"To be sympathetic towards treachery is not just a weakness within yourself," Lady Mazeno scoffed, her cold eyes sweeping the room before glaring at Adar. "But a danger to us all!" Her voice, sharp and assertive, rose above the uneasy murmurs drifting through the hall.

  Soft whispers gradually built up inside the hall, each voice blending with the others, swallowing every other word spoken. Arnos glanced around the hall, his heartbeat racing as the current of voices swarmed him, dragging his attention in all directions. Every lip, tongue and eye in the room felt like nocked arrows waiting to be fired.

  He stared up at Adar, hoping for reassurance but was once again met with a stoic apathetic gaze. Alienated and disheartened Arnos scanned the hall again, his already shallow breathing quickened as the pressure from the whispers swelled and bubbled around him.

  He heard a familiar voice rise above the murmurs. He twisted his neck, eyes darting as he searched for the source.

  “Get your hand off me before I turn this so-called banquet into a bloodbath,” the gruff voice threatened, thick with anger.

  “Don’t intervene. I’m sure he has a plan,” another voice whispered, attempting to soothe its counterpart.

  “Plan?” the gruff voice snapped, dripping with disdain. “If my son was planned to be—”

  “Please keep your voice down” the voice whispered, “I’m sure he’s fine just please contain your anger even if its just for a moment!”

  Arnos could hear a shuffle of movement from the far corner of the hall, those within the hall had also noticed this shuffling which was slowly driving their attention towards the source.

  “I’ve been containing it this entire time, otherwise–”

  A sudden, loud cough cut through the gruff voice, momentarily startling the other into a state of panic.

  “Shhh, I think they heard us, stop causing even more of a scene!” the voice pleaded desperately.

  “Scene?” the gruff voice roared, erupting across the hall. “I’LL SHOW YOU A SCENE!”

  The voice boomed, the force of it silencing the entire hall. Arnos watched, his eyes widening, as Uncle Ox sprang from his position. His large frame violently shoved the table and chairs aside. For a moment, all attention shifted away from Arnos allowing him to unconsciously let out a sigh of relief. Every gaze was now fixed on Uncle Ox.

  His usually warm eyes were full of rage, his overbearing stature dwarfed all those around him, causing those around him to flinch as he violently clenched a meaty fist. His gaze was fixed on Lady Mazeno, who stared back with an icy glare.

  The Five Family Heads’ sat in silence, calmly assessing the situation. Those at that table were well aware of each other's presence and were gauging each other's reactions. Enya’s piercing gaze had been fixed onto Marid, whose wiry lips curved into an insidious warped smile.

  “Mazeno, to call for an execution without consulting the council of elders, nor the heads of any family and then speak about treachery is hypocrisy!” Uncle Ox growled, his rough voice filled the now-silent hall. “I have contained myself for long enough but–”

  “Maxwell…” Lady Mazeno interrupted, her eyebrows furrowed in irritation, “Know your pl–”

  Uncle Ox stepped forward, pushing all those around him to the side, his large frame angled towards the centre of the hall had caused those from the Meras Family eye him in anticipation.

  “Maxwell Azuras Omari….” Marid’s raspy voice cut through the tension scraping against the ears of those within the hall, “No man is above the law, let that be you, Adar or the Sicarian brat” he said, his vicious glare turned itself to Arnos, who shivered at the sight of his gaze.

  “The sickly Meras brat has surely grown,” Uncle Ox scoffed “enough to talk back to me and preach his one-sided excuse of ‘justice’,” dismissing him completely with a wave of his hand.

  “To disrespect our Family Head so blatantly, you must know what this means,” a middle-aged man rose from within the hall, his hair dark and glasses tinted. His Meras robes radiated the same dismal grey as both Marid and Lady Mazeno. “Are you prepared for the consequences?” the man continued, his calm demeanour juxtaposed the tense atmosphere within the hall. “You should know–”

  “Consequences?” Uncle Ox jeered, “Surely you must know the consequences of raising a hand towards the ‘Azure Family’,” causing a wave of murmurs to fill the hall once again, his eyes were focused on Lady Mazeno whose icy glare transformed into a mocking sneer.

  “Ox” Adar began, “stand–”

  “Stand down?” Uncle Ox exasperated, his focus now shifted to Adar, “Whilst our sons–”

  “OX!” Adar’s voice reverberated through the hall, silencing Uncle Ox and quaking the walls, tables, and chandeliers.

  Uncle Ox's face twisted in shock, anger flashing briefly across his features. He clenched his jaw, then let out a sigh, slowly regaining composure. He glanced towards Arnos, and let out another puff, gritted his teeth and seated himself, crossing his arms in the process.

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  Adar calmly scanned the hall, his eyes methodically moving from Lady Mazeno to meet the gazes of several individuals seated within the chamber. Each was a seasoned figure, carefully assessing the unfolding situation. His gaze eventually settled on the ‘Five Family Heads,’ his composure unshaken.

  With his hands clasped together, Adar took a measured, deep breath. The tension in the hall had reached its peak; every eye was fixed on him, every breath held in anticipation. The atmosphere was charged, as though the weight of the entire clan hung on his next words.

  “The Omari…” he began, his voice steady and resonant, cutting through the silence like a blade. His stoic gaze swept across the hall, resting briefly on each group present, commanding their undivided attention.

  “The proud Omari…” he continued, his hands rose in a grandiose gesture. “As kingdoms rose and fell, who endured the cold, brutal reality of time? Whose customs remained unyielding, unbroken, whilst the world around us conformed to the will of others?” He pointed to a man seated within the hall, whose Azure robes gleamed with a magnificent blue.

  The man rose without hesitation, his hand pressed firmly to his chest. “IT WAS US!” he declared with vigour, his voice reverberating through the hall. Adar’s lips curved into a faint smile, seemingly pleased by the man’s resolve.

  “And whose strength was renowned across the lands?” Adar continued, his hand sweeping towards the Beryl Family. “Whose intellect used to humble even the brightest minds of the ages?”

  A dark-haired woman adorned in ruinously elegant Beryl robes stood, her eyes blazing with conviction as her hand rose. “IT WAS US!” she declared passionately, her voice resonating with the weight of her pride.

  “Our poets were revered as historians, our historians were revered as saints. Our soldiers? Were known as the bringers of death. Our craftsmen? Celebrated for their iron hearts!” Adar’s voice rose with passionate resolve, his words rippled through the hall like a tempest. “WHO ARE WE?” he bellowed, the force of his declaration stirring the crowd.

  With purpose, he pointed toward the Young Mistress. She rose gracefully, her vibrant Azure robes glowing with an ethereal blue. For a moment, she paused, her gaze lingering on Arnos before a smile softened her lips.

  “OMEROS! MARINOS! THE OMARI!” she declared, her voice echoing through the hall, her passion akin to a blaze.

  “Enough!” Lady Mazeno interjected, her sneer twisting with faint vexation. “Your grand words do not change the situation!” Her cold gaze shifted toward the crowd, scanning their faces, and assessing their reactions.

  “Oh, but they do,” Adar countered, his eyes locked onto Lady Mazeno. “My father, the Patriarch, did not become the leader of our clan through birthright but through STRENGTH!” His voice thundered through the hall, reverberating off the walls with commanding force.

  “Born from a lowly branch family with no claim to merit,” he continued, his tone sharp, “why would the Azurians allow such a man to marry into their house? It was a time of weakness, with rising powers pressing against us, keeping us in check. The Omari had no choice but to choose the most capable to lead!” He crossed his arms as a subtle look of disdain grew upon his stoic face

  “A capability,” Adar declared, “that the ‘Council of Elders’ clearly lacks.” he continued, his voice piercing the hall, causing another rustle of movement and whispers to spread.

  The whispers in the hall swelled again, rippling through the crowd like waves of tension.

  “Eyn!” Adar called out, his piercing gaze shifting to the ‘Five Great Family Heads’, “Do you not feel restricted? Conducting business in this small corner of the continent, when we should be expanding endlessly!”

  Eyn stroked the gold pendant dangling around his neck, “Adar, our riches do not pale in comparison to those of other territories,” he replied with a laugh. “However…” he chuckled to himself, staring at his pendant, lost in thought.

  “Sinira, do you not feel isolated? Our culture is slowly forgotten by those within the continent, our name slowly becoming devoid of meaning!” he continued, causing a wave of whispers to resurface.

  “Our culture should be important to none but us,” she replied, eyeing the gemstones embedded within her armlet. “However…” she replied, her tone shifting to one of contemplation.

  “Bastion!” Adar’s voice rose above the whispers, “Are you not weary of wasting away in your territory? Beckoning to the whims of elders who undermine the threats looming outside our borders? Threats you would gladly face, given the call?”

  Bastion gripped the wretched jet-black pelt draped over his shoulders, his expression darkened. “My concerns with the elders,” he growled, “are the same concerns I have with you.” His voice was low but brimmed with restrained fury. “You preach strength, Adar, but what strength have you shown us?”

  “Are you calling my brother weak?” Enya interjected sharply, her vicious gaze cutting into Bastion. Bastion turned his glare toward her, grimacing in the face of her pressure.

  “Strength?” Adar repeated, his lips curving into a subtle, confident smile as though he had anticipated this moment. Slowly, he clapped his hands together.

  The air trembled.

  A robed, masked figure materialised instantly beside Adar, the sheer force of their arrival sent a visible ripple through the hall.

  Eyn burst into startled laughter, "You must be crazy!" he exclaimed, his smile brimmed with astounded amusement.

  Bastion rose in shock, Lady Mazeno’s eyes widened in disbelief, Marid’s twisted smile transformed into one of disturbed anxiety. Sinira gulped in astonishment, eyeing Enya to gauge her reaction. Enya surged from her seat in amazement, her smile wide with shock.

  “Dear brother, how the hell did you manage to pull this off!” she laughed in bewilderment.

  “The Azaren?...” Lady Mazeno muttered in alarm, a cold sweat forming across her wrinkled brow.

  The figure wore robes similar to the Azurians, however, the inscriptions appeared to be different, more jagged and rough, matching the violent markings etched into it’s mask. The figure wore white gloves, which glowed with vicious, jagged blue inscriptions. The figure swiftly kneeled at Adar's feet, raising a gold plaque in the process. Adar slowly lifted the plaque, holding it out towards those in the hall.

  “This is an era of change!” he exclaimed boldly, shaking the very foundations of the hall. “We shall stay secluded no more!” he continued, eyeing those within the hall.

  “This is a new era for the Omari. Now pledge your allegiance to the new Patriarch!” he commanded, holding out the golden plaque, which glowed a shimmering blue.

  “You little bastard…” Uncle Ox chuckled to himself, “To go to such lengths? What possessed you?” he smiled, witnessing all those present gawk in awe at the scene before them.

  The grey inscriptions under Lady Mazeno’s feet subtly glowed yet again, more unstable than before as minor cracks formed within the floor under her.