Within the heart of Drevir House, a vast palace of luminous emerald and polished obsidian stood, etched with ancient Thaleonic sigils glowing faintly with the hue of legacy. At its pinnacle, above all chambers and towers, was the Lavish Hall of Accord—a sanctum reserved for only the most venerated of councils. Here, walls flowed like living glass, greenish fluid patterns dancing as though alive, under lighting that shimmered in dreamlike hues.
Amid the hall sat the elders of Drevir, their eyes aged but sharp, seated in semicircular formation. And among them—taller, grander, exuding an aura that made the air itself respect him—stood Drevir the Fourteenth. His beard, silver-threaded and meticulously oiled, added a dignified wisdom to his square jaw. Draped over his regal form was the signature Thaleonic royal cloth, liquid-like in nature, a green so deep it shimmered with silken waves. The cloth emitted a subdued pressure, almost unnoticeable, but enough to make even the elders twitch in their seats.
Beside him, not seated, but standing with poised elegance, was a girl of fifteen years. Her hair was a flowing sea of pale green, radiant under the hall's living lights. She too wore the Thaleon cloth—feminine in cut, fluttering with layered ribbons and cosmic lace that glimmered with greenish-gold undercurrents. This was his daughter, the treasured Solyra Drevir—her name meaning Noble Light of the Chosen Flame.
Before them, respectful but upright, stood Ezrel Drevir, his golden gaze calm as his black and violet garments billowed slightly from the hall's weighty aura.
Drevir the Fourteenth spoke with warmth coated in command. "Ezrel. I ask again—why not join my Thaleon Guild? Such an opportunity is rarely extended. Those who dream of influence would kill for it."
Ezrel smirked, tilting his head slightly. "It is a fine offer. Truly. Even I see its worth. But for now, there are other matters calling. I will think on it."
The room stiffened at his flippant tone, but it was a short and plump guard by the great entrance who couldn't hold his tongue. He muttered under his breath, "Arrogant idiot fool. Doesn't know what's good for him."
Though spoken quietly, the hall heard. Ezrel's brow twitched, eyes narrowing at the guard. Drevir the Fourteenth turned to the man, a dark gleam in his amused eyes. "If one day you change your mind, my boy, let me know immediately. But before you leave—allow me to show you what it means to refuse Thaleon."
He raised his finger and pointed.
The short guard's knees buckled as two armored men seized him. Panic twisted his face as he was dragged outside the lavish hall to the training grounds, where moonlight bathed the open courtyard.
Drevir the Fourteenth walked out with Ezrel and the elders following. Solyra Drevir stepped beside them, her beauty unveiled under the moon, a noble light breathing from her skin. The guard, trembling, was thrown before them as a grade-6 Astral Arm staff was tossed his way. Despite his lowly status, the guard had 261 veins—an impressive tally among noble threads, making him a middle-level 2 Veinkind Initiate Vein Ascender.
"Stand," Solyra said softly. Her voice echoed like chimes of ice.
The guard gritted his teeth, catching the staff. Before him, her constellation-threaded skin glimmered. From her arms, neck, and even behind her ears, emerald veins lit her body in radiant glow—407 total. The elders exhaled sharply, a sound of disbelief, as they beheld her monstrous bloodline.
Yet Solyra smirked, lowering her veins to 179. "Strike me," she said.
The guard hesitated. His staff pulsed, increasing his veins to 269. Green runes ignited on his flesh like calligraphy of flame. He charged, wind bursting beneath his feet.
In a breath of a moment—her leg whipped like lightning. A single kick met his skull. His head exploded in mist. Silence descended.
Then—gasps. The elders shook their heads in horror and awe. Her cloth glowed again, and from it emerged 91 externalized veins. Her real-time total now? 270.
Ezrel narrowed his eyes. Even he was surprised.
Drevir the Fourteenth roared with laughter. It rang like the triumphant howl of a conquering sovereign.
"Do you see, Ezrel? This is what makes us different. The Thaleon Guild does not bow to the traditions of the Nine Celestial Kingdoms. We do not rely on relic astral arms. We ascend."
---
In the Selun'Thael City, night cloaked the streets in cosmic velvet. At the transit station, Drift Coil Caravels—floating glide ships with open seats and soft shielding—rested in idle hum, waiting to transport ferry workers and young Ascenders.
Amid the silence, masked figures crept.
An elderly woman lay unconscious, bruised and burned, barely breathing. One of the masked men kicked her. "Dispose of her after," he said. "But maybe we play first, eh?"
They laughed.
Suddenly, wind howled.
Two flying crafts descended, silent as moonlight. Upon each stood two women in cloaks of golden flame-silk. Their silhouettes were seductive, swaying with ethereal allure.
One of them spoke. "Now, now. Stop being naughty."
A thug jeered, "Come down then, sweetheart. I'll show you how naughty I can be."
His comrades howled with glee.
A voice above—cold and amused. "You shouldn't have said that."
One cloaked woman raised her finger. The air rippled. Scorched flame—not red, but transparent like heat-haze smoke—burst forth.
The men screamed.
They writhed. Flames danced upon their skin. And slowly, mercilessly, they were consumed, their screams silenced to ash.
Only the unconscious old woman remained.
The four women leapt down, cloaks fluttering. They unveiled themselves.
Shae, with flowing black hair. Lady Enira, with black hair striped in gold. Lady Vaelserine, elegant with blonde waves. And Yzaira—the one who burned them—her hair black with golden veins threading through.
Shae knelt beside the woman. "She's alive. Weak pulse."
Enira stepped closer, brows furrowed. "So it's true. A survivor of the annihilated Mhaerun House. This is Lady Khari, one of their elders."
Vaelserine asked quietly, "But why would the ruling house or the Thaleon Guild cover this up?"
Enira stared toward the skyline. "I don't know. But something sinister is happening in Selun'Thael. Either the Zyreon Ruling House is behind it—or something even darker."
Suddenly, Vaelserine clutched her head. Her body trembled.
"It's reacting again," Yzaira said, rushing to her.
Vaelserine didn't answer. She looked up at Shae.
"Where is Nocth?"
Shae's face turned serious. "Taken to Vortem Aetherion."
Surprise lit the women's eyes. Enira stared at her.
"Do not forget your deal, Shae. And the mission: If Nocth won't join us—he must be removed. For the future of our people."
Shae stood, slowly.
A massive wave of aura flooded from her. The air itself bent.
Vaelserine and Yzaira gasped.
Shae looked straight at Enira.
"I will not repay kindness with enmity. But Nocth is not to be touched. Threaten him again, and I'll forget our pact."
Tension coiled like a blade between them.
And thus the shadows of Selun'Thael deepened.
As elsewhere—the world watched, unknowing.
And fate, like a dreaming serpent, stirred again.