Eyes shifted across the hall.
With the subtle precision of people recalculating their footing. Conversations thinned, then angled. Attention, once diffuse, began to converge.
The Griffin inclined his head toward me.
"For that," he said evenly, his voice carrying without effort, "you have our thanks."
That was all it took.
The room adjusted around the statement. Guests turned, not openly staring, but enough that their awareness brushed against me from every direction. I felt it ripple outward, reaching even my own group. Steve and North both looked my way, expressions unreadable, my summons shifting their attention without comment. Nothing had been said directly to us, yet we had been placed squarely at the center of the moment.
My thoughts accelerated, stacking one over another until the noise of the hall dulled at the edges and it felt like time stopped.
Why?
That was the only question that mattered.
There was no concrete proof tying the rift’s closure to us, not publicly. I could ask the System to validate it, force the truth into the open. And a rift of that grade would never go unnoticed. Spies, observers, opportunists from every major force would already be spreading their own versions or the true version of the story beyond Feradros.
Which meant the Ferans knew.
They simply did not care.
That narrowed the possibilities uncomfortably fast.
The only explanation that fit was the Griffin heir himself and the family standing behind him. The Ferans were willing to shoulder the risk of being exposed later, even publicly embarrassed, if it meant strengthening whatever bond they shared with the Griffins. The Prime Galaxy loomed behind that decision like an unspoken weight.
Perhaps promises had been made. Military backing. Political leverage. A future where the Nagas no longer stood unchallenged at the top.
And in that calculation, we were incidental.
A convenient presence. A useful truth to bend. Something to be incorporated into their narrative rather than acknowledged on its own terms.
I kept my expression calm, my posture relaxed, but the conclusion settled heavily.
I did not like being used.
And I liked even less the idea that they thought I wouldn’t dare.
I raised my glass, drained it in a single swallow, and let it fall from my fingers. Before it could touch the floor, the glass broke apart into a fine shimmer of particles and dispersed into nothing.
Every pair of eyes in the hall followed that motion.
"No need to thank us," I said calmly, already stepping forward. "As residents of the Prime universe, it is our duty to stand against an invasion."
The crowd parted without being asked. Not because of fear, but because instinct told them to. With my hands in my pockets, I walked straight ahead until the speaking Griffin stood clearly in view.
"And of course," I continued, my tone light, almost conversational, "the assistance of the young master was appreciated. He was... very helpful during the engagement."
A pause.
"He ensured our refreshments never ran out. Considering how excessive the heat was that day, it truly made a difference."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the hall. Somewhere behind me, Ragnar let out a low, amused chuckle before cutting himself off. The Ferans did not laugh. I could feel their auras flare, irritation and restrained fury bleeding into the air.
I ignored it.
"And since we are already discussing contributions," I went on, stopping a few steps from the Griffin, "we are here because the young master himself extended the invitation."
I tilted my head slightly.
"He has recently reached Transcendent rank. Coincidentally, one of my own reached the same threshold just a day ago."
The silence deepened.
"They’ll have a match," I said simply. "If the young master loses, he joins the Order of Absolute."
I stopped directly before the speaker, close enough that retreat would be noticeable.
"So truly," I finished, meeting his gaze evenly, "there’s no need for gratitude. We’re mostly here for the deal."
I turned my head just enough to glance sideways.
"The young master is confident," I added. "As he should be. He’s a Griffin, after all. Pride comes with the wings."
Then I smiled faintly.
"But I’m confident in my people too."
"Steve."
Blue lightning tore through the space beside me.
In the next instant, Steve stood at my side, sword already in his hand, the hum of restrained power rippling around him. He stepped forward half a pace and gave a short, respectful bow toward the Griffin dais.
"Young master Ryn Goldwing," he said evenly. "If you please."
The hall fell into absolute silence.
The griffin who had spoken earlier, the strongest presence among the nine, was known as Torace Goldwing. His golden eyes narrowed as they fixed on me, sharp and assessing. I stood a few inches taller, my gaze steady as I looked down at him without flinching.
"Mr. Billion—" Torace began.
I cut him off before he could finish.
"I suggest we step aside," I said calmly, my tone unhurried. "Let the younger ones have the space to show their skills. I would prefer the deal settled before everyone starts enjoying the food."
A ripple ran through the hall.
I wasn’t asking.
I was setting the direction.
Silence lingered, until it was finally broken by the young master himself.
"Yes," he said, stepping forward. "Let’s do as Mr. Billion suggests."
The movement drew every gaze. He walked to the center of the hall with measured confidence, stopping a short distance in front of Steve. There was pride in his posture.
"But you didn’t mention the other part of the deal," he continued, lifting his chin slightly. "If I win, then the Order of Absolute answers to the Ferans. No questions asked."
A few murmurs stirred at the edges of the hall. Feran eyes gleamed with interest. Griffins watched in silence.
I smiled faintly.
"Of course," I said evenly. "No questions asked. On either side."
Torace and I stepped back at the same time, an unspoken understanding passing between us. As I walked past Steve, I sent a silent message.
’Beat him good. I’ll handle everything else.’
Steve’s grip tightened around the sword by a fraction, lightning crawling lazily along the edge before settling again.
I stopped beside my group as the guests began shifting, instinctively creating a wide circle around the two figures at the center. Conversations died off, replaced by that particular stillness that came before violence.
Lyrate let out a quiet chuckle beside me.
"This is going to turn into a mess," she said.
I watched the young Griffin square his shoulders, wings flexing slightly as he measured Steve, and nodded.
"Mess is good," I replied calmly. "It forces people to adapt."