Lyrax took a slow breath, forcing his nerves to settle. The tension in the air was sharp enough to cut through, but he held himself together and stepped forward, the soft crunch of flowers beneath his boots echoing faintly.
He stopped a few feet in front of Silva, maintaining eye contact. "I understand what you're saying," he began evenly, "but it doesn't change the fact that your abilities were… unusual. The Arcane Council wanted to speak with you. Why exactly, I don't know, but that's what they decided."
His voice stayed steady, though a slight edge betrayed his effort to remain composed. "I've seen talent before, plenty of it. Across the cosmos, within the Lumis Region, even here on this planet. But apparently, they saw sothing different in you. Sothing new."
Silva tilted his head slightly. "You keep saying them, them, them. Who exactly are they supposed to be?"
A muscle twitched in Lyrax's jaw. He could feel his patience thinning, yet Silva's deanor didn't change, relaxed, fearless, almost mocking. It was like the man had no sense of where he stood or who he was speaking to.
"The Arcane Council," Lyrax said finally, his tone clipped. "They're the seven who oversee everything that happens on this planet. Gods, almost, but not quite. Their will is absolute here."
He gestured faintly toward the sky. "This planet is the convergence point for all who seek to explore the Lumis expanse, the universe, and the cosmos beyond. The Council ensures everything remains within order. Their rule is—" he caught himself mid-sentence, "perfect."
As Lyrax spoke, Silva noticed the subtle shift in his eyes. There was reverence in his tone, almost worship. But beneath that admiration, Silva could see it: the faint gleam of sothing else.
Longing.
Pain.
And buried deep behind it, rage.
The kind that festers when soone stares too long at a dream they know they might never reach.
Silva's lips curved slightly. "You really want to be one of them, don't you?" he said quietly.
Lyrax froze.
For a mont, the garden fell silent, the only sound the gentle whisper of flowing water and rustling petals.
Lyrax smiled, though it wasn't a pleasant one. It wasn't cruel either. It was the kind of smile that didn't belong to any particular emotion, the kind you wear when words sting but you refuse to show it.
"You have a way of getting under my skin," he said quietly, his tone edged with both amusent and irritation. "And that's saying a lot, considering we just t. I've spoken to billions of beings across countless worlds, yet sohow… when you speak, it irritates . I don't know if it's your cockiness, your confidence, or just the fact that the Arcane Council wants to see you. But sothing about you makes it impossible to ignore."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you've made that pretty clear," Silva replied casually.
He turned away and walked a few steps forward, crouching slightly to pluck a flower without asking. He brought it to his nose, inhaling its faint, sweet scent. "What is this place exactly?" he asked, looking around at the endless field of color.
Lyrax folded his hands behind his back, regaining so composure. "It's a subspace within the Arcane Tower," he explained. "The Council asked to find a suitable place for you to speak with them."
Silva glanced around, raising an eyebrow. "Then where are they?" he asked, scanning the horizon like he'd missed sothing obvious.
Lyrax frowned but quickly smoothed his expression back into neutrality. "Soone like you cannot see the Arcane Council mbers here," he said evenly. "It would be an insult to their station. Each one of them is a being that has lived for eons, wielders of power and knowledge beyond comprehension. For you to stand before them would be…" he hesitated, then added sharply, "…unthinkably disrespectful. You don't deserve that privilege in any way."
Silva's golden eyes narrowed to slits. He lazily pointed the flower at Lyrax like it were a blade. "But you have."
Lyrax's brow arched. "And what is that supposed to an? Are you trying to compare yourself to ?" he barked.
Silva shook his head lightly. "No, no, no. Why would I?" he said with a mocking grin. "I'm just saying, if they're such grand beings, why would they allow you to see them? Yet there's still this massive gap between you and them. Don't worry, you don't need to say anything. Your eyes already told ."
Lyrax stiffened.
"You want to be them," Silva continued, his tone quiet but cutting. "But you can't. So you beca sothing in-between, maybe the ssenger, the voice they speak through. Am I wrong… or am I right?"
Lyrax's hand twitched. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fist, every instinct begging him to strike, but he didn't. Instead, after a tense mont, he threw his head back and laughed.
It started as a low chuckle, then built into a full, unrestrained cackle. When he finally stopped, his golden eyes glead, not with anger anymore, but sothing closer to intrigue.
"You might be more than you seem," he said finally, his voice calm again. "You piss off, but I can't deny it, you're fascinating."
Lyrax exhaled slowly, the tension lting off his face. He straightened his robes with a small, practiced motion and lifted his hands. The air around them shimred faintly, and then, fwooml, seven brilliant flas ignited in a circle, hovering in midair around the two of them.
"These flas," Lyrax said, his voice calm and formal once more, "signify each mber of the current Arcane Council within this tower. They will hear you through them, and they will speak to through them. I'll relay their words to you."
Silva tilted his head slightly, unimpressed. "Why can't I just hear them myself?"
Lyrax rolled his eyes with barely contained irritation. "We've been through this already," he said. "You can't see or hear the Council. You don't have the standing for that. It would be a violation of the highest taboo."
Silva crossed his arms, sighing through his nose. The dancing flas reflected off his golden eyes, but they didn't stir even the faintest awe in him.
He'd seen gods. He'd spoken directly to Order itself. He was fighting against sothing primordial, an existence far beyond comprehension or rank.
And yet, here these people were, pretending to be divine.
The grandeur, the ceremony, the self-importance, it all felt hollow to him. Just another layer of theatrics to make mortals look bigger than they were.
He stared at the flas with quiet disinterest. "Alright then," he muttered. "Let's get this over with."
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