Sprigelle 23, 1975 [E.o.S (7)]

Dr. Moreso’s face was as bleached of emotion as his magically sanitized examination room was of bacteria. Speaking to The Matriarch was a challenge even when he had good news. Bad news often led to him having to fill a sudden vacancy on the payroll. As Chief Medical Overseer of the Alvera Estate, he was far too important to be ‘retired’, but he shuddered when he thought about what happened to those who weren’t so lucky.

And today, he had some very bad news. He kept his voice straight as he faced the dark glass pane hanging over the stark white medical room.

“Your Lady Matriarch, my team and I have completed our assessment of the child.”

The child, nothing more than an hour old infant, was wailing, his beet red face offset by the stark white cloth he was swaddled in.

The voice that answered was hot. Like poison in the good doctor’s veins.

“And?”

Sweat ran down the back of the good doctor’s neck as he strove to maintain his professional veneer. She already knew what he was going to say. She had expected this result going in. And yet inwardly, he still winced. He knew that several of his colleagues and a significant portion of the lower staff wouldn’t be showing up tomorrow.

But still, he had a job to do. More than that, he knew if he had the gall to actually lie, he would very quickly find himself not so irreplaceable anymore. And any kind of ‘retirement party’ the Family might throw him, well, he would rather avoid that.

As if on cue, the room was covered in total silence. The infant stopped wailing, the staff stopped breathing. Even the soft hum of the mana crystals powering the examination machines vanished.

“Lady Matriarch, the infant possesses no hereditary abilities, affinities, or base statistical growth. Furthermore, as instructed, we performed every ‘Predictive’ type magic we possess and called on the top ‘Oracle’ of the Family, Lady Praescire. His growth percentile is in the lowest ninety five, almost non-existent. Lady Praescire foresaw no notable acts of worth in his future either. He is, and most likely always will be, a complete Mundane. End of assessment report, Lady Matriarch.”

The silence stretched like molten glass for several pained seconds, then shattered.

“Thank you for your hard work Dr. Moreso. You and your team are…dismissed.”

The infant began to wail again.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“Thank you for your hard work, Dr. Moreso. You and your team are…dismissed.” The Matriarch turned from the deep azure glass. The room was dimly lit, walls made out of black marble, sparkling darkness as the dancing flames of the sconces on either side of the room cast their light.

Silver eyes the color of cold steel stared down a hawkish nose at the young man kneeling several feet in front of her. He was encased in brilliant dark armor, blue embroidery swirling into complex patterns of runic symbols.

“You heard the good doctor. A complete Mundane.” She spat it out like a rotten piece of meat. “You have two options in front of you.”

The young man sneered. “Oh? And what are those, dearest Matriarch?”

The Matriarch’s apple red lips curled. Dagger sharp heels clacked on the floor as she approached the man. “You persist in playing the fool? So be it. Your first option is quite simple. Disavow the child and his mother. Then we, and the rest of the Family will pretend like they never happened and we can all be happy again.”

Dark eyebrows furrowed. “Uhuh. And what happens to them?”

“We, and the rest of the Family, will pretend like they never happened.”

The young man bared his teeth in disgust, body twitching as if to leap at her. However, he wasn’t suicidal, so he stayed put. “And my other option, O Generous Matriarch?”

The Matriarch’s jet black hair curled around her face, lips tightening into an expression of utter contempt. She took a final step towards him, reaching a hand out to his face. “Then you will stay with the mother and child. The Family will take everything you have, including the clothes off of your back. Then we will cast you and your refuse out into the streets of Rapella, and left to deal with the consequences of all your actions.” Dark umber nails slashed his cheek, opening a crimson trail.

The handsomely tanned man recoiled, flashing terror in his eyes, covering it up almost instantly with a false bravado, ignoring the blood that began to plop softly onto the cold, black marble floor. “You wouldn’t dare. I’m one of the top fighters in the Family, I bring too much to the table for you to just cut me off.”

The Matriarch’s laugh was hollow, and cruel. “Hah! Do you truly believe that, you insufferable child? It certainly would have been true at one point, I admit. But you have committed crime after crime against the Family, and while I—out of the love I have for you—always overlooked them, this one is too great for me to let pass unpunished.”

The young man’s face contorted in rage, his body trembling with anger. He spoke through clenched teeth, a volcano on the verge of erupting. “A crime? I have committed no crimes against the Family!”

“I disagree. You have committed the most heinous crime that you possibly could against us, one that runs contrary to every value the Alvera Family holds dear. You have disgraced yourself and the rest of us with your choices. Your woman. Emma Burrows.”

The Matriarch’s voice was a cold knife in the dark.

“Lowest of the low born. A woman from the deepest slums of Ring Five, dredged up from the offal of society because you wanted a new maid with a pretty face. If it had stopped there, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Her fingers clenched like a raptor’s claws, a palpable menace filling the air. “But no. You did not stop there. You fawned after her, shirking responsibilities and old promises, ruining plans I spent years enacting.” Raw fury and menace began to leak through cracks in the Matriarch’s cold veneer. “And I forgave you. I held you close from the rest of the Family, allowing you to repent for you transgression! And THIS is how you repay that? BY GIVING HER A CHILD?”

*Whack*

The Matriarch slapped the man, sending his head slamming into the black marbled floor hard enough to crack it.

*Crunch*

Blood pooled around the young man’s head. It was several long seconds before he stirred and shakily pulled himself back into a kneeling position in front of the Matriarch.

“And you gave the child OUR NAME!”

The facade of cool contempt was gone, white hot fury truly frothing over. The air grew thick, hard to breathe. The young man’s chest began to heave with effort.

“HOW DARE YOU GIVE A MUNDANE OUR NAME!”

*CRUNCH*

The Matriarch’s kick connected with the man’s left shoulder, sending him careening across the room until he impacted the wall. Where the slap cracked the dark stone, the kick was enough to shatter it. The young man, thick runic armor and all, collapsed to the floor like a pile of crimson jelly.

The Matriarch stalked towards the limp pile of human, a hate filled goddess of vengeance. There was a shudder in the air, and dark heat began to flicker into existence around the young man’s form.

The Matriarch paused, then seemed to recollect herself, straightening up and smoothing down the wrinkles in her clothing. Her face was calmed, but she still had the withering eyes of an angry goddess.

Slowly, black flames lifted the man into the air. They massed atop the crimson wounds, a broiling darkness that stitched the man back together, his body reforming with a sizzle, squelch, and a pop. The flames dispersed, dropping the man onto his back. His breathing was haggard, skin a sickly white and covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

Death stared down at him.

“Thinking of how utterly you have betrayed us causes my stomach to turn, and I feel nothing but disgust where a mother’s love once was. I have decided that you no longer have options. You are not fit to bear our name.”

The Matriarch snapped her fingers. The sound echoed hollowly. Then a massive set of twin wooden doors slammed open, a group of six guards running into the room. They were dressed in brilliant raiments of rich mahogany, deep turquoise, and shining gold.

The young man struggled to move, but barely had time to think before two of the guards marched forward, clenching him under the arms and yanking him up. He barred his teeth at them, but there was no heat to it, no fight. He hung like a cat grabbed by the scruff of its neck as they presented him to the Matriarch.

She strode forward, standing directly in front of him.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t budge. The Matriarch snarled and flicked her head at the guard on her left. He nodded, then unceremoniously grabbed the young man by the back of the head, gauntleted fingers digging in deep, and wrenched his head up. Cold, unflinching steel stared into his trembling, earth colored eyes.

“Noellus Ladrille Graham Alvera. Since the day you received your Blessing, you have never been anything but the problem child of the Family. The petulance of youth, always thinking that you know better than your elders, is something you never grew out of. I tried to maintain hope that you would mature, as you were always a valuable Family asset, and a proper attitude would have made you a great man. But no. If there was one thing you had, it was the Alvera bull-headedness.”

The Matriarch sighed, a genuine pang of disappointment her voice. “And now we are here. My own son copulating with a Mundane. Even that, I could have overlooked. After all, the noble gentleman and his escort is not so unusual a tale, and more than often than not bastards are actually quite useful.”

That got a rise out of Noellus, his eyes flashing with anger, lips pulling back into a snarl “My son is no bastard, and my wife is not a whore, Mother.”

The Matriarch curled her lip in scorn. “And that is the entire problem. You always did get too attached to your toys.”

“They are not toys!” Noellus’s eyes hardened, matching the steel of the Matriarch’s gaze. Rage colored his face as he thrashed against the tight grasp of the guards. “They are people, as much as you and I! My Emma shines with beauty enough to start a war, and no matter what those crackpot ‘Family scryers’ say, I can feel the influence my son has on the ebbs and flows of destiny. He will be strong. Stronger than any.” His pupils flashed with dark flames. A promise of retribution.

The Matriarch scoffed. “I find that unlikely. Once a Mundane, always a Mundane. Which is why I cannot allow you to dilute the Family’s blood with this filth. The Alvera Family’s strength is the Family, which means there is no dead weight. You know that. The only reason you are leaving this room alive is because exiling you and allowing the other families to do as they wish is simply the cleanest option.” She sniffed dismissively. “Killing you outright would look bad.”

The Matriarch gestured at the lead guard. He was huge, easily the size of an ox. His armor was distinctly heavier than his compatriots, face hidden underneath a golden, three horned helmet accented with turquoise.

“Commander Dahren. Form up.”

The Commander saluted smoothly, hands forming the image of Novas- The Daybringer -above his head. “Yes, Lady Matriarch.” His voice was deep, and heavy, hanging in the air like jagged stalactites. “Men, form a circle around the exile.” The men moved as one, surrounding Noellus and the two guards holding him. The two men shoved him to the ground, then stepped back and into the formation. The guards drew gleaming, well oiled steel, clutched them with both hands, then pressed the tips of their blades into Noellus’s armored back as if slamming their sword into the earth.

Noellus growled, then made as if to move despite the circle of blades pressing into his back. Commander Dahren raised his steel booted foot and stomped on the back of Noellus’s head, slamming his face back down into the cold black floor. The Commander ground the heel of his boot into Noellus’s face, who snarled again, eyes wild with defiance and renewed fight.

Dahren knelt down, boot still firmly planted on his victim’s head, whispering into Noellus’s ear. “Do you know what happens to the un-tamable beast, young Noellus? You cut off the claws, and rip out the fangs. You make it so that even if it never learns its place, it can bring you no harm.”

Dahren’s gilded mask tilted towards the operating room. “It would be below our Lady Matriarch to declaw you herself, but I assure you, it would not be below me.” Commander Dahren was not known for his subtlety.

Noellus, so full of rage and indignation but a second ago, shriveled under Dahren’s threat. His sun-kissed skin blanched. His eyes lost their fire.

“Okay.” Barely even a whisper. “Okay.”

There was a derisive snort from behind the mask. “Hmmph. That wouldn’t have worked five years ago. When did you become so weak?” Dahren stood, grinding his boot down into Noellus’s face one more time, just for good measure. Then, he turned to the Matriarch, and made the Novas shaped Alvera salute once more. “My Lady Matriarch, we are ready to proceed.”

The Matriarch locked eyes with Noellus and smiled thinly, eyes so cold they would turn even a devil’s blood to ice.

“Then let us begin the Exiling. Do not worry, my dear child, this won’t hurt a bit.”