“I see them, summoned by the Gods to aid us. Summoned to the Lonesome Frost to prepare for a dark like none other. They are champions of the gods, given gifts to be a light in an age of coming dark. And yet the light is not gentle, it is not warm, it is not comforting.. It burns.. It burns.. Oh Ancestors it burns!”

- Oracle Jaxiron of House Hazim a week before the summoning.

“Damn it.”

He cursed as he would take the necklace on his right hand with his left, and he would raise it so that it would jingle as the various trinkets on its length would put its weight on it. Benedict stared at his necklace for a good few seconds, looking at each trinket that was there. There was a ring given to him by Jio, a key he acquired during one of his birthdays, a key to his room back on earth, a small wooden lion taken from a bracelet he owned, and a dog-tag like slab. These were very important to him as they were ‘bookmarks’ for his memories.

He was one of many individuals that had a rather dodgy memory, and coupled with his fear and dislike of forgetting things and especially events, he had begun to collect these trinkets that corresponded to a specific event of sorts. Though he wasn’t able to add another to commemorate his arrival on this world, as he felt that this summoning was not something to even celebrate.

“I’m sorry for taking your necklace.. “

Salia would suddenly say in an ashamed voice, Benedict would notice that but he would be occupied with putting his necklace back on. As he placed it on, he felt a strange feeling of being complete only for a scant few moments before fading quickly. He assumed that it was a natural reaction, as he had worn his necklace every single day, except when he actually needed to sleep or take a bath. After that he would look to the female, his eyes looking contemplative before he would reply.

“Thank you for returning it, and for.. Seemingly trusting me.”

Salia smiled at his reply, hand still clutching his. He wondered as to why she was this friendly, acting as if they were very close. He found this a bit foreboding as he felt that it was a trap of sorts, a way to bind him to the will and plots of another. But she was bringing him relief to him by touch alone, perhaps she was simply a kind person? And if so it wasn’t really surprising that she would do this, but a question would rise in his mind. What was she exactly doing to remove the pain he felt?

“It is the least I can do Benedict.. Or should I say Despot? Which do you prefer?”

She asked him casually, but there was a notable variation in the way she pronounced his name and the title he was suddenly given. With his name she pronounced it as the way the english word was said, not an equivalent to it. This was a bit surprising as the name Benedict was also used to describe a newly married man, especially one that was a bachelor for a long time. Perhaps there was no word similar to that on the tongue of her people.

And the way she said Despot contained a strange connotation to it, as if the closest equivalent to the word she had said was Despot, and that whatever word she had actually said was something else entirely. It evoked a surge of pride within him. Compelling him to follow through on whatever instincts that fueled him and to see his purpose done.

“Either of those.. Though I prefer Benedict. Wait, what did you do to make me understand you? How are you making the pain I feel disappear with simply your touch?”

He would reply, though he would suddenly continue it with questions. Questions that he felt needed to be answered now. Salia only looked at him with a gentle smile, as she would look thoughtful for a moment before answering his questions without hesitation at all. It was like she knew that whatever his intentions were behind his questions, it was of pure curiosity and nothing more.

“I simply gave the mana within you a voice. This voice translates into many conceivable languages in this world, but it is more effective in letting you talk with my people. As our language is a song to others, laced with mana that allows the evocation of feelings further than normal. Your voice, the way it sounds like a chant of sorts is.. A product of the way the mana within you behaves.

This is also the reason for your pain as I have said, with your body forcibly manipulating the mana around you to be sucked within you. I cannot describe it, but it is akin to mana-burn, made worse by the fact that your body is making mana integrate with your flesh. I am simply nulling the pain by healing you, and regulating the mana that you absorb.

Humans normally cannot survive a high intake of the mana of our home, as it is too.. Raw.”

A bit surprised at her explanation, Benedict would nod as he understood what she did in a way. The way she allowed him to understand the language of her people, and to actually speak it, was radically different to the simple translation spells the mages of Isalabi casted upon the summoned. And the way she nulled his pain was fairly simple, she was healing him while presumably regulating the excess mana his body seemingly absorbed.

This shed light to the strange changes he was experiencing. This was the most logical explanation as to how he even got his scything-blades, whilst experiencing all those physical changes that occurred beneath his skin. The question he had now, was he unconsciously doing this, or was it being led by some force he could not comprehend? Either way it meant that this changes were technically natural, and irreversible. Though he couldn’t guess as to why his body integrating mana into his very flesh would bring pain, unless this was something that wasn’t supposed to be done?

“I assume you will teach me how to.. Manage this?”

Remembering what the Elder said before he mysteriously disappeared, Benedict would tentatively clutch her hand with his. He would feel the sensation of her skin, and it felt so soft, as if she had never wielded any weapon. This act of his would be seen as rather brazen, but he did not do it simply because he liked the feeling or he wanted to know how she would react. But rather because he wanted to see if the closer the contact of their skin was, the greater the effect of what she did would be.

“Yes, I w-will.. Try and teach you how to manage what your body is naturally doing.”

A slight stutter would grace his ears as Salia replied to him, it seems his act of holding her hand tightly so suddenly was unexpected for her. And the way she blushed meant that she possibly felt embarrassed, how however he did not feel the same. Without noticing any differences, a sudden serious state would overcome him as he would begin to let go of her hand, trying to pull his out of her grasp. She reacted negatively to this however, with her hand suddenly holding his tightly, not letting it go.

“What are you doing, Benedict?”

Her once gentle voice would turn suddenly angry as he tried to move his hand away. He looked at her face, and she was seemingly about to scold him with her face turning into a displeased one. It was as if she was witnessing the act of a particularly rebellious child that was trying to do something utterly harmful, even when he knew that it was harmful.

“Trying to feel that pain.”

He replied readily, raising a brow as he would stroke her hand with his thumb. It would cause her to blush a bit more, but her displeased look would soften a bit as well. His sudden desire to feel the pain was irrational for her, especially when he was screaming in pain just minutes ago because of it, and each time it returned he seemed to have desperately wanted to break free and writhe on the bed. How could she willingly let him feel such a pain? Especially when it was obviously far more painful than anything she had seen.

“No, absolutely not! Your body is dangerously absorbing the raw mana of my home. If you do not know, raw mana is toxic to most entities! It is moreso dangerous towards humans, it is a miracle you are even alive right now in Malvirek!”

He let out a low growl as he tried to forcefully pull away his hand. She would tighten her grip, glaring at him due to how stupid his action was. Benedict’s sudden desire to feel the pain was not truly a spur of the moment thing, but rather he was curious as to what it exactly felt. He knew it was painful, but he didn’t grasp how the pain was brought about.

“I need to know what the pain feels like. I will not die from this.”

With one final tug, he would manage to get his hand away from hers. She would gasp in surprise as the moment he couldn’t feel her touch anymore, the pain returned. If it could be described by him, it was like a fire raging beneath his flesh. Accompanied by a sensation akin to having your flesh being eaten by tiny things, whilst feeling the sensation of sore muscles. Unlike before with him being restrained, he would be able to begin writhing in pain.

But unlike most individuals, he would find this pain to be beneficial. It matched one of sayings he believed in, one that he had constantly said to his friends ever since they had arrived in this world. It allowed him to keenly be aware that he was still alive, and that he was anything but dead. Then quickly he could feel Salia’s hand holding his again, pulling it to lay on the bed as he could feel a sudden tingling sensation on his cheek.

She had slapped him, and he wasn’t able to notice it as he was focused on the pain. She glared at him as he would lay down properly again, that gentle warmth coming from her touch came again. He had to admit, willingly letting himself feel such a thing was stupid, but it was useful in letting him know what it felt like. This allowed him to assume one thing, the mana that his body was absorbing was fueling something. And that one something was rapid mutation of his body.

“You idiot! Don’t bring pain to yourself!”

She begins to scold him, going on a tirade about how such a reckless and unhealthy action could not be beneficial at all. She would cite that without her actions and touch, his body would most likely poison itself as time would go on rather quickly. But he questioned that, if it was true, then why was he not feeling pain during the course of his arrival on this forest?

The only comparable event that could match it was the worm-like writhing on his body, which was now closely related to the change he was going through. If this forest was thoroughly soaked in this raw mana, then the thing he had ate surely should have killed him. And yet it did not, it only made him feel full and hungering for more flesh. And her sudden concern, and even affection was unnatural. He was a stranger as much as she was to him, and he found this too strange and convenient at all.

It didn’t help that he did not like being scolded, making him frown as his scything-blades would twitch as anger rose within him. But this anger would not last long, as he did not want to show a sudden show of hostility to a person that helped him.

“Fine, fine. Stop rambling, just teach me how to manage this then. So that you won’t need to hold my hand as if I am a toddler.”

She would stop her tirade, but would glare at him for a good few minutes. After a while she would sigh and nod, suddenly flicking his forehead with her left hand. He would wince as his forehead was flicked, the stinging pain lasting briefly as Salia would speak.

“It’s not that simple, but I can cast a spell that should null the pain to the point it is manageable. From there, I can teach you the basics.. Normally as a noble from the Lonesome Frost you should already know this.”

At the mention of him being a noble, Benedict would raise an eyebrow in confusion. It was not the first time he was thought to be a noble, in fact this was most likely the fifth as far as he could remember. This was not truly a surprise, as the King of Isalabi, Asairos, with the support of hundreds of nobles and even the elves gave them the status of nobility. This was a way to cement their loyalty, and also an obvious attempt to drag them into the petty politics of the Lonesome Frost.

But aside from a simple ‘declaration’ of their status as nobles, there was nothing else that came from it. At least that he knew not of, and yet many assumed that he was nobility and even the other summoned had experienced the same thing. Why did they treat them as such? Nobility, even when obviously that many of them in their original world was anything but nobles.

If he could assume a cause, it had to be something within them. Or the way they carried themselves, but aside from four summoned, none truly moved like a noble. Benedict himself acted like a reclusive thing, showing little to no support at all for his brethren nor to the ones that summoned him, instead showing hate. It was a confusing thing, and now it was irritating him in a way.

It should bring him gratification for being called a noble, but he was not one. He had done nothing to earn that right, and it felt so wrong for him to be called one. It was like ashes to his tongue, or a discordant melody to his ears. But he would go with it, unwilling to disclose his past to her, or even the fact he was summoned.

“Forgive me then, I do not pay attention to the lessons given by the instructors.”

That was truth and lie at the same, a partial thing he gave to her. He was no fool to tell her everything about him, about what he knew, especially when she acted as if they were not strangers at all. Salia noticed the change in his tone, as it went from serious to a sudden mocking series of chants. She looked like she was about to let go of his hand, or about to flick his forehead for his audacity.

“Do not move after the spell is cast. I will need you to find the flow of mana within you. For my people the flow of our mana is carried to ‘mana’ veins. It is not a true series of veins, but rather something that develops immaterially as we grow old. I do not know how it goes with you humans, but it should be similar. Though you are different now..”

Like what the Elder had done before, where he began to sign runes with his fingers, Salia did the same. This time she did it slowly with her left hand, and tracing it over his chest. She did it with a serious expression, with her eyes taking on the blue glow he saw previously. From what he saw, she was essentially forming and drawing a two layered magic circle over his chest. At the center of this circle was one large rune, whilst at the outside would be a long series of letters that had a space inbetween them.

It was the same letters he found on the obelisks and the warning pillars. This was a magical art that he could classify as runic magic, but taken to a form that was indistinct. She looked to be utterly invested on it, her fingers expertly weaving to the point he could see blue strings of light connecting to the magic circle she drew. Though moments before she would be allowed to finish, Benedict’s right scything-blade would reach out and tap her below her chin.

“If this is a trap, I wonder how long do I have to act?.”

She would look at him strangely, as his tone turned menacing in the end. Benedict despite her show of kindness and concern, could not help but show hostility. This was in his part, a natural reaction. One not influenced by his slow change, but rather a part of his personality. But she did not notice the hostile nature of what he did, instead she only smiled a bit as she finished her spell.

“It depends, if you knew how to properly manipulate the mana within you.. You wouldn’t have any problems reacting to the trap.”

With a tap on his chest, her finger would ‘break’ the rune located on the center of the circle. With a cascade of light the circle would shatter, letting out a surprisingly beautiful melodic song. It sounded very similar to Salia’s voice, and it evoked a disturbing feeling of safety. It did not compel him to feel such a thing, it quite literally made his body feel it. It was akin to a sort of forced calm, something he had felt already.

The shattered pieces of the circle would make contact with his shirt and melt through, before hitting his skin and letting him feel a cold seeping through his flesh. It was a strange sensation, similar to cold droplets of water managing to pass through his flesh and trigger every single never within. Though aside from that there was no further effects that he could feel.

“Now, I shall let go of your hand. The pain shouldn’t be that bad, and you should be able to find that flow. Though I have heard that for you humans, emotions are deeply connected to your flow of mana. Try thinking of an emotion that rings true within you, love, joy, hope. Anything that would fuel you.”

Benedict would let out a mocking laugh at the mention of hope, Salia gave him another questioning look before she slowly let go of his hand. Like before the pain would return, but it was lessened now. This allowed Benedict to sit up properly, with his scything-blades retracting a bit and repositioning themselves. The way he did this was not entirely voluntarily, more like an unconscious habit that surprisingly developed quickly.

He himself did not notice this, as his mind did not allow him to perceive it, though he would be able to if he would actively control the limb itself. With a shrug of his shoulders, and a bit of stretching with his arms Benedict would try what Salia suggested. It was not that hard for him to choose an emotion, in fact there was only one emotion that he could truly say that rang true within him.

It was rage. Despite how simple it is, how barbaric it is, this is what he felt more keenly than anything else. With his forced arrival to this world, that rage rose further than it had ever been. Smoldering within him like ashes wishing to explode into a conflagration. He tapped onto it easily, similar to how one would find it easy to be amused based on certain memories.

Slowly as he felt anger rise within him, he vaguely felt his blood begin to boil. It was not a figurative sensation, as it was a literal feeling within his veins. It was like his blood was being pumped with some additional quality, one that reacted with his rage. This would disturbingly be followed with excitement, a desire to cause harm.

His thoughts, once focusing on what he felt would suddenly be dragged to thoughts of bloodshed. It was made increasingly disturbing when he felt the writhings again, followed by his hearing slowly fading into a high pitched buzzing. There he felt his heart slowly beat, but he became aware that the beatings were two, not a single systematic one.

With a blink of his eyes, he would feel the blood within him to rapidly flow with heat as bloodlust overtook him. It was similar to arousal, but instead of the desire to mate his was the desire to shed blood, to bring pain and to kill. It burned within him, that desire, alongside the same sensation of being burned within when he first woke. This one was more manageable as he growled through it, his eyes losing focus for a moment before his head was grasped by hands.

The hands felt cold like metal, they pulled his head to look up. And he saw that warrior, the one that almost killed him. Forlorn as the Elder called him. The dead warrior looked as ghostly as he last saw him, and behind his helm he grinned, his ghostly skin stretching around his mouth to show a disgusting grin. It did not speak, as it was seemingly more occupied in staring at his eyes.

Behind the Forlorn, Benedict saw a sight he only thought would exist in his dreams. The room he was in was replaced with the dream he had, the endless expanse of skulls and undead all staring at him. Behind them was that gate, looking far larger and oppressive than before. The crack on the skull having strangely been slightly fixed, with the eyes of the being within staring at him with obsession.

From there as the Forlorn held onto his face, the Forlorn let out a twisted laugh as the undead stared at him. Their gaze moving to him, then to his side. He followed where they looked, and he would notice that he had two entities in either side of him that did not look undead at all. Both of these entities looked at him, their inhuman looks causing a strange surge of pride to well up within him.

The one to his left was a tall pale thing, far taller than him even when it was squatting. It was due to its neck being severely long, as if it was meant to devour large chunks of meat in numerous quantities. Its hands rested on its knees, as the large hands tapped away at them with its large claws. Due to the way it looked, and particularly the length of its arms, Benedict would thought of it as a ‘Venator.’

To his right was a much smaller thing, the skin of this thing was not as pale as the Venator’s. As it looked to be a bit brown, indicating that it was slowly getting a tan of sorts. Unlike the Venator, this one looked particularly normal, aside from the obvious deformities around its mouth like the other, it generally resembled a bulky human. Save for the fact that much of its bulk came from its legs, which ended in strange feet where the majority of its toes were fused to the point they formed a y shape. Due to this, he would thought of it as a ‘Gadator’.

They looked at him with intelligent eyes, and as he stared at them, he felt that he was staring at a mirror. It made him feel as if these creatures were him, a twisted version of him made for some other specific purpose. He would return his attention to the Forlorn that held his head, and to his surprise it would let out an unheard howl that splattered ghostly spittle at his face.

With it came a cold from the hands of the Forlorn. It filled him with thoughts of despair, of sorrow and futility, where nothing matters in this world. It was as if this undead that defeated him wanted to feel it all, to give up on whatever he wanted to pursue. Seemingly wanting to insult him further by trying to extinguish the fire within him.

But the anger that he felt, the boiling blood within his veins, only intensified at this as he felt only irritation after the spittle landed on his face. The fire within would intensify, letting him feel the heat slowly bring pain to him. It caused him to lash out with his scything-blades, the two heading clearly towards the shoulders of the ghostly undead to pierce through its shoulder. But as he did this, just as the tips of his blades would have made contact to the shoulders of the Forlorn, his limbs stopped.

Halting completely without his consent. And with the blinking of his eyes, what he saw before him would disappear quickly. Instead replaced with the sight of the wooden room, and Salia who was the one that actually held his head. She was in fact hugging him, with her hands holding his head close to her bosom.

His scything-blades was inches away from piercing her shoulders, and yet they had completely stopped. Confusion filled his head as to what lead to this, his eyes widening in a myriad of emotions as he saw that his blades was still carrying out what he willed, but they were completely stopped by some force. He did not know what to feel, as the rage within slowly died out alongside all other sensations. Finally then the buzzing disappeared from his ears, allowing him to hear her voice.

“Calm down.. I am here, there is nothing to hate. Nothing to direct your rage upon.. Calm.”

Like before, her touch gave a gentle warmth. But this one was nothing like before, her close proximity brought security to him, a true calm that was so alien to his being. She spoke gently, her song-like voice bringing in a strange of rightness to the situation. This made his scything-blades rest themselves back on his shoulders, as the writhings settled.

“What are you doing to me?!.”

He yelled in shock as he tried to push her away, but strength would not come to his arms. The thought of pushing her away was strangely muddled in his mind, and all attempts at even trying to do anything remotely harmful towards her faded in his mind. It was like someone or something had forcibly made it impossible for him to do any harm to Salia, and Benedict thought that it was done by her or the Elder.

“Calming you down! Please, don’t let the rage take you, your mana is not where I thought it would have travelled… It’s within you, quite literally being pumped into your veins as your heart pumps blood. It is much more worse when you are angry, as your body not only continues absorbing mana, but it lets out excess into your veins for some inane reason! It would make you combust in flames!”

Without even noticing where his head was laying upon, Salia went to explain what she saw. The way her voice held worry and affection was confusing to Benedict, but as she went on, he would realize that they were genuine. Though he was one to assume for the worse, and decided that there was something deeper to this.

“As you decided to think of rage, of allowing yourself to be held by anger. Your body not only intensified the absorption of mana in our surrounding, it resorted to letting the excess out into your blood. I do not know why it did that, or what could have compelled it do so, but it reacted to your anger then. It was closely becoming the mana that is used to invoke fire, supposedly about to cause you to burn from the inside!”

He frowned at that however, finding it hard to believed that his body could even do that. Even when he was undergoing obvious mutation, he thought that it was impossible for his body to actively use mana to do spells. As he assumes that they were only being used as fuel, as a sort of food for what he was experiencing. But he could not think ill of her, instead he felt compelled to believe what she said.

“Can you.. Let go of my head now?”

With no option available to him, he would look up to see her looking down at him with worry. Looking at her with eyes that glowed, and as seconds would pass, she would gently nuzzle his head before letting him go. He was taken aback by what she did, and she only had a faint blush on her face as she spoke. She did not even mind that a look of disbelief, and shock was on his face, with him backing away as if she was a monster of sorts.

“What ploy are you playing at, Salia?”

He narrowed his eyes as anger boiled up within him, but like before it would be snuffed out by an unseen force. At the sight of his conflicted expression, Salia would briefly look surprised before she would smile at him as if his question was nothing of concern.

“None at all, the Elder simply ordered me to teach you. And.. before you woke, to make sure you do not die.”

He briefly felt disgust at her words, but with a force manipulating what he felt he only sighed in reluctant acceptance. With a mental slap to himself, he decided not to think of this event as of now. Instead he would direct his attention to his body, and noticed that he felt his blood still boil. This caused his look of confusion to return and he looked then to Salia and once again she smiled.

“What’s… next?”

-

“Unacceptable!”

A chorus of murmurs would fill the once silent chamber. A low angry growl rang behind the noise of heated conversation and dictates of law. The room was made from ancient stone and yet there was parts of it that implied it was built within the trunk of a large tree. There were a total of twelve elevated platforms that spiralled upwards in the circular chamber, with individuals standing on top of each except for one. These were the source of the growing cacophony of sounds, and each wore a varying series of expressions.

“This is only a logical solution, as the successor to the Forlorn is not even fully human at all!”

The beings that stood on the elevated platforms belonged to the Ancients, and a heated argument was riling up emotions on each one of them. They looked varied in how they look, but a consistent human-like form and horns growing out of their head made them look similar in a way. But at the moment, they looked ready to pounce at each other’s necks

“So what if he is the successor to the Forlorn? What we have done is unethical and goes against our customs.. We are better than this.”

Among them was the Elder, his face was a mask of restrained amusement. His hand stroked the long flowing beard of his, as a small chuckle escaped his lips. Energy crackled between his horns and it seemed he was not truly paying attention to what was occurring in the hall. The other ten did not notice this as they continued to bicker among themselves.

“Unethical? This is a sacrifice that we can accept. The needs of the many outweigh the feelings of the few! Do not tell me you forgot the concept of aggression? Humans are full of this, more so than even the Drameir! And you know those things are born from the Dragon of Calamity!”

These beings aside from the Elder, looked like a disparate gathering of beliefs. Each one relating to either a specific art, or even clan of the Ancients. One of them, an entity that resembled a man that has been merged with a mass of plant-life spoke, his eyes glowing a dim green as his hands motioned for them to halt their arguing.

“Brothers and sisters, are we not dedicated to the preservation of our home and kind?”

He asks as the noise would quiet down, each individual present staring at the speaker. Though the Elder briefly looked at the man, giving him a short nod before returning to what he was doing. The man would bow a bit as he noticed their arguments slowly ceased, before it was followed by murmurs of agreement.

“That may be so Lord Mender, but what the Elder of Delving has done is unethical, it goes against what we believe in. What we stand for, and what we endure for.”

A female spoke up with a respectful tone. She resembled an older woman that cared for all, her attire being that of white robe and leather, with her horns numbering only in four with silver chains connecting them to her ears. Her eyes dimly glowed white, as if she was among the youngest present here.

“For us to survive, there must be change. You must know this, as you are a leader among the enclaves of our people. But you must not assume that all of us share the same beliefs, that is extremely narrow minded.”

A cold voice would quickly interject with tinge of distaste. It came from an iron-clad figure, with most of the iron seemingly merged with the flesh of the person. Whatever their gender was, it could no longer be discerned as it looked more similar to an iron statue, than a living Ancient. But its helm was shaped in a way, that it resembled the face of a female Ancient, life-like and clearly beautiful. In its sockets a red light glowed, which also emanated from the various spaces of its effeminate armor and the runes on its chipped horns.

“Are you saying that you are alright with what the Elder of Delving had done, Warborn?”

The woman asked with a displeased voice, her eyes glaring at the Warborn. The iron-clad being however, despite the fact its face was set in iron, managed to look playful as it shifted its posture, as if the lighting was helping it do so.

“No, not at all Caretaker. I find it a disgusting action, one that is far beyond treacherous. But I understand why it must be done, as I know conflict like no one else here. For I was born in it.”

With what could be compared to pride, the Warborn raised its hand and curled it to a fist before doing a salute by slamming it to its chest. A distant sigh could be heard after this, causing the others to direct their attention to its source. It was a being of passion, a female of mind boggling beauty and sensuality. She wore an attire that gave nothing to the imagination, as the silken robe she wore had cuts on its design that allowed one to view her curvaceous body. Her eyes glowed a furious pink, evoking a sense of lust to those that would look at them.

She bit her plump lips as she prepared to speak, her sensual beauty seemingly not affecting anyone within the room. With another sigh she spoke, her voice inhumanly sweet and compelling like music to one’s ears, even in their own language.

“As much as I hate to admit it, but I agree to what the prune has said. She has a point, even when mine and his view differs from time to time. But in this situation, what the Elder dearest did is acceptable, as this is the successor of the Forlorn.

You’d be a fool to find this unacceptable. When even the Warborn agrees to this, a gal that wouldn’t even back down when it comes to battle! Ask him if he disagrees, and she’ll say it no in different ways! This is the Forlorn we are speaking of, a warrior of the ancient north before the Ivory Concord, one who has become a powerful Revenant through hate alone.”

The Warborn looked to the sensual female and gave her a respectful bow. But soon after another voice would boom out, harshly ringing with the tone of a battle-hardened male.

“I can’t believe you of all people would agree to this Mistress, you a person that reeks free-will and uncontrolled desire! There is no debate, no logical loophole to even assume, this is unacceptable! I do not see you disagreeing because you care not for the hundreds of bastards you birth, you whorish bitch.

If it was my daughter that was forced into a Soul-Bind to a monstrous entity, I would have bled the fool responsible for it! No one must be forced into marriage to someone they do not know! Especially one so gifted as Salia!”

The male was a towering being, a giant in every aspect. He wore an armor of stone, one intricately made to hide the bulging muscles beneath, and to give him an aura of ancient purpose. He had no horns, only four stumps as if he had grinded his off. His eyes glowed in mismatched colors, his left eye was glowing white whilst the other was brown.

“Oh? What would you know of caring for children? Wasn’t it you who killed your wife because she decided to find another man, just because you were never there for her? You couldn’t even keep your first wife from leaving you! Your opinion is null here Father of Giants, your unchanging ways is not needed here.”

The Mistress harshly retorted, causing the Father to glare at her as if he wanted to go and kill her. What she said had obviously hit a delicate vein, but the Mistress did not look to be in the mood to take back what she said.

“Enough, let there be peace here. Even if you disagree now, it has been done. We have to focus on making this situation beneficial for us, as the Ivory Concord has no doubt ‘summoned’ entities from beyond our own to be their champions.

No, champions to their selfish gods. Weapons to wage their petty wars and plots, a repeat of the drama that has unfolded millennia ago.

But this being, this Despot, the one Salia was soul-bound to, is also bound to her. They are married in the soul, neither one can harm or think-ill of the other, and only the ancestors can break this bond. And I see no ancestor returning from their dream to say no to this. Even they know the benefits of this.

This Despot is, as the Elder has said is the beginning of a new race. Aberrations as the Despot himself had dubbed them. Right now, in this very moment there are two aberrations that walk the soil of our home, emanating not a signature of mana, but leaving a trail of blood and absence of mana.

The Elder of Devling has gave us a chance to pursue either two choices. One, to break the bond that has been set, and to lose any chance to have a leash of sorts on a patriarch of a new race. Or, we do whatever we can do to get it on our side, to help us protect and preserve our ancient home.”

The Lord Mender finally spoke again, his voice calm and collected, effortlessly reaching out to the ears of all who would listen. Many that disagreed would grumble, shaking their heads in disapproval and anger. Those who agreed would nod, their faces a mask of contemplation.

“It is..best we do the latter. For in this bloody successor of the Forlorn son of the watchers of the void. We will find a new comrade, a new brother, a new family member.

He has chosen this Despotic child from beyond the void of which his once glorious tribe has looked to. For his voice, now long gone, is flowing within the Despotic child, ringing out alongside a dozen more in a chant within the mana his body devours.

It is a discordant tune, alien to us. But it carries within it faith, desire, hate, hunger.. And fear. We must not let it be directed to us, for that voice, that song, is like none other. For even the song that which once was sang by the daemonic lord of Kro’Nakor through the suffering of all that lives, pales in comparison to the song which is slowly being sang by this child.”

Interrupting the silence that was about to set in, another spoke. This time it came from a female that looked similar to the Mistress, but she was pale and wore an attire that resembled an overly intricate white dress. Her eyes were not seen, as she had an iron helmet that hid the upper portion of her head, but a lazy blue color would be seen glowing in the space of her helmet.

She sang what she said, as if it was natural to do so. The gathered Ancients would nod to what she said, and the Lord Mender would give her a bow as the Elder finally directed his attention to the present. He did not stop himself from grinning, his horns slowly sparking with more energy as a low chuckle escaped his lips.

“If there is no more opposing opinions to this matter, then this case shall be settled in favor of the Elder of Delving.”

Another would speak, this time it was of a figure whose sex could no truly be assumed. It stood in the highest platform, wearing a thick robe and a featureless mask beneath its hood. It held a staff tipped with a scale, which moved ever so slowly as if it was weighing an item that could not be seen through normal eyes. No one would say anything, instead they all bowed to the figure.

“As the Conduit of Order, I conclude this discussion. Let it be so that the Despot, Benedict Ligare and his Aberrations be recognized as a part of the Ancients. He shall be the youngest Lord, and shall succeed our ancient friend Centerious the Forlorn as the twelfth lord among us.

With the right, honor and duty it entails, it shall be bestowed upon him. Let it be so, and let it be witnessed. And in extension to this, Salia, granddaughter of the Elder of Delving shall be no longer a candidate for the title of the Elder of Delving.

As this is concluded, let us all take a moment of silence to manage our thoughts and give praise to our ancestors. Afterwhich, we shall discuss the matter about the Ivory Concord invoking a magic that breaks a law set and agreed by the nation's three hundred years ago.

Followed by the matter which concerns the growing war to the east, in the lands of the fae.”