Chapter 14 – The Gathering of Titans
The Great Houses of The Empire
Cassian caught the look and winked at the boy, his lips curving into a self-satisfied smirk. "My dear Kitsaro, you must understand," he mused, adjusting the golden embroidery on his sleeve with deliberate elegance. "There are two kinds of power in this world—one that is taken and one that is simply given because people cannot help but offer it." He gestured subtly toward the noblewomen, now practically hanging onto Sylvara's every word. "And I? Well, I make sure it is given."
He let out a theatrical sigh, as though the weight of his own magnificence was simply exhausting. "It is a burden, really, to be so adored. To have one's presence elevate the very air in a room. People seek my favor like a moth to a flame, and who am I to deny them?"
He turned his attention back to Kitsaro, golden eyes gleaming with an indulgent amusement. "And you, my dear boy, have inherited a most dangerous charm." He tapped the boy's nose lightly. "If you're not careful, you might just become a legend in your own right. Not that I would mind—I do adore prodigies. And, if I may say so myself, I have quite the eye for them."
Kitsaro tilted his head slightly, watching Cassian with curiosity. "Does that mean you like me, Uncle Cass?"
Cassian placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning deep contemplation. "Like you? My dear child, 'like' is such a dull word. No, no, no. I am positively enchanted by you. You are a walking masterpiece, a living portrait of both beauty and intrigue, wrapped in the enigma of your mother's mystery. And what is fashion, if not the art of making the world pause and admire?"
He turned his head just slightly, allowing the light to catch his perfectly styled platinum-blond locks. "I, of course, know this well. It is why people beg for my designs, why kings and queens seek my approval rather than the other way around. It is why the very fabric of high society trembles when I so much as raise a brow in distaste."
Kitsaro blinked up at him. "You're very... confident, Uncle Cass."
Cassian laughed—a rich, velvety sound that dripped with amusement. "Confidence is for men who need reassurance. I, dear Kitsaro, am simply stating fact." He gestured vaguely around them, as if the entire gathering was merely a backdrop to his own brilliance. "The world knows it, the people in this room know it, and most importantly, I know it. And now, my dear boy, you know it too."
Kitsaro nodded solemnly. "I think I understand."
Cassian patted his head approvingly. "Good. You are an intelligent child." Then, leaning in slightly, he murmured, "But do be careful. Being too magnificent too early might just make you a target." He straightened, the mischief returning to his expression. "Of course, I wouldn't know anything about that. It is not my fault if others cannot handle the sheer weight of my existence."
Sylvara, who had been silently observing, let out a soft chuckle. "Still the same as ever, Cassian."
Cassian grinned at her. "And why should I change, my dear? Perfection needs no improvement."
The noblewomen surrounding them giggled, utterly entranced by his presence. The atmosphere had shifted entirely, and Cassian Atelier, in all his self-proclaimed grandeur, had once again bent the rules of social standing to his will.
Kitsaro glanced at his mother, then back at Cassian. He wasn't entirely sure yet what game was being played here, but one thing was clear—Cassian Atelier may have been the kingdom's most famous tailor, but his true craft was weaving influence itself.
~~~~~
The grand hall hushed as the massive doors at the far end swung open. The air itself seemed to ripple with power as the remaining four noble families entered in all their grandeur, their presences undeniable forces pressing upon the gathered aristocrats.
Kitsaro, seated in an unassuming corner, observed keenly. His eyes flickered with interest as he measured their auras. Each noble house carried its own weight—its own legend—and now, they all stood beneath the same roof, an event that had not occurred in decades outside of war councils and coronations.
"Announcing the Arrival of House Stormrend—the Azure Leviathan!"
A sudden drop in temperature filled the room, a crisp chill riding on the scent of the sea. The Stormrends walked with the unmistakable grace of those who commanded the tides themselves, their very presence exuding the vast, unyielding nature of the ocean. Their garments bore deep blues and shimmering silvers, resembling the endless waves and lightning-kissed tempests that raged over their storm-bound coasts.
At the forefront strode Gareth Vaelen Stormrend, the heir of the house. His presence was like the deep sea—calm on the surface yet hiding immeasurable depths. His eyes, an eerie cerulean, mirrored the vast waters he commanded, and his every step exuded an unshakable confidence.
Beside him, Eryndis Vaelmare Stormrend, his younger sister, moved with the ease of flowing water. Her silver hair cascaded like moonlit waves, her expression as fluid and enigmatic as the tides.
The Stormrend Matriarch, Lyssandra Nautis Stormrend, followed with a gaze sharp as a harpoon, her beauty tinged with an ageless, almost otherworldly quality. She carried herself with the authority of a tempest, the soft clinking of her oceanic jewelry reminiscent of distant chimes lost to the storm.
Their father, Kaelric Vaethor Stormrend, was the last to enter, his every movement deliberate and strong, like an unbreakable current. His presence was an unspoken warning—do not test the patience of the sea.
"By the gods, do they always exude such regality?" whispered a noblewoman, fanning herself as she watched Gareth pass.
"Stormrend blood runs deep, old friend," another noble responded. "They command the tides as surely as the Leviathan of legend. Do you see the way they walk? It's as if they are unshaken by anything."
Gareth turned his gaze momentarily toward the murmuring crowd, his expression unreadable. Silence followed.
Then the announcer raised his staff once more.
"Announcing the Arrival of House Drakenvyre—the Obsidian Wyrm!"
The air crackled with heat as the Stormrends stepped aside, making way for the infernal lords of flame and molten stone.
The Drakenvyre family commanded an entirely different energy—where Stormrend was fluid and shifting, Drakenvyre was pure, overwhelming force. Their presence burned with the intensity of an unrelenting blaze, and the scent of embers clung to them like an invisible mantle.
Leading them was Tiberian Vhaelrik Drakenvyre, his every step radiating the confidence of a man who had never known defeat. His sharp, golden eyes flickered like molten metal, and his smirk carried the promise of destruction. Beside him walked Selmira Vaedris Drakenvyre, her expression carved from obsidian, beauty sharp and commanding.
Their younger brother, Zareth Vaelgor Drakenvyre, walked slightly behind, his crimson cloak flaring with each movement, making him seem like an ember carried by the wind. Their father, Draeven Malrik Drakenvyre, exuded an aura of control, his presence as oppressive as a mountain of fire. Isolde Vaeryn Drakenvyre, their mother, walked beside him, her expression cool despite the overwhelming inferno that surrounded them.
At their rear, Draeven Malrik Drakenvyre, their father, strode with the silent authority of a mountain of fire. His crimson cloak swayed with his movements, the weight of his station pressing against the room like unbearable heat. His wife, Isolde Vaeryn Drakenvyre, walked beside him, her presence a controlled inferno—deadly, contained, but ready to consume all should the need arise.
"They command fire itself, and yet, their tempers remain contained," murmured a nobleman, gripping his wine glass tightly.
"Contained?!" hissed another, eyes wide. "House Drakenvyre does not 'contain'—they bide their time. Fire does not yield, it only waits to consume. Look at Tiberian. He carries himself like a man who already knows he's won whatever game we're playing."
Tiberian's smirk grew slightly, as though he had overheard the exchange.
"Announcing the Arrival of House Morvaine—the Abyss Serpent!"
A dreadful silence settled over the hall as the lights dimmed—no, not dimmed, but swallowed by the shadows that heralded the approach of House Morvaine.
The air grew heavier, colder, as if the abyss itself had seeped into the room. Even the most composed nobles subtly shifted, their instincts warning them of a presence that did not belong in the realm of light.
At the helm of this eerie procession was Lucian Vareth Morvaine, his presence as suffocating as the void. His midnight cloak rippled unnaturally, and his obsidian eyes held a depth that seemed to pull in the very light.
His brother, Selric Nyxaros Morvaine, walked with a slower gait, his expression unreadable beneath the shifting veil of shadows that clung to his form.
Their youngest, Vaedric Nocthain Morvaine, bore the cruelest smirk of them all, his amusement glinting like a knife in the dark.
Behind them, Elyssara Vaethis Morvaine, their mother, glided like a wraith, her presence unnatural, beautiful, and utterly terrifying. At her side, Damius Valthor Morvaine, their father, moved with the weight of an executioner—silent, watching, waiting for the moment to strike.
Even the most powerful among the nobility suppressed shudders at their presence.
"They always arrive like this," muttered an older noble, trying and failing to keep his discomfort from his voice. "They don't just enter a room—they consume it."
"It's the void," another whispered. "The Morvaines are never truly seen unless they wish to be. And even when you see them, you are only seeing what they allow."
Lucian's cold gaze scanned the crowd, and a few nobles shifted uneasily. Even those who were confident in their own power could not deny the abyssal pressure of House Morvaine.
"Announcing the Arrival of House Ravencourt—the Ebon Phoenix!"
With the presence of death still lingering from House Morvaine, another, more paradoxical force entered—the fire of the Ebon Phoenix, a family forever balancing between death and rebirth.
Unlike the infernal, overwhelming presence of House Drakenvyre, Ravencourt's presence was eerie in a different way. Their aura whispered of endings, of last breaths drawn before rebirth, and the inescapable passage of time.
Velithrae Noctis Ravencourt, the eldest, led them. Her eyes held the weight of someone who had seen many things die—and perhaps, come back again. Her raven-black cloak shimmered in the torchlight, appearing feathered in motion.
Her younger sister, Seraphis Nyxaria Ravencourt, moved with the grace of an unburdened shadow. The scent of incense clung to her, reminiscent of funeral rites and forgotten prayers.
Their father, Azriel Vaedros Ravencourt, bore the air of a scholar who had walked beyond the veil and returned with forbidden knowledge. His wife, Morrigan Vaelith Ravencourt, strode beside him, regal and untouchable, a woman who had danced with the flames of resurrection and emerged as something no longer quite mortal.
A noblewoman shuddered. "Why do they feel like walking omens?"
Another noble, an older lord with silvered hair, exhaled slowly. "Because that is what they are. The Ebon Phoenix rises from the ashes of destruction. If they are here, it means something great is either ending… or beginning."
Velithrae's gaze flickered toward the nobles, and a small, unreadable smile touched her lips.
"Announcing the Arrival of the Royal Family—House Vaeloria, The Solar Lion!"
Then, the final presence arrived.
It was not elemental like the Stormrends, nor overwhelming like Drakenvyre. It was not suffocating like Morvaine, nor eerie like Ravencourt.
The moment the royal family stepped through the threshold, all other presences seemed to diminish. Not through force, but through undeniable sovereignty.
The moment Aurelian Solvar Vaeloria, the first prince, stepped forward, the room bowed. Not from obligation, but from the sheer weight of their presence. The Vaelorians were rulers not just by blood, but by the very essence they carried. The Blood of Radiance commanded not just the elements, but the will of men.
The light itself seemed drawn to them, golden rays clinging to their forms even in a hall lined with shadows.
Elara Solmira Vaeloria, the second princess, walked beside her eldest brother, her golden hair cascading in sunlit waves. Her expression was gentle yet commanding, the warmth of dawn balanced by the gaze of a ruler.
Orion Vaelthorn Vaeloria and Caelith Solaris Vaeloria followed, their presence more restrained, yet still undeniable. They carried the air of lions still growing into their full majesty—but lions nonetheless.
Finally, Queen Amariel Solenne Vaeloria and King Regnar Vaelios Vaeloria entered, their steps unhurried. They did not need to command attention—it was given.
And as they took their places, silence reigned.
"They are the sun itself," a noble whispered in reverence. "Their very presence makes you feel as if you are standing before something divine."
"This is absurd," a noble muttered under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. "Never before have they all gathered like this outside of war or coronation."
"The heirs… they're all here." Another swallowed hard. "This is more than just a formality. This is a declaration."
"Have you noticed the other young children they brought with them too?"
"It can't be mere coincidence," an older noble muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Five children from the Five Great Houses, all born within the same year? Fate rarely works so plainly," another replied, swirling the wine in his goblet with a contemplative look.
"A generation of monsters, raised together from birth," a merchant lord murmured, shaking his head. "Imagine what they will become."
"Five titans in one room…" A merchant lord, his hands trembling slightly, shook his head.
~~~~
Cassian's warm chuckle did little to dispel the curiosity swirling among the gathered noblewomen. Their sharp gazes flickered between him and Kitsaro, intrigue dancing in their eyes. The Queen herself, Amariel Solenne Vaeloria, turned her attention fully to the child, her golden gaze unreadable.
"Cassian," she murmured, voice carrying the weight of the sun itself, "you deflect too easily." Her gaze softened as she looked at Kitsaro. "A child like this… I doubt he is merely a 'dear friend's son.'"
Cassian sighed in mock defeat, ruffling Kitsaro's soft silver hair. "You wound me, Your Majesty. I would never lie to such distinguished ladies." He gave a dramatic pause before gesturing toward the boy.
"Allow me to formally introduce him—Kitsaro Azreal Vaelthyr."
The moment his name was spoken, a ripple passed through the gathered noblewomen. There was no gasp of horror, no disdainful murmur, only a moment of recognition before an even deeper interest settled over them.
"Vaelthyr," Elyssara Vaethis Morvaine mused, tapping a gloved finger against her lips. "So, the child of Zephiron."
Morrigan Vaelith Ravencourt, draped in deep violet, tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile on her lips. "I see… So he is the infamous Forgotten son of the House Vaelthyr." She muttered, peering at Kitsaro with an almost approving curiosity. "How intriguing."
Cassian chuckled. "And yet, you do not seem surprised."
Queen Amariel smiled faintly, watching Kitsaro with an expression bordering on amusement. "Why would we be?"
Lyssandra Nautis Stormrend let out a light laugh. "A child's lineage is but ink on a page. What matters is the story they write for themselves." She bent slightly, bringing her gaze level with Kitsaro's. "And this one… I have a feeling his tale will be worth reading."
Kitsaro blinked up at her, his sharp mind processing every word, every reaction. No disdain, no rejection—only interest. A rare thing, indeed.
Cassian clapped his hands together, his grin widening. "Then, I take it there are no objections?"
The noblewomen exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them.
"None at all," Queen Amariel finally said. "Let him play with our children."
Elyssara's lips curled into a slight smile. "Let us see how he fits among them."
Cassian patted Kitsaro's back, gently nudging him forward. "Go on, little one. They're already watching you."
Indeed, the children had paused their conversation, their eyes now fixated on him.