The High-Elf looked almost exactly the same as he had in Larissa’s vision of the past, as if he hadn’t aged a single day. That made sense, considering most High-Elves were said to be able to live for centuries.
Leamor’s hair remained long and pale, his features were sharp and calm, and the small scar beneath his left eye was still visible if one knew to look for it.
He wore formal Faedrian clothing instead of armor now, with a long green coat decorated by golden patterns and an insignia belonging to the Vanar family positioned prominently near his chest.
Ning froze for a second as the memories returned immediately.
Alya restrained against the floor.
Her son crying.
Leamor standing over them.
Ning felt Valen’s emotions rise within him so suddenly that, for a moment, they were almost indistinguishable from his own.
The desire was there to cross the hall and tear the High-Elf apart before anyone understood what had happened. But Ning didn’t act on it.
Perhaps Leamor sensed the attention, because his head turned slightly, looking toward Ning.
Their eyes met, but Leamor’s eyes held no sign of recognition. Not even toward the fact that he was Blackfang. Ning found that a little curious.
The elf watched him for some time, growing ever so concerned, when suddenly a motion erupted near the entrance, catching his attention.
Ning immediately turned.
His body reacted before he consciously decided to move, every part of his attention shifting toward the noise as he searched for an attack, an explosion, a Number, or any sign that Tritus had finally begun whatever he had promised.
There was nothing.
No one was running away.
No weapons had been drawn.
Instead, people were moving toward the entrance.
Excited voices spread through the hall, and Ning realized it wasn’t danger that had caused the motion, but rather surprise.
Several diplomats who had been speaking only moments earlier abandoned their conversations and turned toward the arriving delegation, while younger officials stepped aside to get a better view.
Ning frowned, looking toward a group that was making its way in.
"What’s with the motion?" he asked.
Lightspeed was already looking in the same direction.
"I think Sisania just arrived."
That alone should not have caused such a reaction.
Sisania was important, certainly, but Ning had already seen several major nations arrive without half the people in the hall reacting this way.
Then someone entered behind the leading Sisanian officials.
Ning understood.
The figure was a man.
At least, Ning assumed he was a man based on his size and build, because almost everything else about him was hidden beneath clothing so pletely black that it seemed to absorb the light around him.
He wore a long hooded jacket that extended below his knees, with dark trousers, gloves, and boots that revealed no skin whatsoever.
The hood covered his head, and his face disappeared beneath it.
To everyone else in the room, there appeared to be nothing inside except darkness.
The effect was strange enough that the man looked less like someone wearing black clothing and more like a moving piece of shadow that had somehow separated itself from the floor.
Ning watched him with growing interest.
The darkness was not merely an absence of light.
There was something around the man that drew in light, keeping it from spilling out. A layer of power that swallowed whatever light tried to reach his face and body before it could reflect back outward.
For almost everyone else, that meant there was nothing to see.
Ning, however, did not need reflected light.
His perception passed through the darkness without difficulty.
Beneath the hood was an ordinary-looking man.
He appeared to be somewhere in his thirties, with dark hair cut short around the sides, a narrow jaw, and an expression that looked far more tired than Ning would have expected from someone receiving this much attention.
His eyes moved through the crowd without lingering on anyone, as though pletely uninterested in the excitement surrounding him.
Ning heard the name before anyone explained it to him.
"Void."
The word traveled through the gathering again and again.
"Void is here."
"I didn’t know he was attending."
"That’s really him?"
Even Lightspeed had bee noticeably more attentive.
Ning returned his attention to the man in black.
Of course.
Void.
The highest-ranked hero in the world.
The man from Sisania whose ability had been assessed at Rank 8 before Ning arrived and produced the first Rank 9 result ever recorded.
Ning had heard the name many times since ing to Hyrron, although until now, he had never seen the man in person.
The stories surrounding Void were vague.
He dealt with any and all issues without spending more time than needed. He came and vanished, as if moving through the shadows. And he never appeared publicly, so no one even knew what he looked like or sounded like.
Most recordings showed nothing more than a figure covered entirely in darkness moving through battles that ended far too quickly for anyone watching to properly understand what happened.
Ning had never been particularly impressed by rankings.
They depended too heavily on popularity, reputation, politics, and the limited understanding of people who had no way of measuring someone like him properly.
Still, Void was different.
He had reached the top of the world rankings and remained there despite rarely appearing publicly, which meant the position was probably supported by more than simple popularity.
Ning watched as the Sisanian delegation moved farther into the hall.
Void walked among them without acknowledging the people staring in his direction.
For the first time since arriving at the summit venue, Ning’s attention had been diverted from the three things that he thought would keep him occupied.
The greatest hero in the world would do just that.
Once Sisania’s group passed through, the president arrived where they were gathered.
"Blackfang! You are ing with me," she said. "Only two people each are allowed in the lower section, so you will be my aide."
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