Moulin sat as silent as the night. Silver eyes are drawn towards the tall windows. The window panes glistened, bending light through the angles within the glass. they reflected the youth's serene countenance like an untouched lake under the night sky where the moonbeams pierce through the water. He breathes, burying the urge to close his eyes.
He must remain upright, calm, and accept everything going through his eardrums... even the furious voices surrounding him, pumling his ear drums.
He feels scorching gazes upon him. He didn't turn to acknowledge them and he couldn't care less if they wanted him dead on the spot.
"The well-being of the young master's soul is of paramount importance. Should it be forcibly taken from him, will it not spell our demise?"
"The demons have already claid a part of him and I bet my head, they would do it again. Take him piece by piece and it wouldn't be long before they've eaten him whole,"
"Despite having nurous skilled seers and mages, how is it that the Fraunces Nobility failed to discern this cursed predicant?"
Back and forth they go. Gaile was silenced halfway through his story. The Lords could not resist voicing their thoughts. Amidst the noise, Moulin slightly turned his head away from the windows. With a heavy heart, he t his eldest brother's gaze.
Lord Maxille Fraunces was pale as a sheet, staring at his brother as though he had already lost him. Beautiful grey eyes, wide and trembling. Although most could not discern his expression, veiled with his calm composure and oppressive aura, Moulin knew the turmoil surging in his brother's eyes. Guilt clawled at Moulin, worsening the heaviness in his chest.
What is he thinking about right now after hearing how his little brother was supposed to be fed to a demon god? Moulin ppursed his lips. That his death was no accident but a process to sweeten his spirit, to prepare him for his ultimate purpose to complete the demon's ritual? Moulin didn't want to think about it anymore.
More people were summoned the mont they realized how heavy the situation was. Before Moulin knew it, Klaria of Ralor, Hyantor of Grekellia, and even His Highness, Vascilicus, had arrived. They were clueless at the beginning but gradually fell despondent and shocked. Ghana could only stand beside Varick to listen with a grin expression.
She already knew whatever outco would co from this eting would never be good.
It was calm at first when Gaile was first introduced. They were suspicious of the elf's origins but Gaile did not even hesitate to na himself their enemy. Shock and apprehension filled the room, swords were almost drawn. Luckily, Lord Hercullio silenced them with a single gaze and Gaile was spared.
However, the somber look on the Golden Lord's face was nacing, causing the elf to imdiately compose himself. Those eyes of gold served as a stark reminder of his vulnerability, akin to a deer thrust into the lair of a tiger.
It started mild. Gaile spoke of his origins, his purpose, and who his masters were. Then glancing at the silver-eyed young man sitting not far from the round table, he began to open the story of Moulin's purpose. The more he talked, the more the expression of the people around him darkened. As though influenced by emotions surrounding him, Gaile could not help but reveal a hint of fury in his tone.
Each word is like a drop of ink dripping into pure crystal water, sullying it black the longer he spoke. It brewed contempt. For a mont, Moulin could feel them cursing his existence. Would those people who perished during the Kron's ergence be saved had they known about this much earlier? They could've saved those poor souls and defended cities.
Thoughts like these plagued their minds, and little by little, regret, discontent, and malice boiled within.
Their eyes are like knives sharpened and deadly. They trembled with the urge to cut him into pieces. Moulin wouldn't bla them. He understood their wrath quite clearly. Because if he were in their shoes, he'd most likely seethe in anger. However, they can question his existence all they want.
He found it laughable to be reborn as a pawn for this world's impending demise. Whatever did he do wrong in his lifeti to be punished like this?
The argunt reached a crescendo. But it is short-lived.
Suddenly, a heavy, oppressive aura weighed down upon them.
Startled, Moulin swallowed and the rest stiffened. Their gazes are drawn towards the silent lord sitting at the head of the table. The montum of his aura suffocated them until their throats constricted, almost choking them. Invisible heaviness aid to force them on their knees. However, with all the willpower present in their bodies, they resisted.
Deep golden eyes lifted and traced their unrelenting countenance.
"Your Excellency..." Gaile trembled. His fists clenched and his knees weakened, landing on the ground with a loud thud. He was gasping.
Moulin could not bear to watch. He opened his mouth to speak but the golden lord beat him to it, abruptly withdrawing his aura and relieving the n and won from pain.
"Even ants wouldn't bicker when faced with an attack," The man's heavy voice echoed within their heads.
A brave man flushed red in anger, "Then what do you suggest we do, my lord? We have not forgotten how significant this man is to your heart. Even if we were willing to take the necessary steps, would you permit it?"
Lord Hercullio turned to him. Moulin is expressionless waiting for his response. However, the bond was not used for no reason. Moulin could already fathom his answer.
"The course of action hinges on your definition of 'necessary steps.' Enlighten us. I shall see if it is tolerable."
A series of relieved sighs sounded. They could not help but express their reassurance. Maxille who had been holding his breath, exhaled. There was hope for negotiation on this table surrounded by angered lords and ladies.
Moulin t Hadrian's gaze. The youth nodded in understanding. He wasn't opposed to this. The last thing he wanted was to worsen the situation by igniting a rebellious blaze among Hadrian's subordinates.
Seeing Moulin's calm composure, the audience felt a bit of guilt and recovered so of their senses. After all, the young master is a significant figure to the people and the military. And it seed he already understood the weight of the current situation.
The group of prominent people surrounding the table began to discuss strategies. But first, they must address this suspicious demon in their midst.
Hyantor was the first to question Gaile. His expression is cold, brimming with distrust. "Why should we believe your words, elf? Or are you even one? Spawn of a demon puppeteer. If you are what you say you are, I find it even less to trust you.
Perhaps your intent is to font discord among us? An endeavor to witness our internal strife, all in service to your accursed master's desires?"
Gaile narrowed his eyes, "I speak the truth. I am risking my life, severing my bonds to warn you. This is a chance to fell the 'pests' you all desire to rid of from your land and waters."
"But you have not told us the rest of this 'truth', have you not?" Klaria of Ralor stared deep at Gaile's face.
Regal and elegant, she sat and spoke with a probing tone. "Tell us. There must be sothing you want from this?"
"..."
The elf's silence made their suspicion of him grow. Finally, he conceded.
"I want to be purified."
"Bah!" Hyantor scoffed so loud, he turned several heads towards him. " A creature born from the blood of its creator cannot live without the sustenance from its master. You cannot possibly wish to act free now? Or... Do you really think you are out of his reach?"
Hyantor's theories fanned the flas of suspicion.
Seeing that Lord Hercullio did not attempt to stop him, Hyantor continued, announcing with murderous eyes. "How do we know he isn't so spy?"
Gaile felt his blood boil. "I have deserted my master."
Hyantor grinned evilly, "So how are you still breathing, elfing?"
"I am dying." Gaile revealed. "In the next few days, I will be reduced to ashes if I am not treated."
"How do we know you are not just spouting nonsense in order to take advantage of our healers?"
"You may use your best mages and seers to scoure my mind for lies." Gaile's eyes are filled with determination and humiliation. His gaze briefly fell on Lady Klaria, "Or My Lady may examine herself. You are free to cut down if anything satisfies your doubts."
Hyantor raised a brow. He found the elf's determination unexpected. He really is risking to expose himself to light magic?
Silently watching from the side, Moulin's fingernails dug at his thighs. He observed as Lady Klaria neared the elf, grabbed his wrist and drove a large amount of pure mana into Gaile's body. Caught off-guard, Gaile's knees buckled while he released a pained cry through gritted teeth.
The audience ignored his restrained cries, concentrating their attention to Lady Klaria's unperturbed expression. Moulin unblinkingly watched. He felt a slight movent from his side but was too focused to mind.
It is when a warm hand placed itself on his shoulder that he finally diverted his attention. Silver eyes t soft grey ones. His eldest brother, Maxille Fraunces stood beside his chair. The tall prominent lord of his family's house ca to reassure him. Both of them are silent but found a strange comfort in it.
Moulin felt tears prick his eyes but he forced himself to stay strong. Nothing had been decided yet. They must be patient.
Lord Hadrian Hercullio observed the scene silently before returning his attention to Klaria's forceful examination. His deep stare felt as though he as threatening them with a knife against their neck
Not long after, they witnessed a sudden abnormality on the lady's expression. The woman's eyes widened briefly, before she abruptly eliminated the process and withdrew her mana. A tranquil blue glow receded from her fingertips.
"Argh!" Gaile cried out, flinching back from her touch. He fell heavily on the floor with a loud thud and quakingly clutched his wrist as beads of sweat dripped from his brow. He could feel his flesh warping, scorched and brittle, while he tried to piece his cells back together with the little bit of mana left.
The rest shifted their focus to the Lady of Ralor who stood straight. Removing her white elbow-length gloves, recovering her composer as she faced their audience. Deep midnight blue eyes beca grave and serious.
"The elf is speaking he truth. He has severed his ties with his master, destroying his life source. His heart is as true as his words... unfortutnately." She closes her eyes and stepped away from the elf.
Gaile struggled to rise from the floor, settling his gaze towards Lord Hercullio.
"I can help you, but only if you help in return." He stated, wearing a determined expression.
"You forget elf. With or without your consent, we can rip the knowledge from your mind whenever we wish." One of the Lords spoke.
Gaile sneered, "I am no fool. In the face of imminent demise, I brought myself to you barbarians. If I desire so, destroying myself is no difficult feat."
His words brought fury to them. Hyantor raised his brows unimpressed while Lady Klaria and the rest diverted his attention to the Golden Lord. Despite their fury, the lords awaited his response.
Within the heavy silence, Moulin slightly tugged on his bond. Lord Hercullio's fingertip twitched but no one except Moulin had noticed it.
Perhaps, Gaile truly did not wish for the end of all living beings. He yearned for Jagra, Moulin's dear friend, one of his master's enemies. Although, Moulin could not forgive Gaile for cursing Jagra, he would try to understand his intentions. If what Lady Klaria said was true then...
All of a sudden, Lord Hadrian Hercullio spoke, "So be it."
A slight commotion occured between the lords. However, it was the will of the High Lord. Thus, they must take this opportunity to listen.
...
Moulin paid absolute attention to the discussion between the high rank. Maxille, who stood beside him inetervened to share his own views.
The demons are targeting the youngest master of he Fraunces nobility in order to complete their great ritual. His soul is to be fed as sustenance for the God of Demonic Creation, Vigal. If the malefics succeed in harvesting the soul, Vigal is resurrected and the land of Corahn will be reduced to nothing but feeding grounds for thousands of powerful demonic creatures.
Mana will be corrupted and any being of light will be devoured.
They could already picture the devastation in their minds. To prevent this from happening, one must address the sole target, the key to the destruction. Moulin remained calm as several eyes fell upon him. They stared as though they could take him, cage him away from the world, never to be seen.
No one had expected Prince Vascilicus to introduce the thought.
"What did you say?" Maxille's gaze sharpened at the young royal. Searing rage welled up in his chest.
The prince calmly turned to Lord Hercullio, warily observing the High Lord's expression. "We must conceal Lord Moulin, hide him away and constrain the flow of his mana. In this manner, no demon spies such as this elf may track him with his magical essence. If we allow him unrestricted freedom, the risk of adversaries launching a surprise attack becos unacceptably high."
Once his words ended, even Moulin beca tense.
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