Every eye in the room—glowing, slitted, or shrouded behind wooden masks—remained fixed on him, as he stood at the chamber's edge. The living wood of the long table before him writhed subtly, its surface etched with intricate carvings of beasts and spiraling branches, as if the forest itself held court.
Silas, the tall, bark-skinned leader of the elite squad, stepped forward, he took off his mask revealing a surprisingly normal face and turned towards the council. The council members leaned forward, their postures rigid with anticipation. Armin caught fragments of their emotions: hope, fear, skepticism, all swirling like the mist clinging to the river outside. Only months later, after having learned the language, he'd learn the meeting's purpose: the Tribal Federation's leaders had gathered to witness the outcome of King Syn's grand ritual, a decades-long obsession to craft an heir. News of Syn's death had reached them hours before, a wound still raw, and now they sought a flicker of hope in the boy he'd left behind.
Silas started briefing them on the outcome of their mission. "I know what you must be thinking," he said. "But I assure you, our King's experiment was not a total failure." The council stirred, a murmur went through the hall as some leaders voiced their distrust of Armin. The biggest fear had been that the experiment had simply resulted in the creation of a mindless abomination. They had all witnessed the boy's creation process at some point or another over the past decades, but right now, his appearance unnerved them. In this world, death expelled mana from a body in a fleeting moment, leaving a hollow husk that slowly reabsorbed the ambient energy of the world. Armin, though, was a living paradox—a perpetual snapshot of that moment, his body expelling mana as fast as it regenerated, leaving him hollow to their magical senses. To these beings whose lives were steeped in mana's flow, he was a truly disturbing sight to see. "What we could determine so far is that we can communicate with him on at least a basic level and he seems to be able to reason. His abnormalities are clear to see. Based on our observations so far, it also looks like he is unable to wield any mana. But on the other hand we could not detect any dangerous mutations that could have been caused by the arcane void that aided his creation. Whether it imparted some knowledge or twisted his mind in some way is not apparent yet. We have also confirmed that the holy empire was unable to track him. This concludes our mission report."
Immediately the 12 council member's murmurs grew into heated debate about Armin's fate. Each of them represented multiple tribes, grouped by characteristics.
The leader of Insectoids spoke first, her words sharp and her tone distrustful. "This… thing," she gestured at him with her claws, "bears no mana. A husk. How can it be his heir?" Murmurs rippled through the room, some nodding, others disagreeing
"The boy moves. He reasons. The King's ritual succeeded—at least partially." A reptilian said, his voice held a guarded hope, but his eyes lingered on Armin, searching, as if probing for the abomination they'd feared.
A feathered leader, his crest quivering, snapped, "Partially? We expected a son to lead us, not a curiosity to coddle."
The Elementals, not to be confused with literal elementals, instead a faction made up of magic heavy races that usually focused on one element due to their racial traits and limitations, scoffed. Their representative, a towering figure wreathed in light wisps of fog, growled. "Someone who can't wield magic will be unfit to rule us. Especially in light of the recent developments in the east!"
On the opposite end of the argument the Void Singers faction argued fiercely in Armin's favor. Their representative, a gaunt figure glinting with an eerie sheen, gestured wildly. "He has surely been blessed by the void," they insisted. "He might hold knowledge we cannot even fathom!" These fanatics worshipped the arcane void and represented any individual and any tribe touched by it. They willingly exposed themselves to its chaotic energies in their rituals. The lethality rate of these practices were off the charts, but those who made it out often became true powerhouses of the tribal federation, thus earning them their own council seat, despite the void singers low numbers.
"You of all should know how dangerous exposure to the void can be, even you don't let children partake in your rituals!" , the Elementals shot back.
The Void Singers countered, their voice rising with zeal. "Look at him, have you ever seen a young child this composed? He is only a day old, but there is clearly more than meets the eye."
"And again, what can he do for us? The humans are colonizing the east coast, led by the holy empire. If they find out that there are still non-humans alive on this continent they will surely start their extermination campaigns again. Tell me, what could this boy possibly do for us?"
"What is this unfaithfulness? Do you not believe in Syn's determination? Our King believed in him—enough to die for him!"
The Elementals sneered. "You can't know the exact circumstances of Syn's death! This is speculation, nothing more!"
At this point the Void Singers looked about ready to start frothing at the mouth and proclaim them treacherous heretics. They, on the other hand, always enjoyed raising the Void Singer's pulse. Meanwhile Armin stood frozen, their voices washing over him like a tide.
A deafening thud silenced the room. Vorsmelk, the semi-metallic ascended slime-hybrid, stood, his glowing magma veins casting an orange glow across the table. "Enough, you two. Me and Elyxyn will come to a decision now." he roared. Beside him, Elyxyn, translucent and veined with bioluminescent filaments, rose gracefully, her movements fluid. The two chancellors were directly and permanently appointed by Syn to rule in his absence. This was originally only meant for the times when Syn was gone working on his magic. No one had truly expected their immensely powerful king to ever perish. He had been the first ever ascended slime-hybrid to come into existence and over the many decades of his life he had grown his power tremendously. He accomplished many astonishing feats and these two were living proof of his genius—basic slimes evolved into sentient beings, each a marvel of magic and will. They conferred in low whispers, their voices inaudible but their glances heavy with meaning. Armin watched, his pulse quickening. 'This is it,' he thought. 'They're deciding my fate.' Despite his lack of fluency in their language, he could at least understand that much.
The chamber held its breath, the council's eyes darting between Armin and the chancellors. Vorsmelk's gaze settled on him, not unkind but unyielding, as if measuring the weight of Syn's legacy in his small form. Elyxyn's expression was softer, her luminescent veins pulsing in time with some unspoken rhythm. They turned back to the council, and Vorsmelk spoke, his voice final. "We have decided." The words hung in the air, a blade poised to fall. Armin's fingers tightened around the nail, his mind racing. The chamber's living walls seemed to lean closer, the forest itself waiting for the verdict.