Just the moment the room fell into silence, a voice cut through it like a blade drawn too late. "Obsidar." Galathion's voice cracked in, as if the stillness itself refused to welcome it. "Yes." Obsidar answered, turning his gaze to meet his, his expression calm yet unreadable.
"If I'm not seeing things wrong, I have never seen this so-called grandson of yours and the one," he said, pointing at Vacuros, sitting opposite Nyxander." Galathion continued, his eyes sharp, as though peeling layers from a hidden truth.
Nyxander felt a subtle pressure settle in his chest, the kind that demanded formality. He stood to his feet.
"My name is Nyxander. You may call me that, and my brother across from me is Vacuros. We are both the fifth generation of the Nihilith Clan." He said evenly. Vacuros followed with a quiet nod.
"What, fifth generation!" Deji and Bol shouted in unison, their voices colliding in disbelief.
