As the trio stepped through the grand double doors, they found themselves imrsed in the solemn majesty of the Clan’s inner sanctum—a hallowed space rarely graced by outsiders.
The Great Hall of the Wind Clan unfolded before them like a magnificent tapestry, its monuntal size rivaling that of ancient temples, invoking a sense of awe and reverence.
The atmosphere was infused with a deep, tranquil green, the sacred color of wind, which enveloped every facet of the architecture, giving the hall an almost ethereal quality.
Towering columns, intricately carved with swirling patterns reminiscent of gusts and breezes, soared toward the high ceiling, creating a breathtaking sense of verticality.
Underfoot, the floors glead with a polished mirror-like surface, reflecting not only the trio’s awestruck faces but also the delicate pulse of softly glowing erald runes that danced along the walls, floor, and ceiling.
Each rune flickered gently, casting a warm luminescence that breathed life into the air, making it feel charged with ancient magic and wisdom.
The whisper of a breeze stirred, carrying with it a sense of history and the weight of countless stories held within these sacred walls.
Each rune, intricately carved into the stone, pulsed with a latent power, resonating softly like the gentle rustle of leaves in an enchanted forest.
This ambient energy filled the vast chamber with a serene, almost musical hum, the essence of wind mana weaving through the air like an unseen symphony.
The room, though ticulously crafted from sturdy stone and polished arcane steel, bore an intrinsic connection to nature, creating a striking contrast between the raw materials and the enchanting atmosphere.
Thin, ethereal streams of wind drifted in playful spirals, resembling wandering spirits, as they twirled around the eight majestic pillars that reached upward.
These monuntal columns, crafted to mimic the grandeur of ancient oaks, spiraled gracefully toward the lofty ceiling, exuding strength and elegance in their design.
Intertwined around the pillars, living vines made from shimring silver and vibrant green crystal glistened throughout, catching the light whenever a surge of mana coursed through them. The architecture seed alive, not rely a structure, but a breathing entity steeped in magic and purpose.
At the pinnacle of each towering pillar, an impressive seat had been affixed—a throne sculpted from whitewood and steel, each seat reflecting unique artistry while emanating a regal presence.
They stood as tributes to warriors who had ascended to their status through the trials of blood, discipline, and unwavering loyalty.
Seven of these stately thrones ford a sweeping circle, their graceful arcs creating a sense of unity among the warriors, poised in this sacred space of honor and power.
The eighth seat—the one that stood highest and central—towered over the others. Its throne was massive, carved from storm-hardened silverwood and engraved with runes older than most written languages.
Wind mana swirled visibly around it in long, elegant spirals, as if the throne itself rejected stillness. Seated upon this throne was Cassius Aeolus, Patriarch of the Wind Clan.
Cassius’s form was partially veiled by the pulsing aura of wind surrounding him. His eyes remained closed, his powerful fra at rest, hands curled into fists as they rested upon the wide arms of his throne.
Even in stillness, his presence dominated the room like a looming storm cloud on the edge of eruption.
Of the seven seats that ford the surrounding circle, four were currently occupied.
To Cassius’s imdiate right, on the pillar marked with the number 1, sat Nelson Aeolus—his heir. A lean yet muscular man, Nelson’s posture was disciplined and upright, his closed eyes giving off a serene but dangerous air.
His knight’s tunic bore the crest of the Aeolus bloodline, and the mont Sophie entered, his eyelids parted with precision.
To Cassius’s left, the seat marked 2 remained vacant.
Beside Nelson, on the third pillar, sat Henrik—a giant of a man whose sheer size made his throne seem small. His body was a sculpture of muscle and battle scars, his aura more beast than man, thick with primal pressure. Even seated, he radiated aggression kept barely in check.
The fifth pillar was unoccupied, awaiting its bearer.
Across the circle, on the other side of Cassius, the pillar marked fourth was occupied by Freya, a petite woman with a delicate fra, her size deceptive.
Her expression was unreadable, and though she appeared serene, her eyes glead with a quiet, razor-edged brilliance. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, her fingers idly tracing a rune floating above her armrest.
Next to her, the sixth pillar was empty.
Finally, on the pillar marked seven, the youngest knight among them sat—Marc, barely twenty, yet already possessing the weight of a Grandmaster.
Youthful features and sharp eyes gave him a scholarly look, but the tension in his jaw hinted at a fire still forging his spirit.
As Sophie and her companions entered, Nelson’s eyes snapped open. His voice was cool and formal as he addressed her from his elevated seat.
"You’re late, Sophie."
Sophie bowed first to him, then respectfully to Cassius, whose eyes remained closed as if in deep thought or communion with the wind itself. Her tone was crisp, but not defensive.
"My apologies. The summons arrived while my team and I were subjugating a beast horde near the northern wall."
As her words echoed softly through the chamber, Soren and Maja silently split from her side. Without a word, they each ascended their respective pillars—Soren to the fifth, Maja to the sixth. Their bodies floated upward, suspended by the wind itself, until they settled into their seats.
Monts later, Sophie ascended as well, claiming her rightful place on the second pillar, just opposite Henrik.
Now, all eight seats were filled.
As soon as everyone found their seats, a palpable stillness filled the room. Cassius slowly opened his eyes, sensing the weight of the atmosphere pressing down around them.
The expressions on their faces were resolute, showing no signs of tension or anxiety.
He took a mont to scan the gathered group, his gaze lingering on each person, before initiating the discussion in a smooth, asured tone. "Now that you are all present, we can begin," he said, his voice steady and commanding.
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