The crowd's applause was deafening as he ascended the stairs, each step a calculated move of grace and power. His robes billowed around him, a cloud of divine purity that seemed to absorb the shadows and corruption of the room. His eyes gleamed with a holy light, a stark contrast to the dark circles that marred the faces of the desperate townspeople beyond the mansion's walls. He looked every inch the savior they had been promised, the one who would deliver them from the horrors that the prophecy had unleashed.

"Welcome, my dear friends," he said, his voice a smooth caress that washed over the assembly like a warm bath. "Your faith in our cause has not gone unnoticed. Together, we usher in a new era of prosperity and peace."

The crowd erupted into a standing ovation, the sound of their applause bouncing off the gilded walls like a thousand echoes of hope. Ladies and gentlemen alike were on their feet, their eyes shining with a fervor that was both exhilarating and unsettling. Castrol felt a knot form in his stomach, the weight of their mission pressing down on him like a boulder. The jovial atmosphere was a façade, a mask that couldn't quite hide the desperation that had brought these people to this place.

Tobias Kingg, the man they had all come to see, raised his hands, silencing the crowd with a gesture that spoke of both power and humility. "Thank you," he said, his voice a melodious baritone that resonated through the hall. "Thank you for your patience and for your trust. I know that the path we tread is fraught with challenges, but fear not, for the gods are with us."

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the upturned faces of the elite, each one hanging on his every word like grapes on a vine, ripe for the picking. "The preparations for the final ceremony are proceeding as planned," he continued, his words a benediction that seemed to fill the room with a palpable sense of relief. "Soon, very soon, all your lives shall be extended, your suffering at an end."

"But," Kingg's voice grew solemn, the room hanging on his every syllable, "to achieve the transcendence we all crave, there remain two crucial phases to our divine plan." The crowd leaned in, whispers dying down as they awaited his sacred wisdom. His eyes scanned the room, as if searching for any signs of doubt, any cracks in the façade of their unyielding faith.

"The first phase," he announced, "is being taken care of as we speak." His voice was like a warm embrace, wrapping the room in a cocoon of reassurance. "Our brethren in the holy city of Sovereign are working tirelessly to complete the preparations for the grand invocation."

The crowd murmured among themselves, a mix of excitement and nerves. Castrol felt his grip tighten around the hilt of his sword, his heart racing with the anticipation of what was to come.

"The second phase," Kingg's voice grew hushed, his eyes shining with an inner fire that seemed to dance in the shadows, "will commence with the night's festivities." The crowd's murmurs grew softer, their anticipation thick and heavy. "Tonight," he said, raising his goblet, "we shall partake in a sacred rite that will cleanse us of our mortal coils. We shall feast, we shall dance, we shall revel in the knowledge that tomorrow, we shall ascend to the realm of the gods, to all-sky!!"

The crowd erupted into a frenzied cheer, their voices a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very chandeliers above. Castrol and Millie exchanged a look of disbelief, the crazed euphoria of the nobility a stark contrast to the grim reality they had witnessed in Barley. How could these people, who had everything, be so blind to the suffering outside their walls? How could they believe in a man whose promises were as empty as the smiles he wore?

Their eyes met over the heads of the revelers, and for a moment, the weight of their doubt was palpable. Was this truly faith they heard, or was it the desperate cry of those clutching at straws in a storm? The room was a sea of faces, each one alight with a hunger for salvation that seemed to consume them from within. It was a hunger Castrol knew all too well, having felt its gnawing emptiness himself not so long ago. Yet now, as he stood in the belly of the beast, he found himself questioning the very nature of belief. Was it a beacon in the dark, guiding one to safety, or was it the siren's call luring them all to their doom?

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Tobias Kingg's gaze locked on them for a beat too long, and Castrol felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was as if the man could see through their disguises, to the very core of their beings. Yet, Kingg's smile remained, and he raised his hand to hush the crowd once more. "Let us continue our celebrations," he said, his voice a gentle command that seemed to coax even the shadows into obedience. "For tomorrow, we shall stand as gods among mortals."

The crowd took his words as their cue, descending back into their merriment with a fervor that seemed almost feverish. The air grew thick with the sound of laughter and music, the clinking of glassware a metallic symphony of indulgence. The room swirled with the vibrant colors of silk and velvet, the guests' movements a blur of opulence. Yet, amidst the revelry, Castrol and Millie remained rooted, their expressions unreadable, their thoughts a storm of doubt and determination.

Marilynn, her smile frozen on her face, took a step back, her eyes lingering on Castrol for a moment longer than was comfortable. "If you'll excuse me," she murmured, her voice a brittle thing that shattered the moment. "I must attend to my hostess duties." With a curt nod, she turned and disappeared into the throng, leaving them to their thoughts.

As soon as she was out of earshot, someone tapped Millie's shoulder from behind, the touch as light as a butterfly's wings. She spun around, her hand already reaching for the knife hidden in her sleeve, only to find a young servant boy, his eyes wide with fear and excitement. "Miss Millie," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Miss Millie, Lady Catherine requests your presence in the library."

Catherine Dubois, a lady of Sovereign, was a woman of poise and grace, her beauty a stark contrast to the shadows of doubt that had settled upon the room. The invitation to the tea party had come from none other than her husband, Mathews Dubois, a man whose influence within the Sovereign nobility was as vast as the sea.

The walk to the library was a silent journey through the mansion's corridors, the plush carpets muffling the sound of their footsteps. Castrol's hand remained firmly on the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheathe it at a moment's notice. The air grew colder as they approached the heavy oak doors, the chill seeping into their very bones, whispering of secrets and ancient tomes that lay within.

Two guards, their expressions as stoic as the marble statues that adorned the walls, stood sentinel before the library's entrance. At the sight of Lady Catherine's summons, they nodded in unison, their movements as precise as a well-oiled machine. With a creak that seemed to echo the very passage of time, the doors swung open, revealing a chamber that was a bastion of knowledge and power.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of leather-bound tomes and the whispers of secrets long-forgotten. The walls were lined with bookshelves that stretched to the high ceiling, each one packed with volumes that spoke of ancient lore and the wisdom of the ages. In the center of the room, a grand mahogany desk dominated the space, its gleaming surface unmarred by a single piece of parchment or inkwell.

Lady Catherine Dubois stood there, a vision of elegance in a gown of sky blue silk that made her eyes sparkle like precious jewels. Her smile was wide and welcoming, yet it did not quite reach her eyes. It was a smile that spoke of social graces and hidden agendas, of a woman who knew how to play the game of nobility with the skill of a master chess player. She stepped forward, extending a hand to Millie, her grip firm yet gentle. "Welcome, dear friends," she said, her voice a velvet purr that seemed to stroke their very souls.

Movement in the shadows behind her caught Castrol's eye, and he tensed. From the gloom emerged a figure, tall and stooped with the weight of his own importance. It was Mathews Dubois, his eyes narrowed as he regarded the newcomers with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Welcome! Welcome!" he said in a haughty pretentious tone, "what did you make of our esteemed guest's words?" he asked, his tone more a demand than a question.

Millie, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. "Your library is most impressive," she said, her eyes scanning the shelves, looking for any sign of ancient texts. "But what words, specifically, do you wish us to ponder?" Her voice was like honey, sweet and thick, yet with a hint of challenge that was unmistakable.

Mathews chuckled, a sound that was both patronizing and self-assured. "Ah, you're too clever for your own good, my dear." He stepped closer, his eyes raking over Castrol in a way that made the latter want to draw his blade. "You've heard the whispers, I'm sure. The prophecy speaks of a new world, a world where we, the chosen few, shall be granted the gift of eternal life!"

"I speak of the promise of immortality to the nobles ofcourse," Mathews continued, his smile widening like a chasm in the earth.

The air grew colder, the warmth of the room's revelry retreating like a tide from the icy grip of Lady Catherine's gaze. It was a chill that seeped into the marrow of their bones, a stark reminder of the grim reality that lay outside the mansion's walls. The shadows grew longer, the candlelight flickering as if in protest of the dark secrets they were about to uncover.

"What?" Millie's voice was as sharp as a blade, cutting through the thick air of the library.

-To Be Continued-