The hall was crowded with those of Omari lineage, the most notable figures seated at the forefront of the chamber. Amongst them was a table that, though it seated the fewest, held the most commanding presence, occupied by only five individuals.

"Little Adar, to think you had the gall," the elderly lady remarked, her voice cold and void of emotion. "Has the death of Ceres not affected you?" She glanced at the table of five sitting directly opposite the throne. "Or has the absence of the patriarch emboldened you?" A cold smirk formed across her face. "As the representative of the 'Council', I cannot help but be amused".

Adar sat upon the great throne, unmoved by her comments. His expression remained stoic, dignified. "I see your tongue is as sharp as ever, Lady Mazeno," he replied calmly, his gaze unwavering. "The death of my older brother deeply wounded our Family. However, he was unable to complete his rite of succession before his death, and in his grief, the Patriarch isolated himself, leaving affairs to the most competent among the clan." His eyes scanned the room, pausing on the five seated before him.

"Enough sophistry," she rebuked, her hoary brow raised in disdain. "What right do you have to assume the position without any formal ceremony? This has not been discussed among any elder of the clan. Do you think we would sit idly by as you forcefully claim our honoured position?" Her brow furrowed, nostrils flaring subtly. "Your arrogance has grown as of late."

"Right?" Adar retorted, his lips curving with slight hostility. The cracks in his composed demeanour were beginning to manifest. "What have the Elders achieved in handling clan affairs in my father's absence?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the hall. "Was it ceremonies that elevated the Azurians to the height of Omari excellence? Was it discussions that made my father the Patriarch of our clan? No—it was strength."

His voice echoed throughout the hall, his conviction evident as he rose from the throne, a spectacle for all present. "It was strength!" he exclaimed again, his powerful voice causing shockwaves that rattled the chandeliers and tables alike.

"The Council should aid, not lead. The Elders of each Family have had their time, and if not for the fact that the Patriarch hailed from a minor branch, no Azurian Elder would have sided with the Council." He shifted his gaze to the Young Mistress, who stared back, an icy smile slowly forming across her face. "Power has resided away from the Patriarch's blood for far too long. When the Young Mistress is of age and completes her rites or if my father returns, I will step down. However, until then—"

"You claim supreme power over the clan?" a man from the table of five interrupted, his voice domineering, filling every corner of the room. He was built like a fortress, dark-haired with savage eyes that bore into Adar. A ruinous black fur pelt draped over his shoulders, complementing the jagged scar across his face. His Beryl robes shone a woeful shade, the inscriptions glinting ominously. "This is—"

"Bastion, you dare speak out against my brother?" the woman to his right interjected, her sharp blue eyes fixed on the man. Her Azurian robes were elegant yet fierce, with gold arm and shoulder braces etched with electrifying blue inscriptions. Her long hair, cascading down her neck, concealed a ghastly scar at the nape. She was a hardened beauty, like a finely tempered blade. "Are you speaking as a 'Beryl' or yourself, Family Head?" Her voice was heavy with authority.

The Beryl Family members present in the hall watched silently, awaiting their leader's response. Bakal's eyes narrowed.

"Lady Enya, have we not shared the battlefield together? Have we not raised the glory of the Omari name? We have sacrificed much blood since the 'Night of Great Purgatory'," he replied, his gaze sweeping across the hall before resting on her. "To disregard my voice is to disregard the voices of all who have sacrificed for our clan," he continued, clenching his fist, causing murmurs to ripple through the gathered assembly.

"There are many who lost loved ones that night, and many more in the days after," agreed the man sitting next to Bastion, his voice raspy and worn. His ashen grey hair and lifeless eyes were starkly similar to Lady Mazeno's, but his sickly pale skin and wiry lips resembled a corpse. His Meras robes hung loosely on his frail frame.

"Marid—" Enya began, turning toward him.

"I lost my beloved that night," he resumed, his deathly raspy voice creeping through the room as he glanced at Lady Mazeno. "And now, you not only claim 'Patriarch' but harbour a traitor within? This goes against the very order I am tasked to uphold."

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"Sicarian," Lady Mazeno continued, her gaze shifting to Arnos, who was still at the door, observing the discussion before him.

Arnos's presence had almost been forgotten, overwhelmed by the intensity of the hall. The pressure was so burdensome that he had sought refuge away from the gazes of those within the clan. His mind was still on Ceru as he scanned the hall in desperate search. In his preoccupation, he failed to notice a dark figure looming above him—one of the masked escorts Lady Mazeno had brought.

A wave of fear enveloped him as he stared into the mask of the escort, his grief-stricken reflection gazed back at him, almost urging for his escape.

Desolate chains of grey erupted from the cloak of the escort, the dismal silver inscriptions glowed as they hurtled towards Arnos with vicious pace. He attempted to flee however the chains latched onto him with paralysing force, completely seizing his mobility and restricted his movements. He whimpered as he struggled to free himself from the shackles.

Murmurs filled the hall yet again as Arnos was dragged through the hall by the escort, still resisting, his efforts seemed futile to all those present.

"ARNOS!" Seira cried out, her bloodshot eyes brimming with tears. Those around her shifted uncomfortably, uneasy at her open display of emotion.

Carmine, consolingly placed his hand upon her shoulder, "Seira–".

"ENOUGH!" she erupted, shrugging his hand off instantly. "You saw it yourself... Ceru, Wendall, and now the boy? How can you be so indifferent?" Her words and tears spilled out in a sob.

"They're not so weak that a place like this would be their end. And if it is, I've clearly misjudged them," he stated with confidence. He glanced at the floor under the feet of Lady Mazeno, where the dreary inscriptions she had cast were growing dim.

"When have I ever been wrong… Seira?" he continued with unusual warmth. He placed his arm around her again; this time, she found solace in his embrace, weeping and snivelling in his arms.

"But—" she choked out, tears still streaming down her face.

"Trust your brother's judgement," he tenderly whispered, caressing her hair and calming her down.

Arnos watched as he was dragged past Carmine, their gazes locking. Carmine's soft expression instantly hardened, his apathetic stare penetrating Arnos to his very core.

He was dragged into the centre of the hall, directly in front of Lady Mazeno. Arnos clenched his teeth as all eyes fell upon him. He looked up in relief to see Adar, but his hope quickly faded; Adar's gaze was one of cold indifference, piercing through Arnos as if he were looking through him, not at him. Arnos stopped resisting, a sinking feeling of hopelessness settling deep in his heart.

"Adar—" Arnos gasped, a tear rolling down his cheek as memories of the banquet flooded his mind. The weight of the shackles felt lighter compared to the oppressive gazes within the hall.

"Lady Mazeno—" Adar interjected, ignoring Arnos's plea. His impervious demeanour cast a shadow over the boy's heart. "To harm a child? How low have the Elders fallen?" he questioned, a vein subtly throbbing above his brow, a silent rage bubbled.

"This is no child," Lady Mazeno scoffed, snapping her fingers as the chains tightened around Arnos's frail body, causing a whimper of pain. "This is Sicarian," her cruel voice echoed through the hall, stirring unease among those present.

"The Sicarians were mere pawns of the 'Cur Confederate.' Don't mistake your cruelty against a child for justice," Adar retorted, his sharp words rippling through the hall, igniting whispers among the crowd. "The 'Council' has failed to act against external threats, preferring instead to sow discord within the clan," he continued, glancing toward the table of five.

"Enough blood has been spilled over the years," Enya agreed, folding her arms with discontent.

"Weeds must be pulled out by the roots, or they will destroy the flowers," Marid rasped, his voice grating against the ears of those present.

"To call a child a weed? I fear your vengeful conviction clouds your judgement," a woman seated beside him remarked, her striking ruby-red eyes and brunette hair making her a spectacle to behold.

"I came here to enjoy a banquet, not to listen to the cries of a child," she continued, her brows knitting in discontent. Her graceful Saphira robes, adorned with elegant red inscriptions, vainly attempted to conceal her figure, while the rubies and gemstones that adorned her shimmered in a bewitching red, complementing her features. Her soft expression starkly contrasted Enya's, who resembled a tempered blade, while she was akin to a captivating rose.

"I see your daughter's tears have softened you, Sinira?" a man beside her laughed, heedless of the tension within the hall.

"Eyn, this is not humorous in the slightest. Are your concerns limited to worldly possessions?" Sinira sighed, grimacing as she averted her eyes from him in disgust.

"Don't be like that, Sinira," he chuckled, straightening his Empyreus Family robes. "That's bad for business," he added, his sunlit eyes glinting as he glanced toward Arnos.

Arnos looked toward the table, realising that they were the leaders of the Five Great Families: Bastion, Marid, Sinira, and Eyn.