The echo of the toast still seemed to vibrate along the walls when Daverion returned to his seat.
The private room on the second floor was spacious, yet in that moment it felt more enclosed than ever, as if the distant murmur of the main hall had been trapped behind an invisible door. Golden lamps poured warm light across the polished wood of the table, catching soft reflections along the rims of the glasses.
Daverion sat down.
To his right, Valeria was already settled against the corner of the seat, her shoulder barely brushing the wall. To his left, the space seemed meant to remain empty…
But it did not.
Lyra rose without a sound. She circled the table with natural ease, as if the decision had been made long ago. She slid into the seat beside Daverion and took it without hesitation.
She left no distance.
She left no room for doubt.
She sat close enough that contact was immediate. She did not try to measure it. She did not try to adjust it.
Daverion's arm, resting calmly on the table, became trapped between the two presences. The seat was wide enough for two… but not for three.
Lyra on the left.
Valeria on the right.
Both against the wall.
Daverion in the center.
Pressed together.
The adjustment was inevitable. Daverion leaned his torso slightly forward, conceding a few centimeters that solved nothing. Valeria held her breath for a moment. The nearness was not offensive… but it was undeniable.
Lyra, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to the weight of that proximity. Her thoughts were elsewhere: perhaps in the speech she had heard minutes earlier, perhaps in the small black lizard resting beside Enryu. There was no calculation in her gesture—only decision.
The closeness was not uncomfortable because of intention.
It was uncomfortable because of intensity.
Valeria could feel the quiet firmness of Daverion's body beside her, a stable, silent presence that did not need to impose itself to be felt. It was not deliberate contact, but neither could it be ignored. Warmth rose slowly along her neck, tinting her cheeks. She kept her gaze forward, focusing on anything but the narrow space separating them.
At the other end of the room, Enryu remained silent, fingers interlaced, gaze lowered. There was something distant in him, as though he were listening to a conversation that had not yet begun.
Then the door opened softly.
The servers entered in a line. Measured steps. Coordinated movements. The plates descended one by one onto the table with almost ceremonial precision.
Meat bathed in a thick, glossy sauce.
Roasted vegetables still steaming, their edges lightly caramelized.
Pitchers of cold juice, condensation beading along the glass like tiny drops of dew.
The aroma arrived before the words.
Deep. Savory. With a faint sweetness rising from toasted herbs. Hot fat blending with the smoky perfume of vegetables fresh from the fire.
The atmosphere shifted.
The tension that had floated between shoulders and glances dissolved into a barely perceptible collective breath.
Lyra was the first to react.
She took her plate without waiting for anyone. Her fingers curled around the edge confidently, and with her other hand she lifted the utensils. The knife descended. The blade cut cleanly through the glossy surface of the meat; the sauce slid slowly onto the plate.
She brought the first bite to her mouth.
Warm steam brushed her face before she tasted it. She closed her eyes for barely a second.
The flavor was intense. Deep. Enveloping.
She chewed calmly. The room was reduced to the soft metallic brush of cutlery and the muted sound of meat being sliced.
That small gesture broke the stillness.
Valeria lowered her gaze to her own plate, trying to regain composure. Daverion finally took his utensils. Every movement of his was measured, silent. No clumsiness. No excess. Only natural precision.
The problem remained the space.
When Daverion moved his arm to cut, contact was inevitable. Valeria tried leaning slightly forward. The wall denied her any further retreat.
She breathed slowly.
No one seemed to notice.
Or so she hoped.
The designated leader observed his glass of juice. He had not taken a bite yet. His expression was distant.
"I must admit," he said at last, tasting the meat, "I did not expect such a direct speech."
His gaze shifted toward Daverion—brief, but respectful.
"Some people radiate… presence."
Theron let out a low laugh.
"It was wise to understand that in time."
Mael cut his meat without looking up.
"Prudence prolongs life."
Lyra lifted her head abruptly.
"Are you talking about boring things again?"
Theron smiled.
"We always talk about boring things."
"Then change the subject," she ordered with childish naturalness, taking a sip of juice that left a faint stain on her lip.
Daverion observed the scene without intervening.
Valeria gathered courage.
"The first floor is full of noise," she commented. "But up here you can hardly hear anything."
Lyra nodded energetically.
"I like that. From above everything looks small."
Daverion spoke without altering his rhythm.
"Things do not become small. Only perspective changes."
Lyra looked at him with genuine attention.
"That sounds complicated."
"It isn't."
She frowned, thinking with exaggerated seriousness, trying to decipher something larger than her age.
"Then explain it to me later."
Theron watched the exchange in silence.
Mael as well.
Enryu finally lifted his glass to his lips. The cold juice broke the stillness surrounding him.
"It is a quiet night," he said.
The phrase lingered in the air.
A second later, he added, almost to himself:
"While it lasts."
The plates began to empty.
Lyra finished first and pushed hers forward with satisfaction.
"If all meetings were like this, I wouldn't complain so much."
"That's because there were no long speeches," Therion commented.
"There was one," she replied, pointing at Daverion. "But it was short."
Valeria lowered her gaze with a faint smile.
The room remained bathed in golden lamplight. The scent of sauce lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of shared food.
For a moment, no one thought about power.
No one thought about problems.
Only about flavor, about light conversation… and about the strange sensation that this night—so simple on the surface—would be remembered with more weight than it seemed to deserve.
"Alright…" Enryu's voice broke the calm still floating over the table. "It is time to fulfill our wager."
The sound of cutlery stopped.
It was not abrupt.
It was simultaneous.
The faint metallic scrape hung in the air as if someone had cut the sound itself.
Theron slowly raised his gaze.
Mael set his knife down without taking his eyes off Daverion.
The designated leader felt his pulse rise slightly.
Therion frowned, curious, trying to decipher what the adults already seemed to understand.
All eyes turned to Daverion.
Only Valeria did not understand.
She blinked once. Then again.
She searched for clues in the faces that had shifted expression. The light conversation had evaporated without her noticing when.
Daverion drank the last sip of juice with absolute calm.
No haste.
No visible anticipation.
The glass touched the wood with a soft, measured sound.
"You're right," he said without drama. "There's no reason to postpone it."
The air did not grow heavy.
It grew attentive.
As if even the lamplight had steadied.
Theron placed both hands on the table and spoke firmly:
"I can help you. As gratitude for attending…" his gaze moved between Daverion and Enryu with contained meaning, "I will lend you one of the best halls in the palace."
Mael smiled faintly.
It was not open excitement.
It was interest.
The designated leader swallowed. He remembered the invisible pressure he had felt the first day. A fraction. A glimpse.
Now he would see more.
"Perfect," Enryu commented, rising naturally.
Theron stood first.
Daverion followed.
Enryu as well.
Mael rose without a sound, as if silence were part of his design.
The emotion was not only in Theron's face.
It was deeper.
Old expectation.
Lyra did not understand.
But she sensed something interesting was about to happen. And that was enough.
Therion noticed the shine in his grandfather's eyes and his own curiosity ignited instantly.
The door opened.
And outside stood a figure who had not been there before.
Intense red hair that seemed to absorb the light.
An elegant dress marking a straight, confident posture.
A firm gaze.
Elaryn.
Several followers stood aligned behind her with impeccable discipline.
Lyra reacted first.
"Sister!"
She ran to her and embraced her without hesitation.
Elaryn softened immediately. The hardness vanished—but only for Lyra. She stroked her head with an automatic, protective motion.
Therion approached.
"Hello, sister."
Theron smiled with contained pride.
"Elaryn… you've grown. It's been a year since I saw you."
"I was at the training grounds," she replied with assurance. "I wanted to improve my skills."
She did not say it as an excuse.
She said it as a declaration.
Her gaze swept across the group.
One by one.
Mael.
Enryu.
The designated leader.
It stopped at Daverion.
She examined him from head to toe.
She did not look for posture.
She did not look for gestures.
She looked for presence.
She found nothing that impressed her.
Disdain.
Did he come for that? she thought.
She turned to her grandfather.
"Who is he? Why did he give the speech?"
"He is a friend," Theron replied evenly. "I had already mentioned him."
Elaryn narrowed her eyes.
"He is too young to be your friend."
The words were not an accusation.
They were an assessment.
The atmosphere tightened slightly.
Theron looked at her sternly.
"Do not judge only by appearances."
She held his gaze.
She did not argue.
But she did not yield either.
Enryu laughed softly—not in mockery, but in curiosity.
Lyra frowned.
"Sister, he is my new brother. You can't speak to him like that."
Elaryn lowered her gaze toward her, and the hardness faded again.
"Fine."
Then she looked back at the group.
"Where are you going?"
Mael answered plainly.
"To witness something many would wish to see… and for which anyone would pay a fortune."
There was no exaggeration in his voice.
Only certainty.
Elaryn's interest sparked immediately.
"I'm coming too."
Her followers stepped forward in unison.
Theron spoke firmly, leaving no room for argument.
"If you come, you come alone."
Silence.
Elaryn looked at him, surprised.
That was rare.
Very rare.
But she accepted.
"Wait for me in my chambers," she instructed her followers.
They nodded without question.
The group began to move.
They descended to the first floor.
Their footsteps echoed across the polished marble—clean and steady.
Before turning down the corridor leading deeper into the palace, a voice called out:
"Miss Valeria!"
An attendant approached with contained urgency.
"All zone leaders, bankers, and merchants are assembled. They are waiting for you."
Valeria stopped.
She looked at Daverion.
Then at the group.
There was conflict in her expression. A subtle tension between duty and curiosity.
But she could not miss it.
"I'm sorry… I can't go. I have to attend the meeting."
Daverion nodded simply.
"That's fine. We'll see each other later."
Mael watched her leave.
She's going to miss something irrepeatable.
Theron let out a low, almost sympathetic laugh.
Valeria did not understand. She said her farewells and took another path.
The group continued.
They crossed the inner garden.
The night was silent.
Moonlight illuminated white columns.
The water in the ponds reflected the sky like a still mirror.
Elaryn walked with firm bearing.
She still did not look at Daverion.
Then they entered the innermost section of the palace.
They stopped before a large metallic door.
Cold.
Imposing.
Sealed with lines of energy etched into its surface.
Elaryn recognized it immediately.
The imperial combat hall.
Her confusion deepened.
Who was going to fight?
She looked at Mael.
Then at Enryu.
But not at Daverion.
She thought little of him.
The door opened with a deep sound.
Inside, the space was vast.
At the center, a transparent cube of approximately fifteen hundred square meters floated slightly above the ground.
It did not rest.
It was suspended.
Around it, observation platforms arranged at different levels.
To the right, elevated, the control room with luminous panels still dark.
Theron stepped forward, pride visible.
"This is one of the finest combat halls on the entire planet."
He pointed upward.
"From the control room you can configure the cube. Adapt the environment to any scenario. Desert. Jungle. Mountains. A volcano. The moon. A village. Whatever you wish."
Elaryn observed in silence.
For the first time, her eyes showed something beyond judgment.
Genuine interest.
Therion was impressed as well.
It was their first time entering this hall.
Lyra stared at the cube in absolute wonder.
"Can it really become any place?"
Theron smiled.
"Any place."
The transparent cube reflected their silhouettes.
Empty.
Suspended.
Waiting.
Enryu stepped forward.
He made no sound.
But his reflection was the first to touch the surface of the cube.
And for the briefest fraction of a moment…
The light distorted.
As if space itself recognized that the wager was finally about to begin.