrical slowness, each movement carefully measured, as if seeking to prolong the anticipation, to maximize the impact of what had just unfolded.

The sound of the parchment, page after page, was discreet but echoed in the heavy silence of the room.

Each gesture, each fold seemed loaded with meaning, a slow dance of anticipation, as if every detail had been calculated to keep everyone’s attention fixed upon him.

– You may withdraw this sum at any time from the Central Bank of Zagnaroth.

Your vault is already sealed, marked by the seal of the Thalaris Von Estarion.

It will respond to you, no matter where you are on this continent...

Varxis bowed one last time, a measured gesture, heavy with respect, before stepping back with an almost supernatural fluidity.

He straightened then, his gaze becoming both more direct and more commanding.

– Follow me, he said, his voice carrying a quiet authority.

– I will now show you your manor.

His words resonated like a promise of discoveries to come, another step into this world that seemed both familiar and strange, all while being steeped in a power that could not be ignored.

I cast a brief glance at Lysara, her eyes meeting mine for a moment before she followed me without a word.

Her steps were as discreet as ever, but in the silence of the palace corridors, each movement seemed to echo with strange clarity, as if every step she took left an indelible mark in the air, an echo of her presence.

She moved with silent mastery, but something in her gait betrayed the depth of her thoughts, her mind in perpetual reflection, even in apparent stillness.

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