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The Council of The Wise...to sit in on one of these meetings--I almost feel like throwing up; the divine aura, the exuberance, the authority! Gah--what am I thinking...just breath, Lloyd, breath! He thought.

There was little Lloyd could do besides simply stand behind his seated superior like some sort of butler, standing tall like a shivering statue.

"Now, Gaol, recount what it is you sensed culminate from the assault on Grandueve?"

Pointing his sunken, dark eyes to the figure clad in tightly wrapped, silver garments, the elderly man at the center brought his words to this figure.

Every set of eyes in the room settled on the enigmatic figure; slender, yet tall—their skin barely visible beneath their hood was pale enough to appear translucent.

Removing his hood, the one called Gaol revealed an unexpected face; pale-white lips that stretched far across his face, eyes that possessed only blackness in place of its white—with eerie, rectangular pupils.

So that\'s Gaol…? "The Almighty Divination"; I\'ve heard rumors that he wasn\'t human, and that he\'s centuries old—is that true?!...He\'s an invaluable ally to Mastorn, it\'s said that his eyes and ears can reach even other nations, Lloyd thought.

"Ah, yes…Fleisch was felled swiftly at the start of the attack by the one called Donatien."

Recalling this information, Gaol raised his hand, tattooed with light-magenta symbols that seemed to coalesce into the symbol of an eye on the back of his hand.

"Donatien, hm? We already knew he was a force to be reckoned with, but it seems even then he was underestimated. Melyne, inform the Journey Foundation of this—raise the bounty and threat level of Donatien."

The elderly man who seemed to be at the forefront of the prestigious council snapped his fingers, summoning the subservient woman standing behind his ivory chair.

"At once, Lord Kreigerhardt."

Bowing slightly with a voice spoken quietly, the burgundy-haired woman wearing a light, somber uniform befit for a fighter vanished from the room in the blink of an eye.

"Continue, Gaol."

Sliding his wrinkly hand across the surface of the table, Kriegerhardt returned the attention to the pale, tattooed man.

"Yes…Antoinette failed; neither capturing nor eliminating Beatrice. A clear view on this ordeal…was not seen; the conflicting densities of mana made it far too obscure. However, it is known—Antoinette\'s mana signature vanished."

As he spoke with an alluring, exotic voice that led itself through a river of stagnancy and ecstasy, Gael\'s hands moved with his words.

"…Anyone could have told you gutter trash like that would\'ve failed at even fetching you a cup of tea. To send that girl to confront that sage was preposterous!"

Slamming his fist down against the table, a round man with cheeks as filled out as a chipmunk\'s rang his voice out—setting his disgruntled, hazel eyes on the Argonaut commander seated across from himself.

"That "gutter trash" was a master of her craft."

"And where did that get her, hm?!"

"…Is there something you want to say, pig?"

Reaching his boiling point, Bulsteighn\'s words were laced with a crimson malice that forced the tubby man\'s brazen attitude back.

"Seize this foolishness! The both of you! I will not tolerate such childish bickering in this hall; not on the name of the great hero, Elias!"

Slamming the small, wrinkly fist of his down with a tremor that stopped every soul in that room, Kriegerhardt\'s unexpected vigor summoned his authority to silence the two. Lloyd remained as still as he could with his eyes held forward, only briefly exchanging glances with the entourage of those who served under the council members.

"Gaol."

"…Continuing; the one named Strife switched his allegiances. I was unable to see or hear his reasoning why, but it seems his past was returned to his memories; an unforeseen outcome."

With this confirmation, those of the council allowed this news to sink in—some holding exasperated looks while some were indifferent, or even finding this information to be pleasing.

"…Strife? Ah, that elven Argonaut. Can\'t say this is an unexpected development."

With a pleased smile, a man who looked no older than the age greeting manhood for the first time spoke, tapping his fingers that wore rings inlaid with beautiful, extravagant jewels.

​ It was clear in those silver and azure eyes of his, devoid of worry or stress, that he was someone who was gifted everything in life as he flipped his curly locks; as blue as the sky\'s mass.

"…As vexing as it is, I\'ll have to agree with Lord Bornstill; the Argonauts made a lapse in judgment by forcibly inducting a child soldier into their ranks—especially one not of this land. Bulsteighn, I imagine you have an explanation for this?"

Speaking alongside the silver-eyed noble, a mature, well-spoken man of a similar exuberance spoke as he adjusted his silky, peach locks that exhibited streaks of snow. It was in his dress that it was painfully clear the wealth and prestige he possessed; wearing an emerald vest embroidered with a series of expensive fabrics, running along its surface in a river-like accent.

Lord Bornstill and Lord Moresbarrow...there is more wealth in this one room than an entire nation; I can almost taste the fermented wine just by looking at them! The disdain they have for one another is palpable but I get why...The Bornstill family runs a monopoly over the precious gems around Mastorn, while Moresbarrow has a vice-grip on the salt and spices, Lloyd thought.

"I believe an explanation is in order, Lord Bullsteighn.. As a member of this council, such is the bare minimum to be discussed--I\'m sure you\'re aware of the exuberant funding some lords here at the table have put into the Argonauts; I wouldn\'t diminish their support."