It was Anarael who broke the silence.
— So, as Naraphin foretold... we are gathered.
Her voice was steady, clear, unwavering. Each word seemed weighed, delivered with the calm clarity of those who never needed to raise their voice to be heard.
She continued, in a tone that allowed neither comment nor delay:
— We shall hold council. Each shall speak in turn. And each shall listen with the respect owed to this assembly.
Simple. Clear.
And yet, the word echoed in the tent like the beginning of a ritual.
A slight rustle of fabric.
A barely perceptible tension.
Mikaem moved. His irritation was obvious, barely contained. He spoke, cutting through the calm with a sharp, almost contemptuous tone.
— I don't understand why this lesser vampire is allowed to sit at this table.
But he didn't get any further.
The response burst out, immediate, sharp, like a blade drawn without hesitation.
Fillin.
