"This is quite different from what I remember," an old man mused, stroking his beard as he gazed out the large window. "It seems this new council is indeed quite capable."
"Are those your true thoughts, old timer? Or are you simply wagging your tail to the tune of your new masters?" a harsh voice cut in.
Mohan Nair, who had been the first speaker, turned to face the man who had so bluntly interrupted. "My tongue belongs to me alone, as it always has, Mr. Bandhi." Despite the insult, his expression remained calm, entirely unfazed. "But if you believe you could have accomplished something similar, I wonder why the Bandhi family never bothered to try."
"Why should we?" the second man scoffed. "It is not our responsibility to fix the terrible habits of these livestock. Believe me, we already have our hands full just socializing the ones who come to us."
Mohan's expression twisted into something between amusement and disgust. "Come to you?" he repeated mockingly. "Ah, yes. I suppose all those rumors about your illegal slave-hunting operations across the world could be framed that way, couldn't they?"
"They are rumors for a reason," the man replied smoothly. "We've never been found guilty in any of these cases, so I would appreciate it if you didn't breathe any more life into such slander. Otherwise, I'll be forced to—"
"Enough, you two," a third voice cut in, firm and authoritative. "Mr. Nair, Mr. Bandhi, let's not forget why we are here—or who we represent."
Both men fell silent at once. The speaker was the representative of the Veerkar family, a renowned general and one of Korrovan's most decorated veterans. More importantly, he was an Archmage—one with extensive battlefield experience.
With his words, silence settled over the grand conference room atop the Black Tower. The assembled factions stood in distinct clusters, each keeping a respectful distance from the others.
Present were the Nair trade family, the Verma cloth emporium, the Gemkar mining company, the Veerkar family representing the royal army, the Bandhi slave traders, and the Varun auction house. Of all those invited, only the royal family—the Raja clan—had yet to make an appearance.
The absence did not go unnoticed.
"I heard the royal family was supposed to attend as well," a young woman said, her voice clear and bell-like. "Do you know anything about that, Uncle Ranjit?"
At her question, the room grew still. It was a matter of interest to all, yet she was likely the only one who would dare address the Veerkar family's grizzled war veteran with such familiarity.
The old man glanced at her, the rigid lines of his face softening ever so slightly. "All I know is that they're sending someone."
The woman chuckled. "Typical. You never care about anything beyond your orders, do you?"
Ranjit merely shrugged, effectively ending the conversation. He resumed his vigilant stance, his posture rigid, as if anticipating an ambush at any moment. It was clear that small talk and gossip held no interest for him, even from someone who seemed well-acquainted with him.
The young woman, however, was unfazed. If anything, she appeared to have expected his curt response. With an air of ease, she turned her attention to the other assembled parties, studying them as if appraising goods at a market.
Her pleasant smile remained as she addressed Mohan Nair with a tone of familiar courtesy. "It has been some time since we've had the pleasure of hosting you at our pavilion, Mr. Nair. But I was pleased to hear that your family is thriving again."
Mohan mirrored her smile, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It won't be long before we're in a position to attend your auctions again, little Miss Varun. A shame, though, what happened the last time we sent someone…"
At the mention of that event, a small crack appeared in the young woman's polished facade. The day her family had schemed to seize the remaining holdings of the Firebrand family—by crossing a rich but nameless foreigner—had become an indelible stain on their reputation.
Who could have predicted that the young man they had so carelessly antagonized would turn out to be a prodigy of renown, wielding both considerable wealth and influence? With every new report of Ezekiel of Tradespire's achievements, that stain only deepened, a constant reminder of their costly miscalculation.
With a somewhat stiff nod, Prya acknowledged the veiled admonishment and smoothly moved on to the next party. "It has been a while, Ms. Verma. How is business these days?"
The woman she addressed was striking—tall, with effortless poise. Her long, raven-black hair fell over her shoulders in silken waves, framing a face that carried the refined allure of maturity. Though her posture hinted at rigid discipline, her attire told an entirely different story.
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She wore a masterpiece of fabric—ornate, vibrant, adorned with intricate frills and elaborate loops. It was about as practical as a bent spoon, but there was no denying its purpose. It was meant to be seen. And seen she was.
The woman's lips curled into a motherly smile as she met Prya's gaze. "Look at you, little girl. You can even meet my eyes now." Though her words carried the unmistakable edge of mockery, there was a warmth in her tone that revealed it was more a playful tease than anything else—one reserved for someone who had known Prya for years.
Prya blushed slightly and raised a hand in protest. "Please, aunty, stop it. That was years ago."
The woman's laughter boomed through the room, echoing with a hearty, unrestrained belly laugh. It was far from the delicate giggles one might expect from a refined lady; it was bold and unapologetic. Her deep, velvety voice filled the hall, temporarily silencing everything around them. Only after she had her fill of amusement did her face regain a touch of seriousness.
"Business is good, little girl," she said, her voice smoothing back into its usual steady cadence. "As it always has been. People will always need clothing, after all."
Prya shook her head in disbelief. "From what I hear, your booming business has less to do with your latest line of underpants and more to do with that massive contract you landed for sails on warships."
The mature woman raised an elegant hand, casually fanning her face as if she hadn't the slightest idea what Prya was talking about. "Cloth is quite versatile, when used correctly," she replied nonchalantly, her tone effortlessly dismissive.
Prya smiled at the perfectly diplomatic response, deciding not to push the matter any further. Instead, she turned her attention to the last participant of the meeting, the representative of the Gemkar family. However, before she could address him, the large door to the conference room swung open, and several figures entered.
A ripple of gasps swept through the gathered entourages as the light caught the newcomers. The source of their surprise was immediately apparent—these were not exactly "people."
Scales, fur, claws, horns, and hide marked the distinct features of those who entered. While Chimeroi were not uncommon in Korrovan, these figures were unlike any others typically seen, even here. The majority of Chimeroi had a human-like appearance, but the ones who walked through the door had more pronounced animalistic traits. Such individuals were often met with disdain, even on the surface, and were rarely welcomed in mixed company.
For many in the room, it was their first time seeing beings like these.
The attention of most was immediately drawn to a towering figure—a horned reptile who somehow managed to balance on two legs. Its presence alone was enough to send a ripple of unease through the gathered crowd.
"What are these creatures doing here…?" the Bandhi representative hissed, his voice dripping with disdain as he made no effort to hide his disgust at the sight.
The reptilian figure fixed him with a predatory gaze, the sharpness of his eyes sending an unmistakable warning. A low growl rumbled in his throat, the sound primal and menacing. Despite the threat, the slaver didn't flinch. Instead, his Mana surged in response, flaring in a defiant challenge.
"You dare growl at me, beast!?" the man sneered. "Do I need to remind you of your place before your betters?"
His words were not spoken lightly, and the Mana of an Archmage rippled from him, heavy and oppressive in the air. Though he was noticeably weaker than the old veteran, even a weak Archmage was a force to be reckoned with.
"I told you it was a mistake to invite these parasites into our city," the reptilian man growled, though his words were clearly directed at his companions, not the gathered parties.
"That is hardly fitting behavior for a host, Elder Dragon," another figure spoke up, stepping forward. His face was gaunt and covered in thick hair, his features more reminiscent of a primate than a human.
"I didn't start—" Elder Dragon began, but his words faltered under the weight of the admonishing stare.
"It doesn't matter who started it," the hairy old man chided, his tone soft but firm. "Your behavior reflects on all of us—and on our city."
The weight of his words immediately seized the attention of everyone present. The implication was clear, and it didn't take long for the Bandhi representative to voice his disbelief.
"You!? You are the so-called council?" he sneered, his voice a mixture of mockery and incredulity. "This city is run by a bunch of animals?"
In the thick silence that followed, Elder Dragon pointed at the Bandhi representative, then turned toward their leader, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his elongated maw. 'See?' his expression seemed to convey.
This time, however, even their leader was left speechless by the blatant disrespect. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger briefly breaking through his otherwise calm demeanor.
The Bandhi representative, however, remained completely unfazed by the growing tension in the room. Without so much as a pause, he shifted his attention to the other gathered representatives.
"I have a proposition," he declared, his voice oozing with confidence. "Let's do away with this so-called council once and for all. Afterward, the city can return to its previous state, and we won't have to deal with any of this nonsense."
His words plunged the hall into silence. For a moment, it was unclear whether the gathered parties were actually considering the proposition or simply too shocked to respond.
Before anyone could voice their opinion though, a new voice cut through the stillness.
It seemed to emanate from the very walls, echoing from every corner and crevice of the room, filling the space with an almost tangible presence. It wasn't loud, but it was unmistakably pervasive, like a whisper that you couldn't shut out no matter how hard you tried.
"I wouldn't recommend that course of action…"
As the words hung in the air, every shadow in the room began to lengthen, stretching slowly toward a central point in the hall.
Moments later, the dark tendrils met, and from their intersection, a shadowy form began to materialize. It swiftly grew to the size of a human, its features becoming more defined with every passing second.
"Shadow Mage," someone gasped. "…The rumors were true."
In that moment, a human figure emerged from the intersecting darkness, dressed in a traditional suit. His smile was the epitome of a refined gentleman, radiating charm and poise. He stood at the center of the hall, his posture rigid and precise, as though he were a student striving to impress even the strictest dance instructor.
"Archmage," Prya said, her expression shifting.
The man gave a curt bow to the gathered representatives before straightening, reasuming his perfect posture. "Welcome," he said, his voice calm and formal. "My name is David, and it was I who invited you all here."