Seeing the young boy standing before them, no one reacted.
They were currently suffering from a severe case of sensory and mental overload.
No one clapped.
No one cheered.
There was just a dull, stunned silence that seemed to suck the air out of the room.
All their minds were frozen on Kaelira's earlier words.
Thearch.
That title meant more than status. More than something as petty as power or influence.
It was faith.
A devotion to a being that stood as the divine entity of all that a power has, will, and can represent.
They stand above heirs and successors. Above crown princes and elders.
They are the symbols that a power ties their fate and destiny to.
So hearing that this… boy, not even old enough to cultivate yet, was anointed as the Thearch of the Aetherion Clan itself, their entire worldviews turned on their heads.
As the awkward silence continued, a voice, small and quiet, yet ringing as loud as church bells in the empty hall, whispered into the void.
"...Why is he so small?"
It was as if that voice had latched onto their consciences and pulled them back to the surface. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned toward the source of the voice.
Only to see a young girl with wide eyes full of confusion, her mother's hands clamped firmly over her mouth as her own face dripped with nervous sweat.
But hearing her words, they turned back to truly observe this young Thearch and discovered that there was some truth in her statement.
The boy was small. Much smaller than most children at his stage of growth.
The lumps of baby fat still clearly clung to his body, making his solemn, regal stance somewhat… cute.
"Pfft…"
Sparse rounds of muffled laughter echoed through the hall as many tried to maintain their composure in the face of the absurd scene before them.
But Chayrith, facing their strange expressions and laughter, did not even register them.
His large eyes swept from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face.
Observing.
Weighing.
Behind him, Meilan and Marek stood straight, falling in step behind him, neither too close nor too far.
Like shadows attached to his small frame. Chayrith couldn't see them, but he felt them.
One presence young and immature, the other cold and ever-present. But both felt linked to his being.
Unwavering.
Resolute.
And without a glance, he took a step forward.
One step after another. His small strides were somewhat shaky, unsteady even. Yet no one laughed anymore.
They could feel it.
The unyielding determination behind every soft thud.
The hall was still silent, save for the soft rustling of robes as they cleared the center of the hall. But the silence was no longer heavy; it was filled with a faint admiration.
Kaelira's eyes moistened as she stared at her son's form.
Vairon's eyes were filled with a deep pride.
Liraxia looked on with a loving indulgence only a grandmother could have.
And Vaelor—the unreachable god of war. His face remained frozen, not a hint of emotion present.
But in his eyes, the storm began to rage, growing darker and more violent.
As Chayrith walked past table after table, in the crowd, a young deerling stared at him with fascination.
Her long ears twitching in beat with his steps, her eyes fixed on him as her heart continued to beat erratically.
Seraphiel placed a hand on her chest in confusion. 'W-What's going on? Why is my heart beating so fast when I look at him? But…'
As her gaze turned back to the small figure walking past toward the podium, a simple feeling she couldn't name surged in her chest.
'...I want to get closer to him.'
…
When Chayrith finally reached the podium, he looked up at his family. His eyes clear and innocent, the former fire within them nowhere to be seen.
But the firmness in his posture filled them all with a profound satisfaction.
Kaelira wiped the corners of her teary eyes, inwardly blaming her heightened emotions on the new soul dwelling within her, and faced her son with a jovial smile.
"My dear boy, Ulthuun shai raa'thra. Koraath shuur ssai."
Chayrith's eyes shimmered with a faint light. He seemed to understand, but at the same time, the words felt foreign to him.
But hearing them, he felt a faint warmth seep into his very marrow.
The guests turned to each other in confusion but chose to stay silent out of respect.
Collecting herself, Kaelira turned to the audience, about to speak, but caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye.
The words she had at the tip of her tongue died, and the hall that had been silent fell into an even graver disquiet.
Vaelor Aetherion had stood up.
…
In an unassuming inn within the city bounds, a figure floated cross-legged above a bed. He carried a saintly visage, his features soft and stirring. He could be described as a celestial being, were it not for the dark, sinister tendrils of darkness leaking from his body.
As he sat in eerie silence, his body suddenly trembled violently, and he collapsed onto the bed, his body wracked by cold sweat and his breathing turning ragged.
His eyes filled with terror. But beneath that terror was a venomous, coiling hatred.
A hatred so deep it twisted his handsome face into a form so unnerving it could drain the blood from the face of even the most battle-hardened soldiers.
"I understand my task, master. I will not fail you this time."
His voice was laden with thick fear, his tone shaking like that of a child before a tiger.
The tendrils that had surrounded him sank back into his body as if they had never existed, the oppressive darkness receding.
The man let out a shuddering breath.
He climbed up from his shivering position, his eyes now filled with a crazed light as his hatred was directed toward the manor visible from his window in the distance.
As he observed in silence, the hatred within him festered and grew. Suddenly, a wide smile spread across his face as he began to dress himself.