The man in the formal suit stood in the center of the Grand Assembly Chamber, his tablet glowing faintly under the pale blue lights. He cleared his throat, his voice amplified through the microphones to reach every corner of the room and the speakers in the High Lord's glass chamber above. The council members—over 150 strong—leaned forward in their high-backed chairs, their faces a mix of anticipation and impatience. The round table, with its etched maps and scattered documents, seemed to hold its breath as he began reading from the screen.
"We are moving on to the next phase of the meeting," he announced, his tone formal and steady. "The High Lord has requested that the quadrant families update him on their progress."
As he spoke, the room's lights dimmed gradually, the pale blue glow fading to near darkness except for four bright spotlights that snapped on, illuminating four groups of men—one from each of the major human families. The rest of the chamber plunged into shadow, making the lit figures stand out like actors on a stage. The air grew heavier, the hum of the microphones the only sound breaking the silence. All eyes turned to these representatives, the weight of expectation pressing down on them. The High Lord's chamber above remained shrouded, but everyone knew he was watching, listening to every word.
The announcer stepped back slightly, his role complete for the moment. "We begin with House Regentis."
A man from the first spotlighted group stood up slowly. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that held a mix of determination and weariness, dressed in a sharp suit that spoke of old family wealth. As the head of House Regentis, he carried the burden of his ancestors' legacy on his shoulders. He adjusted his microphone, his hands steady despite the pressure, and began his report.
"House Regentis's expeditions in finding more ships have failed," he said, his voice clear but tinged with discomfort. He paused, glancing at his notes as if searching for better words. "I believe our ancestors lost the most powerful ones in the LOST Realm, which makes it even more difficult for us to locate them. But I... we... my house is putting all our efforts into finding more ships."
The council waited in tense silence, some shifting in their seats. Whispers rippled through the darkness—disappointment, frustration. Before anyone could respond, the High Lord's voice echoed through the speakers, cutting through the room like a blade. It was deep and authoritative, carrying the weight of unquestioned power.
"Your ancestors contributed to the victory of men with their ships," the High Lord said, his tone measured but laced with sharp disapproval. "They battled those demons the Bloodline of Feran call pets. They matched their devastating power. Tell me... if a demon should appear here right now, would your efforts defeat it?"
The head of House Regentis swallowed hard, his face flushing under the bright light. Sweat beaded on his forehead, visible to everyone in the focused beam. "No... I..."
The High Lord cut him off again, his voice rising like a gathering storm. "I heard you married the former head of House Regentis. She is a beautiful woman. I don't suppose you married her just to spread her legs and know nothing about doing the duty of her house. If that is true, I will advise we give her to another man who can spread her legs and do the duties of her house at the same time. Be seated."
The words landed like a public execution, the humiliation raw and unrelenting. The man sat down heavily, his broad shoulders slumping as he felt the heat of disgrace burn through him. The council's silent stares bored into him—some pitying, others smug, all judging. The pale blue lights made his flushed face look even more exposed, like a spotlight on his failure. Whispers started again, low and cutting, as the room absorbed the High Lord's rebuke. No one dared speak up; the message was clear—failure would not be tolerated, no matter one's position.
The High Lord remained silent after that, his presence above like an unspoken command. The council knew his habits well: if he didn't speak, it meant to proceed. The announcer, a thin man with nervous eyes hidden behind glasses, remembered his early days in the role. He had been terrified back then, frozen in place when the High Lord fell quiet, torn between waiting or moving on. But when he had bravely continued, nothing happened—no reprimand, no interruption. Over time, he learned it was the High Lord's way: silence was permission, a test of resolve.
Clearing his throat, the announcer stepped forward again. "Next... House Crownfall."
A man from the second spotlight rose. He was lean and sharp-featured, with slicked-back hair and a calculating gaze, wearing a tailored coat that gave him an air of quiet authority. As the head of House Crownfall, he carried himself with confidence, but there was a hint of evasion in his eyes. He spoke clearly, his words measured.
"House Crownfall is still in its plans, and we can't reveal the details as I have said before," he stated, his tone firm but vague. "But I promise it will be big."
The council shifted uncomfortably, waiting for the High Lord to dismiss him as he had the last time—these were the same empty words from the previous meeting. Murmurs started, frustration building. But the High Lord said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate. The head of House Crownfall stood there for a moment, then sat down slowly, his expression unchanged but a flicker of relief in his eyes. The council understood: proceed.
The announcer, sensing the flow, moved on without hesitation. "House Imperialon."
From the third spotlight, a man stood and gestured to the woman beside him—his wife—to take the lead. She rose gracefully, a striking figure with long dark hair pinned in an elegant style and sharp green eyes that missed nothing. Dressed in a fitted gown that blended formality with practicality, she exuded intelligence and poise as the spokesperson for House Imperialon. She adjusted her microphone and began, her English refined and intellectual, each word chosen with precision.
"House Imperialon has accumulated a substantial quantity of serums and is formulating new variants every month," she said, her voice smooth and articulate. "Our private forces and the Shield Guard"—she pointed to a group of men and women in high-ranking military uniforms seated nearby, their postures rigid and disciplined—"are prepared to deploy them. However, the precise efficacy of these serums remains unverified in live scenarios. All we require is for some Bloodline individuals to transgress the law, thereby becoming our designated targets for practical evaluation."
The council's reaction was electric. A majority erupted in shouts of "Yeah!" fists pumping in the air, followed by a thunderous applause that echoed off the chamber walls. It was rare for the council to show such open enthusiasm—their meetings were usually restrained, filled with calculated debates rather than raw emotion. But this update struck a chord, a promise of strength against their ancient enemies. The pale blue lights seemed to pulse with the energy, casting flickering shadows as hands clapped in unison. The head of House Imperialon and his wife exchanged a subtle smile as they sat down, basking in the approval. The applause lingered, a rare moment of unity in the room.
The High Lord remained silent, his unseen gaze weighing the moment. The council quieted gradually, the energy still humming in the air.
The announcer stepped forward once more. "House True."
The final man stood, his face lined with the exhaustion of long nights and heavy responsibilities. He was older, with graying hair and deep-set eyes that spoke of sacrifices made in secret labs and ritual chambers, dressed in a simple robe marked with subtle symbols of his house. As the head of House True, he carried the weight of their most dangerous legacy. He spoke with quiet confidence, his words carrying the gravity of good news long awaited.
"House True brings good news," he began, his voice steady. "After the incident where we lost two anti-Bloodline beings during the ritual, leaving us with only eight remaining... the High Lord suspended further attempts until we developed a superior method. House True, after tireless work and numerous sacrifices, has devised a new and assured ritual. We await the High Lord's approval to commence immediately."
The council's hearts raced in unison, the air thickening with excitement. If this was true, it could shift the balance of power dramatically. The Realm of Men would grow significantly stronger, easing the constant fear of rebellion from the LOST Realm. Whispers spread like wildfire—hopeful, urgent—as members leaned toward each other, eyes wide. The pale blue lights seemed dimmer now, the spotlights harsher on the standing man, amplifying the moment's intensity.
The High Lord's voice echoed through the speakers once more, decisive and commanding. "Then, House True, bring back our ancestors and let us once again come under their protection."
The head of House True nodded firmly. He pulled out a small device—a phone—and made a quick call, his words brief and urgent. "Prepare the chamber." Then, he turned to the announcer. "Clear the middle space."
The announcer stepped aside hastily, moving out of the central area. The room's lights dimmed even further, plunging the council into near darkness except for the spotlights. A massive screen descended from the ceiling with a low hum, unfolding like a giant canvas. It flickered to life, displaying a sterile chamber somewhere deep in the headquarters. In the center stood eight large tanks, filled with a glowing blue liquid. Inside each tank floated a person—five men and three women—their bodies preserved in stasis, eyes closed, expressions serene. Tubes and wires connected them to machines humming softly in the background, monitoring vital signs.
The head of House True walked forward, positioning himself in front of the screen. The council watched in rapt silence, the weight of history pressing down. The ritual was about to begin, a step toward reclaiming the power that had once made humans unstoppable. The pale blue lights reflected off the screen, casting eerie glows on the faces below, as the room held its collective breath for what came next.