The invitation proved accurate.
By the time the sun dipped low enough to cast long shadows across the garden, we were already prepared. Suits and formal wear replaced our robes. The women wore dresses suited for movement as much as presence. Knight remained wrapped in his hooded robe, face hidden as always. Ash stayed behind.
When the transport arrived, it did so without announcement.
Two carts waited at the edge of the path, white and immaculate, their frames carved with elegant, flowing designs that seemed less decorative and more symbolic.
They were drawn by white winged horses, tall and powerful, their wings folded neatly against their sides. Their manes shone gold as if the color belonged to them naturally, catching the fading light with every subtle movement.
North paused briefly, taking them in. "So this is how the Griffins travel."
We stepped forward and boarded, the carts lifting smoothly from the ground as their wings spread in unison, carrying us toward the island that awaited.
The ride wasn’t long, but it was revealing.
As we crossed the water, another island came into view, far larger than the one we had stayed on. It wasn’t a single landmass but a layered sprawl, terraces rising into one another, structures integrated. Roads curved naturally along elevation changes.
Knight leaned slightly forward, eyes focused. "This entire island belongs to the Griffin family."
That explained the scale.
Carts like ours filled the sky from every direction. Some arrived in pairs, others alone, each carrying guests of unmistakable presence. There were Ferans of all tribes, Elementals, Aquas and more than a few Nagas arriving silently.
At the island’s heart rose a majestic palace.
It was massive without being ostentatious, constructed from pale stone that leaned toward beige, its surface smooth but alive with faint engravings. A single griffin statue stood at the front, wings half-spread, gaze fixed forward. It didn’t threaten. It didn’t welcome either. It simply existed, confident in its place.
We disembarked alongside other guests and merged into the steady flow moving toward the palace. Conversation filled the air in careful layers. Everyone here was observing everyone else, even when pretending not to.
"How many celebrations do these people even have?" I muttered as we walked. "This is our second one already, and we haven’t been here that long."
Aurora smiled faintly. "That’s what happens when power stops being something you chase and starts being something you manage," she said. "Hard work pays off. Then it throws parties."
Steve snorted. "If this is the reward, I’m starting to question the grind."
As we moved deeper in, I noticed the servants first. Ferans, most of them.
Grandmaster all of them.
Steve leaned closer, lowering his voice. "That’s... interesting. Any one of these ’servants’ could become an emperor back home."
Knight replied quietly from beneath his hood, "Hierarchy looks different when power is abundant."
The palace entrance rose before us then, cutting off further commentary.
Massive doors stood open, carved from pale stone veined with faint gold lines that pulsed softly. Light spilled out from within, warm and inviting without being overwhelming. Beyond the threshold, the sound of music became clearer.
Guests passed through the doors in small groups, greeted by attendants who acknowledged their presence with big wide smiles.
We crossed the threshold together.
Inside, the hall opened wide.
The ceiling soared, supported by arches that curved like wings mid-flight. Tables lined the sides with carefully arranged food and drink, but the center was left open, intentionally so.
That was when I saw them.
The Griffins stood together near the far end of the hall. There weren’t many. Nine, at most. At first glance, they looked human, tall, composed, dressed in pale formal attire that carried no visible insignia. But the illusion broke quickly.
Golden eyes. And wings, creamy white, folded neatly behind them.
"I think I have better wings and style," Silver whispered.
I let my perception spread.
Carefully.
It flowed through the hall with ease, mapping the presence of every guest. Transcendents were plentiful. Some stronger than others. A few carried pressure that hinted at deeper reserves, but nothing immediately alarming.
Then I pushed further.
The perception extended beyond the hall, threading into corridors, up through levels, into the palace structure itself. For a moment, everything responded normally.
Then it stopped.
Not resisted.
Not blocked.
It vanished.
The sensation was subtle but absolute. Like sound entering a void. Like light swallowed without reflection. My perception reached a point where information simply ceased to exist. No feedback. Just absence.
I pulled back immediately.
Aurora glanced at me, her expression sharpening. "Something wrong?"
"No," I said. "It’s a good place. Very wealthy for sure."
I didn’t push again. Whoever had designed that space knew exactly what they were doing. Testing it further would only announce interest.
We moved deeper into the hall, blending into the gathering. Conversations shifted as we passed. Some curious. Some cautious. A few openly intrigued.
The Griffins noticed us then.
One of them turned, golden eyes settling on me with calm interest.
North leaned closer. "Birthday boy?"
"Most likely," I replied.
As we started moving toward one of the long tables, deliberately ignoring the staring boy near the center of the hall, Shera cut through the crowd and headed straight for us. I pretended not to notice him and picked up a glass from a passing attendant, taking a slow sip.
"Hahaha, finally," Shera said as he stopped beside me. "You’ve arrived. I trust the travel arrangements were satisfactory."
I turned toward him with a faint smile. "They were. Though I liked the horses more than the carts."
He laughed, clearly pleased. "They are a beautiful species. Unfortunately, they never advance beyond Master rank."
He paused, then waved the thought away casually. "In any case, there are quite a few people eager to meet the famed Order of Absolute. I hope you won’t mind accompanying me for a while."
I set the glass down and nodded. "Of course."
I gave a subtle nod to North and the others, then followed Shera as he moved through the hall.
He didn’t wander or hesitate. His path was direct, purposeful, weaving through clusters of conversation until we stopped in front of another member of the tiger tribe. The man was old by Feran standards, shoulders slightly hunched, fur faded at the edges, but the pressure around him was unmistakable.
Upper Transcendent.
Shera paused and gestured lightly. "This is Varka Ranthor," he said. "He oversees the defense of Feradros. One of the generals serving under the Feran Sovereign."
Varka studied me for a brief moment, expression neutral, then extended his hand.
"It’s a pleasure," he said evenly. "I’ll admit, it’s surprising to see a human reach this level of strength within our galaxy."
I took his hand and shook it once. "I hope the surprise isn’t too much at your age."
For a heartbeat, nothing changed.
Then a small smile creased Varka’s face. He didn’t respond verbally, only gave a slight nod, as if filing the exchange away for later.
Shera cleared his throat lightly. "Shall we?"
And with that, he gestured forward, already moving, leaving the moment behind.