A Moment Too Loud

Back in the main hall, Ian scanned the crowd, eyes shifting past polished exhibits and finely dressed guests as he searched for Myrra.

Instead, he found Enira.

She posed tantalizingly near a dimly lit array of ancient conduits, her stance exuding an air of untouchable allure. The rich crimson fabric of her gown clung greedily to her ample curves, revealing a tantalizingly plunging neckline that showcased her voluptuous breasts without crossing the line of propriety. Each subtle movement made the material whisper against her skin, hinting at the flesh beneath. A provocative slit traced its way up her shapely left thigh, exposing the seductive arc of her calf and the sharp stiletto heels that promised a dance of sensuality.

Ian walked over. "Enira."

She turned at the sound of his voice, and for a moment, just looked at him. Her eyes swept over his formal coat, the clean lines, the quiet sharpness of his presence.

"…You clean up well," she said, almost distractedly. "I don't think I've ever seen you in something this… put together."

Ian gave a small tilt of his head. "It was Myrra's idea."

Enira let out a soft breath, eyes still on him. "Well, she was right. You look… better than I expected."

She stepped a little closer. "Speaking of Myrra… where is she? It's rare to see you without her. Don't tell me you didn't even bring her."

"She's here," Ian said simply.

Enira raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Really? Letting her wander out of sight? That's new."

Ian's expression didn't change. "She'll find me. Or I'll find her."

Enira chuckled. "Of course you will."

They began walking slowly, weaving between the gathered guests.

"By the way," she added after a moment, voice softer, "thanks for helping Eryndor."

Ian glanced at her. "Didn't mind."

She gave a faint nod, then let the moment pass as their eyes turned to the surrounding displays, ancient constructs, suspended circuitry, fragments of time woven into elegant exhibit glass.

Their steps slowed near a towering relic—half-cracked but pulsing faintly with residual energy.

"Beautiful work," Enira murmured, more to herself.

Ian studied the exposed core. "Still holding a charge after this long... Not just beautiful, deliberate."

She glanced at him, thoughtful, but before she could speak again, another voice cut in, smooth, practiced.

"Enira. I thought that was you."

They turned.

Vulas approached, dressed in dark tailored robes that shimmered faintly under the lights, every thread chosen to impress. His smile was too bright, his gaze locked on Enira like he expected the room to bend toward him.

"You're looking radiant tonight," he said, stepping close, his tone just a little too intimate.

Enira offered a polite nod, nothing more. "Vulas."

"I didn't think you'd show," he said, eyes lingering a moment too long on her. "Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"Well, my husband is involved, after all," Enira replied, her voice even, just soft enough to remain civil, but with a clear undertone.

Vulas's eyes narrowed, the message not lost on him. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, his attention shifted, slowly, to Ian.

He knew exactly who the boy was. He'd made a point to investigate everyone in Enira's orbit, especially after the last-minute failure with the main exhibit. The seller pulling out hadn't been a coincidence.

And yet, somehow, Eryndor had gotten a better piece. Thanks to this one.

There was a pause as he looked the young man over. "You're Ian," he said, his voice composed but lacking warmth. "From Rulmose, right?"

Ian gave a small nod. "Yeah."

"I see," Vulas said, smoothing down the front of his coat. "I make it a point to know the names of those who… insert themselves into things that aren't their concern."

Ian didn't respond.

Vulas took a single step forward, not enough to crowd, but just enough to impose. His smile was thin. "You should be careful. Reputation or not, out here isn't Rulmose. Things move differently. Especially when you're standing in someone else's way."

Ian held his stare. "I'll keep that in mind." He was calm, unmoved. But someone else wasn't.

A sharp gust stirred the air.

Vulas didn't even have time to react. A hand clamped across the side of his face, fingers slender but strong, tipped with sharp nails. Blue lightning sparked across them in controlled arcs.

Yelthara had appeared sometime during the exchange, unnoticed until now. She'd heard everything. Her expression was unreadable, cold. Energy crackled faintly around her, rising with the tension in the space.

Without a word, she hurled him backward. The air popped as the current flared.

Vulas crashed into a nearby column with a thud, sliding down to the floor with a grunt of pain. A few startled gasps came from the guests nearby, but none dared intervene.

Yelthara lowered her hand slowly. Residual sparks flickered and died across her fingers.

Her voice was cold. "That was unwise."

Vulas groaned, trying to rise. His eyes found her, recognition flickering, followed by rage.

"How dare you, bitch...."

But before he could even move, a man appeared out of nowhere, he positioned himself between them so suddenly that no one had seen him approach. One moment the space was empty; the next, it wasn't. His presence didn't shout, didn't threaten. But it settled across the room like pressure, impossible to ignore.

He looked at Vulas once. Just once.

Vulas froze mid-motion. His mouth parted, but no sound came out. The color drained from his face.

The man's voice was quiet. "Giullis didn't raise his son very well."

It hit harder than any strike. A cold shiver ran down Vulas's spine. His father, Giullis, was a Second Order, respected and feared. Anyone who dared to say his name like that… had to be of equal standing. Or worse.

Vulas quickly came back to his senses. For the first time, he seemed to understand just how badly he had misjudged the room.

The security team arrived, silent and alert. The man didn't turn to them, just spoke plainly. "Take him out."

They didn't hesitate.

Then, a sharp clap echoed, not through the room, but directly into their minds, like a thought too loud to ignore. It snapped everyone out of their silence, drawing attention back from the tension that had just passed.

Thessalia's voice followed, composed and clear. "I apologize, guests, for the unsightly display."

She stepped forward, gaze sweeping across the room. "But now, the time is right. Let's begin with the main event of this evening."

The lights dimmed slightly as a subtle hum rolled through the chamber. At the center of the stage, a platform began to rise, slow and deliberate. Encased in a transparent field shimmered the artifact: a dark-metal relic, its engravings faintly pulsing with an inner glow. Its surface seemed to shimmer with trapped light, as if something ancient still breathed within it.

Eryndor stepped forward from the side, his movements precise, shoulders squared beneath a formal black coat traced with soft gold lines. His voice was steady, a touch deeper than usual, honed for clarity in a room like this.

"What you see before you is…" he began, giving an explanation, its introduction and origins, his tone measured but alive with quiet passion. Holographic projections floated to life beside him, showing detailed scans, stress tests, and layered inscriptions. He spoke of the excavation site, the material analysis, and the strange magnetic signature the relic gave off even when dormant.

He presented theories. Possible ceremonial use. A containment device. Maybe even a control core from a long-lost civilization. The crowd leaned in.

A low murmur passed through the audience.

Then came the hands, scholars, researchers, a few overly eager patrons. One by one, they posed questions. Eryndor answered them all without hesitation. His responses were careful, sometimes technical, but always accessible. Ian listened, arms loosely folded, watching him handle the room like a man who'd lived with the object for years.

While the exchange played out, Ian found himself back among the others. Myrra was already latched onto Enira's arm, her head tilted slightly, whispering something close. Enira listened, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Yelthara leaned in from Enira's other side, practically draping herself over her shoulder as if they'd known each other for years. She gave Ian a sidelong glance, a crooked grin tugging at her lips.

"You're out of favor now, Ian," she said, flashing him a grin. "Time for some intimate girl-on-girl bonding."

Ian blinked.

The rest of the group clearly didn't know how to react either. The girl was… strange. Not unpleasant, just unpredictable.

Ian didn't say anything, but he found himself watching her a little more carefully now. Sure, Vulas had been obnoxious, but he hadn't actually done anything yet. Ian doubted he would've. Yelthara had. And no one had really stopped her. No reprimand, no questioning. She'd simply acted… and that was that.

He glanced around, noting the silent compliance. Even the security team had obeyed without pause.

Who is this girl, really…?

He let the question linger as he turned back toward the stage. Eryndor was now showing field resonance diagrams, layered over the artifact's aura. Ian found himself admiring it. The calm, the expertise. Eryndor handled each question with practiced ease, his voice steady, focused.

"Brother Eryndor is doing well," Myrra murmured, her tone touched with quiet pride. "You must be proud."

Enira didn't look away from the stage. "He's always been meticulous."

It was the kind of answer anyone might give, but it felt too even. Like she was saying what should be said, nothing more.

Before the silence between them could stretch further, Yelthara suddenly spun around with a groan. "Enough of this serious stuff. Artifacts, lectures, answers, boooring. I need something sweet before I start biting people."

Yelthara moved, already tugging on Enira's arm. "Come on. Food. Wine. Sparkling fruit explosions."

Ian raised an eyebrow, but Yelthara was already dragging them toward one of the adjoining chambers, one of many private alcoves set up around the main hall. Soft lighting, polished wood floors, and crystalline panels marked the place, elegant without being overbearing.

Despite the polished décor, most rooms carried a familiar undercurrent, private conversations, quiet exchanges, the occasional offhand deal slipping by. Nothing blatant, but clearly not part of the official schedule. But this is none of Ian's business.

He focused on the spread instead.

The food was incredible. Tiny plates, beautifully arranged, each bite an experiment. There were sparkling blue grapes that tingled on the tongue, spiced meat skewers wrapped in thin gold-leaf dough, chilled desserts that evaporated into mist the moment they touched his mouth.

"I don't even know what this is," Ian said, poking a translucent cube that smelled like roasted almonds and rain.

"It's called cloud-bark jelly," Yelthara replied, selecting one for herself. "It's grown on floating trees in the western spires. It's banned in three districts for being 'too addictive.'"

Ian took a bite. His eyes widened. "They're right."

Enira and Myrra sat nearby, more composed, sipping something pale and floral. 

But while Ian was still exploring the buffet, amused by the bizarre elegance of bite-sized crystalfruit and roasted sunleaf rolls, something else was unfolding elsewhere.

Far from the polished halls of the event, in a colder, far less welcoming room, Vulas stood stiff before a man who radiated silent authority. His father, Giullis.

"This was disappointing conduct," Giullis said flatly. He didn't raise his voice, but the weight behind it left no room for excuse. "Do you even know who you just tried to attack?"

Vulas said nothing. His fists clenched at his sides.

"You lost your temper in public. In front of Council affiliates. Esteemed guests." His tone remained even, but the air seemed to press in heavier with every word.

He rose slowly from his seat. "You'll go to Hilchester Gorge. Effective immediately. No exceptions. You're not to return until I say so."

Vulas paled. His breath hitched. He knew what kind of place Hilchester Gorge was. A punishment worse than exile. Worse than death.

Giullis didn't wait for a response. "Scram."

Vulas retreated, anger simmering just beneath his skin. He would make them pay for this. The people there would suffer for his humiliation. Eryndor, Ian, that girl who had the audacity to lay a hand on him, they would all feel the sting of his wrath. But most of all, he would take Enira, he'd claim her for his own, stripping her of her holy veneer, using her body to satiate his lust. He would show her the kind of power he truly wielded, turning her into a vessel for his carnality.