The servant panted more. "Ah, the Highness awaits your presence in the grand hall. You must appear before the seal seat to welcome a guest."
"Who?"
"A castWarer."
To welcome them must mean they were of a high rank. She thought of the possible reasons for the presence, but the realization of the sole factor did echo through her. Her research.
It had to be that.
Not long now—not so long ago, Ivory began studying the Integument Armor owned by Valor. Her aim was simple; to create a replica of the technology used long before the darkening.
That it seemed, brought her enough attention to the Hivemind that they grew willing to send her a castWarer.
I wonder what's the difference between them and the ones we have? she thought then showed a nod to the maiden. To the hall then…Ivory rubbed the box. A decent distraction at least.
It will be a unity greater than anything, like the sun to the moon—a quote by a nameless Aspirant.
Carrying the box seemed a terrible idea—naturally, she had kept it in her room. Now, she walked accompanied by an Excubitor and a maiden. Of course, such lowborns would not be allowed into the grand hall.
Maybe if I asked, she dismissed the thought. It would be insulting to grant them such alms when they would never again get to taste it. Her steps tumbled. She descended the wide stairs, lamps shining from the walls and froststones a shade of cobalt.
She reached the doors. High, mighty, black like iron and wide like a mountain. Entirely of Eltium hence ripped as such. How many black spirits were in them? One would wonder. A craft of the theocracy, this was, and its function, a protection against true threat towards the clan.
Though Ivory doubted the might of a saint incapable of shattering it.
Excubitors stood on guard, lining both sides like sentinels. What feeling of dread they brought from their queer helms. Those sharp blades of theirs made whole with Oredite and thus casted with one myriad of powers.
Strange how yet despite this all, the Church claimed able to destroy them in a moment. She herself was a high heir, still, the feeling of obscuration was not lost on her.
She stopped and felt the cold gaze pierce. A dead glance. To the side, a man, or maybe a woman, bald, eyes like dark blackness stared at her. deadEyes. It wore the normal dark coat, side buttoned, and descended in flowing skirts.
The holder stood by its side, a young fellow holding a ta'renheal—a half rod, black with spiral markings. Both were pale-skinned, like her, and many in the clan.
Ivory was to wonder about this when a voice touted her name.
From the other side of the gate, one announced her presence.
"Ivory Valor, grace of the valor clan, high heir to the seal seat, child prodigy to the valor fame. Brightest crown to the seal realm. And castWarer. Bow to her!"
She felt the burden of those words—responsibilities. Responsibilities, they all screamed. Heavy in its weight. She knew then that many would have crumbled to them, but she was not many. She was Ivory.
Like mother does. Her head rose, hand placed atop the other over her stomach. She had worn it. The armor of herself as highHeir. A strong, sharper version of herself. And now nothing could reach her.
The gates, casted by command, began to part—a powerful resistance seen through the slowness with which it opened. The sound, like wind howling through the narrow. Ivory stood alone at the high steps, staring down at the men and women gathered.
brightCrowns, casters of considerable rank, merchants of sizeable wealth, and aspirant representatives from the church. They all stared at her, exuding mixtures of awe, disdain, glorious gossip, and terrible betrayal. None of which could harm her now.
She stepped down, and the massiveness of the hall brought a feeling of godhood within her. She felt above them, beyond the countless schemes that they bother and taunt with. She was a high heir, and one day, they would become her subjects.
The feeling of absurd might swelled within her, the hall like a mountain hollowed out and dotted with the tiniest things. The people were like bugs, the walls a shade of obsidian black marked by silver spiral glyphs.
High pillars supported the towering roof—some incomparable that ivory feared cities could be stuffed in here, and space for more would remain. There was a marvel to that. To the size of what she was to rule one day.
How dreadful the burden must be.
She passed through the sole aisle created by bodies; eyes watching, women whispering false truths among each other.
"Look at her. She's older and hasn't casted yet."
Though from time to time, certain words of relativity were muttered close to her.
"Confused all around, isn't she? But at the same time burdened by it all". A man said, "I think we often forget that she's just a child."
Strength at such words fueled her, and at the same time, burned to hear. Were such pardons given to her mother at the same age? Likely not. Why, then, did she have to receive them?
She would not. A highness requires only the strength of their own will. The rest are to bend and be dominated by that will.
Now, she stood before the seal seat—illustrious, wonderful, a sense of suppression emanating from it. It was a throne less of a seat, carved from pure oredite, casted with millions of symbols, Ivory suspected, yet such things dulled not its splendor.
Its high back stretched to the overhead roof of the hall, its form pooled below by a spread of coiled chains. There was a feeling of supremacy from it, as though whoever sat on it had the sole power to banish and trap all things.
The seal seat.
It was bigger and sat on the third step, while on the second was another. Less impressive perhaps as it lacked the clear-cutting of blackness and was more of a throne made from stone. Ivory, however, baffled at it. This was her mother's throne. Matriarch to the Valor clan.
On the third step was hers. Smaller and less magnificent. It was a wonder to know that someday, she would be seated on the third, her husband on the second, and her child on the first.
One day. One day.
But Mother isn't here… The realization came.
"Argon Valor. Highness of the Valor clan, protector of the ash mountains and…"
Mists! Ivory, unwatched by no one—not anymore, scurried to her seat. All eyes were now on the gate, on the coming Highness and…
"And his consort, Samara Valor, castWarer of the high fa'n. Inventor of the whiteTrumpet, dampening hand, and redeemed caster of the realm. Bow to them!"
Now they did. All heads, the rich, the strong, the famous, all of them bowed to the Highness and his consort. When she had been called, very few paid her such respect.
The reason seemed easy to grasp. Observation alone made her an ant towards the titles and accomplishments they had. Her failure was her own fault. That also needed to be burned in the fires of her growth.
The giant of Valor walked down the steps. Ivory, though aware that she needed not to bow, felt the urge to do so. The two of them were magnificent in that manner. Her mother alone was perfect, like a tide of unyielding water, then there was her father. Stepfather. He was like stone, a force wrapped in a slender body.
Dark hair, stranded by white, eyes blacker than the deepest night, and a face narrow, yet fairer than the average valor born. He wore a black coat, buttoned to the side, with silver glyphs spiraled on his shoulder and chest. Behind him, his cloak washed the floor with each step—powerful, imposing like a violent storm.
Mother wore the same as she did the last they spoke, though her silver crown, the half ring was now fitted with different stones. None wore froststones. There was no need. The hall was so riddled with them that a man could lie naked on the floor and feel not the slightest heat.
Mother was silent, cold-gazed, eyes unmoving despite the variety of humans bowed to her. Such strength—such elegance. Ivory envied that.
Soon, they reached her and the highness; Argon Valor smiled. "I hope I did not keep you waiting?"
Ivory nearly offered a smile but reined at the sight of Mother's coldness. "One day, I would be the one awaited," she said instead.
"Savior, help me, does this mean I will be dying soon?"
Ivory startled but controlled any such reaction. "I wish you the longest life."
Argon chuckled, his back still turned against the larger hall. "If you were anyone else, that would be seen as a threat. But because it's you, I will let it pass. So it's alright. Regardless. Now, then, time for the prison to shut its gate."
Ivory sensed a meaning hidden within those words. Of course, bringing this all just to welcome a castWarer was much. Improper in the manner that it showed a need to carry favour. The clan could not have that. We can't have the hivemind thinking Valor needed their aid.