Chapter 16 — When Power Sits Together
POV: VIP Residence — Main Sitting Area
While the adults occupied themselves with discussions steeped in history and restraint, the main sitting area told a different story.
Eight young figures occupied the space.
Four young men.
Four young women.
At one side of the table sat a young man who bore unmistakable resemblance to Morvane.
Kaelric Kharos.
He is twenty years old. Like his father, he wore black ceremonial attire, simple in design yet impossibly heavy in presence. White streaks ran faintly through his dark hair, betraying his lineage. Resting against the side of his chair was a massive, dark-colored shield—its surface unmarred, its weight unquestioned.
Even seated, he felt immovable.
An impenetrable wall in the making.
If Morvane was a mountain, Kaelric was a boulder—smaller, but already terrifying in its solidity.
Despite being in the mid-stages of SS-Class, his expression was… bored. Half-lidded eyes stared forward, as though he were merely enduring the passage of time rather than participating in it.
Beside him sat his younger brother.
Eryon Kharos.
He is no older than fifteen. Unlike Kaelric, Eryon wore the Imperial Academy uniform, and although smaller —clearly modeled after his brother's— a shield rested beside him. Fresh from the Academy's opening ceremony, he looked far more engaged with the world.
Currently, that engagement took the form of a sandwich.
He chewed leisurely, eyes glinting with faint amusement as he watched the scene unfolding across the table.
He is already Mid A-Class at his age, which was already exceptional.
And he knew it.
Across from them sat a young woman whose presence immediately demanded attention.
Lyra Fenris.
Eighteen years old, with short blue hair streaked by white highlights, she wore a martial uniform similar to Aeron Fenris's—though far less restrained. The fabric did little to hide her well-defined, voluptuous figure, and her posture radiated coiled aggression.
On the table before her rested a pair of gauntlets.
Layered metal, cold as ice, etched with the sigil of the White Tiger.
Her presence was unmistakable.
Like a tiger cub standing beside its sire—dangerous, fierce, and still growing.
She is already Mid S-rank and also an exceptional Adventurer.
Right now, her fists were clenched.
Her eyes locked on the person right next to her.
Seething, right next to her sat the cause.
Cassian Ignis.
He is eighteen years old. Short, dirty blond hair streaked with crimson framed a handsome face twisted by arrogance. He wore pristine white ceremonial clothing trimmed in red, sitting with the relaxed confidence of someone convinced of his own superiority.
He is the Middle son of Roland and Valeria Ignis and is Mid A-Class, and hopelessly outmatched by his opponent.
Their gazes clashed like sparks over dry tinder.
One wrong word away from violence.
At the head of the table sat a young woman who observed it all with composed detachment.
Aurelia Ignis.
Eighteen years old, Draped in an elegant crimson dress traced with gold, she held a teacup with calm precision. Her beauty mirrored her mother's—voluptuous, commanding—but her presence, while immense, lacked Valeria's volatility.
Just like a newborn star. Brilliant yet Unstable.
Near peak SS-Class, Aurelia was the strongest among the Guardian children present.
Unlike many who wielded such power, she believed in control above all else. Where her mother embraced passion and impulse, Aurelia followed her father's ideals—calm judgment, restraint, and responsibility, much to Valeria's endless dismay. According to Valeria, she is just like her father, a "Joykill".
Standing beside her was a much younger girl.
Lunaria Ignis.
Barely fourteen, with bright crimson hair and wide, anxious eyes, she clutched the hem of her academy uniform as she watched the confrontation. Her face is very similar to Valeria's, but with childish innocence.
Her presence was warm.
Gentle.
Like a flame meant to comfort, not consume.
Recently advanced to A-Class, Lunaria was cherished—perhaps excessively—by her entire family.
She glanced nervously between Lyra and Cassian.
She is hoping and praying that things wouldn't escalate further.
A short distance away, near the food table, chaos wore a different face.
Two identical figures—one boy, one girl—stood elbow-deep in desserts.
Rhea Fenris and Rhys Fenris.
Fourteen years old.
Twin cubs of the White Tiger.
Short blue hair with white highlights framed mischievous grins as they devoured pastries with zero concern for the tension behind them. They're both wearing the academy uniforms proudly—though both clearly treated the gathering more like a banquet than a political meeting.
Both are Initial A-Class. Equal parts talented and troublesome.
Their presence buzzed with barely contained energy.
---
The argument had been simmering for several minutes.
Now it was boiling.
Aeron Fenris's eldest daughter slammed her fist lightly against the table, the wood creaking under the restrained force.
"Say it again," Lyra Fenris growled, pale blue eyes sharp with fury. "I dare you."
Across from her, Cassian Ignis scoffed, chin lifted in open disdain.
"Why?" he said lazily. "Afraid the little tiger might lose control?"
Cassian rose from his seat, aura flaring crimson.
"At least I don't need claws to feel strong."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes roaming over her without shame.
"Then again…" his lips curled, "no one's going to marry a brute like you anyway."
The words landed like a slap.
A faint frost-like mist curled around Lyra's gauntlets.
The temperature dropped just enough for everyone nearby to feel it.
Cassian chuckled softly, clearly enjoying himself.
"But don't worry," he continued, voice smooth and cruel."I'm generous."
His gaze lingered deliberately.
"I could always take you as a mistress.A concubine, perhaps.At least your body wouldn't go to waste."
For half a heartbeat—
The room froze.
That did it.
Lyra's chair scraped violently across the floor as she stood, fingers tightening into fists, aura surging like a caged storm.
The youngest Ignis girl, Lunaria, flinched and instinctively grabbed the sleeve of her elder sister.
"Sister… please…"
At the head of the table, Aurelia Ignis set her teacup down.
The sound was soft.
But the pressure that followed was not.
"Enough," she said calmly.
Both auras faltered—just a fraction.
Cassian turned toward her, irritation flashing across his face.
"This doesn't concern you, Sister."
Aurelia's gaze sharpened.
"It does," she replied coolly. "Because you're embarrassing our house."
Cassian's jaw clenched.
Before he could respond—
A deep, heavy sigh echoed through the hall.
"Must you children always cause trouble the moment you sit together?"
All heads turned.
Morvane Kharos stood near the edge of the sitting area, arms folded within his robes, eyes half-lidded but fully alert.
Beside him, Roland Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose.
"And here I was hoping," Roland added tiredly, "that we could go at least one gathering without causing any trouble."
Lyra stiffened.
Cassian straightened instantly.
The twins near the food table froze mid-bite.
Aeron Fenris stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes narrowing.
"Lyra," Aeron said flatly.
She looked away, jaw tight, frost-like mist fading from her gauntlets.
"…Yes, Father."
Across the table, Cassian let out a quiet scoff.
Roland Ignis's head turned slowly.
"Cassian," he said, voice calm—but the warmth was gone.
"What, I merely suggested an arrangement," he replied, shrugging. "No one is lining up to marry a brute like her. Offering her a position as a mistress is hardly an insult—"
The temperature dropped.
Not from Lyra.
From Aeron.
"Hm," Aeron murmured, eyes lifting to Cassian at last.
The word alone carried weight.
"I'm suddenly very interested in this proposal, kid."
No aura flared.
No threat was spoken.
And yet—
Cassian stiffened as if a blade had been pressed against his throat.
His breath caught.
Only now did he realize what he had just done.
The room felt smaller. Heavier.
A predator's attention had settled on him.
Roland's expression hardened completely.
"That's enough," he said. "You've said more than you're allowed to."
Valeria Ignis smiled—far too amused for the situation.
"Oh, come now," she said lightly. "They're just expressing themselves."
Roland shot her a look.
"Dear."
She shrugged. "What? At least they're honest."
Morvane's gaze swept the room.
The pressure of his presence settled like stone.
"Sit," he said.
No one argued.
Lyra sat.
Cassian followed, though his glare never left her.
Morvane nodded once, satisfied.
Just then—
The heavy doors at the far end of the hall opened.
A herald stepped inside, voice ringing clearly.
"His Majesty, King Reinhardt Valenor of Aurethia—along with the Second Prince Lucas and Third Princess Iris have arrived."
Every conversation died instantly.
The Guardian children turned.
Adults straightened.
Moments later, the royal family entered.
King Reinhardt walked at the center, expression composed, eyes sharp as they swept across the room.
Lucas followed, posture stiff, expression carefully neutral.
Princess Iris walked beside her father, gaze curious—and immediately drawn to the assembled heirs.
Whispers stirred.
Before introductions could begin—
Another announcement followed, overlapping the first.
"Delegations from the Kingdoms of Westermark and Thalassar have arrived."
The hall shifted once more.
The doors opened wider as the delegates stepped inside, their escorts halting at the threshold while the principals advanced.
King Aldric of Westermark entered first.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying himself with a ruler's ease, he wore deep green ceremonial attire trimmed with silver. His presence was steady rather than overwhelming—an experienced king who knew when to speak and when to observe.
At his side walked his children.
Prince Rowan followed with rigid posture, his expression carefully neutral. Crown Prince Cedric moved beside him, eyes sharp, already assessing the room with practiced restraint. Princess Selene brought up the rear, her gaze lighting up briefly when she spotted Princess Iris.
From the opposite side entered the representatives of Thalassar.
Crown Prince Kaelen's presence was calm and grounded, his bearing that of a man accustomed to responsibility. Princess Seraphina followed, posture relaxed but alert, eyes already roaming with open curiosity—pausing momentarily on the Guardian heirs before settling back into composure.
The murmurs died down as King Reinhardt stepped forward.
"King Aldric," Reinhardt said, offering a nod rather than a bow. "It's good to see you again."
"A pleasure, as always," Aldric replied warmly. "Your city seems lively today."
Reinhardt allowed a faint smile. "That it is."
Kaelen stepped forward next.
He placed a hand over his chest and bowed with practiced precision.
"Your Majesty," Crown Prince Kaelen of Thalassar said respectfully, "please allow me to convey my father's apologies."
Reinhardt turned his attention toward him, expression attentive.
"King Thalor was unable to attend personally," Kaelen continued. "A newly emerged dungeon near our southern coast has caused disturbances among the sea routes. Several sea monsters have already attacked fishing vessels."
He straightened.
"My father is currently coordinating with the Adventurer Guild and our navy to contain the situation. He entrusted me to represent Thalassar in his stead."
Reinhardt listened without interruption.
Then he nodded once.
"That is understandable," the King replied calmly. "The emergence of a dungeon—especially near the coast—is no small matter."
His tone softened slightly.
"I hope the situation is brought under control swiftly. Please convey my regards to your father."
"I will," Kaelen said. "Thank you for your understanding, Your Majesty."
Nearby, Princess Seraphina shifted her weight, clearly bored by the formalities but smart enough to remain silent.
As the exchange concluded, several attendants noticed that the Guild Master of Thalassar remained outside the hall, speaking quietly with Aurethian guards.
He had not entered with the delegation.
Those familiar with such matters understood why.
With David absent from the hall, the Guild Master had chosen to wait—preferring to discuss matters of dungeons and outbreaks directly with his counterpart rather than intrude upon political proceedings.
Their attention shifted.
The Guardians had risen.
Morvane Kharos inclined his head slightly—no more, no less.
Valeria Ignis offered a graceful nod, her expression polite but unreadable.
Roland Ignis followed suit, hand resting lightly near his sword in a gesture of formal respect.
Aeron Fenris merely crossed his arms and dipped his head a fraction—acknowledgment without submission.
Reinhardt did not bristle.
Nor did Aldric.
This was expected.
"Champions," Reinhardt said evenly. "We thank you for honoring our invitation."
Morvane spoke first, voice calm and unhurried.
"We are here because Cecil Ashborn invited us."
Nothing more needed to be said.
The atmosphere settled into something careful.
The younger generation moved next.
Princess Iris stepped forward first, offering a polite bow toward the assembled Champions.
"It is an honor to meet you all," she said sincerely.
Lucas followed, expression controlled, bowing properly—though his eyes lingered a moment too long on certain figures before snapping back into discipline.
Selene mirrored Iris's bow, enthusiasm tempered by decorum. Cedric followed with crisp precision. Rowan inclined his head stiffly.
Kaelen bowed respectfully.
Seraphina hesitated for half a second—then grinned faintly and offered a casual, but still respectful nod.
The Guardian heirs responded in kind.
Aurelia Ignis rose smoothly, acknowledging them with a composed nod befitting her status.
Kaelric Kharos inclined his head once, expression unchanged.
Eryon waved absently, still chewing, seemingly unaware—or unconcerned—about who he was greeting.
Lyra Fenris crossed her arms and gave a short nod, eyes sharp but restrained.
Cassian Ignis followed with a polite bow that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Lunaria dipped into a small, earnest curtsy.
Rhea and Rhys paused mid-snack, glanced at one another, then bowed hurriedly—before immediately returning to their plates.
Aeron sighed quietly.
For a moment, the hall felt… balanced.
Conversations resumed at a lower volume. Courtesies were exchanged. The tension, while still present, no longer felt on the verge of snapping.
Then—
Something shifted.
It wasn't sudden.
There was no surge of mana, no pressure that forced people to their knees.
But several individuals noticed it all the same.
Morvane's eyes opened.
Aeron's posture straightened slightly.
Valeria's smile thinned.
Before anyone could speak, the doors at the far end of the residence opened once more.
A herald stepped forward, voice steady—if a touch more careful than before.
"Headmaster of the Imperial Academy of Aurethia," he announced.
"Cecil Ashborn, accompanied by head instructor Jane Ashborn and Guild Master David."
As the three entered the hall, the balance shifted—not violently, not dramatically, but undeniably.
Cecil Ashborn walked at the center, her presence restrained but unmistakable. Jane followed at her side, composed and alert. David trailed just behind them, expression unreadable.
No pressure was released.No challenge was issued.
And yet, everyone understood—The atmosphere had changed.