Grand Elder Aerion did not move.
His chin rested against a hand adorned with rings of starlight-glass. His gaze remained fixed on the cocoon, following the faint, rhythmic distortion of shadow along its surface, as though something within were breathing patiently. "A mirror," Aerion murmured at last. "How fascinating," he continued softly. "To give a man precisely what he wishes to see, until the moment he can no longer bear to look."
Then his eyes shifted. They settled upon the throne of House Artyr. "Elder Riven." The name alone tightened the chamber. "Your House recovered this anomaly. Your House executed the traitor."
A pause, measured, deliberate.
"Tell me," Aerion said calmly, "what manner of man was he?" Riven stiffened. "Would someone truly be willing to die," Aerion added, "or kill, if that man had not already betrayed the clan?"
Riven rose. His movements were sharp, rigid with fury long restrained. He lacked Zerus's composure, his distance. He drew in a breath. The memory surfaced. Not as trauma, but as inconvenience. A nameless vassal. A routine execution authorised without ceremony. He could not recall the man's name. Nor even the precise charge levelled against him. Admitting that would weaken his House. So he did not. "He was a coward," Riven said flatly. "A nameless vassal who poisoned a child and fled. Nothing more. His weakness is now being weaponised against the clan."
Aerion's eyes narrowed. Not in anger. In appraisal. For the briefest instant, judgment flickered across his gaze. Cold. Dismissive. Absolute. How pitiful, he thought. That a man bearing the title of Elder could be so small. He said nothing. The silence that followed was its own verdict.
At last, Aerion's gaze drifted toward a quieter throne. "Elder Braham," he said evenly. "Do the Archives of House Oryn reveal anything within the boy's physiology that would justify such… disproportionate excellence?"
A pause.
"Or does House Oryn," Aerion continued, "attribute his feats to fate and coincidence?" The chamber waited.
Elder Braham adjusted his spectacles, the lenses catching a thin sliver of starlight reflected from the Grand Elder's rings. He leaned forward. Not hurried, not hesitant. "Grand Elder," Braham began, his voice dry, even, unhurried. "House Oryn does not believe in fate. We believe in biochemical inevitability." He drew a slow, deliberate breath. "When the boy was transferred into our custody for mandatory assessment, House Oryn conducted the full standard diagnostic suite." His fingers tapped once against the stone. A single, measured note. "Comprehensive physical and physiological examination." A brief glance flicked toward Zerus. "As Elder Zerus has already stated, the results were… normal."
A subtle pause.
"Outstanding. But normal."
Braham's gaze returned to the cocoon, steady, analytical. "The boy's blood purity registers at ninety-three percent," he continued. "A result that confirms, without ambiguity, that his mother was Noctis. And not merely Noctis, but of the highest recorded pedigree." A faint ripple passed through the chamber. "His constitution, based on current affinity, measures sixty-three point seven to thirty-six point three, with the Harbinger Moon current comprising the latter. This accounts for the silver pigmentation of his eyes and hair, as well as his elevated cognitive performance under the present stress trials." Braham adjusted his spectacles once more. Mirell did not blink. "As for the remaining percentage of his blood composition outside the ninety-three percent purity," Braham continued, "all markers trace back to the clan itself, with identifiable strands of Tiago, Kallistyr, Draco, and even Solen lineage."
Another pause.
"Verifying that all known ancestral contributors originate entirely within the Nyxvalis clan." Silence tightened. "In summary: no foreign contamination." He folded his hands. "No divine scarring. No arcane grafts. No parasitic signatures." The silence deepened, heavy, expectant.
"The only anomaly," Braham said at last, "was not internal." He lifted a single finger. "But external." A murmur stirred. "His physical examination recorded fourteen hallmarks, rather than the standard twelve." The murmur sharpened. "Upon careful assessment, seven of those fourteen fell outside my personal reference index." Now Braham turned fully. Not toward the cocoon, but across the chamber. "Which is why the data was forwarded to House Morge for archival cross-verification." His eyes settled on Elder Sariel. "If you would be so kind," Braham said mildly, "to enlighten the Council regarding your findings." A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. "House Oryn would greatly appreciate intelligence delivered directly… from the source."