Chapter 27
"Give him a seat," the Ancestor ordered.
The words carried the weight of absolute authority, yet fell from his lips with the ease of a grandfather inviting a child to dinner.
Two servants materialized from the shadows flanking the hall—silent, swift, practiced. Between them, they carried a massive chair carved from obsidian wood, its surface alive with intricate patterns that seemed to shift in the torchlight. Dragons coiled around the armrests. Scenes of ancient battles played out across the backrest. At its apex, a single wyvern spread its wings, frozen mid-soar.
With haste and reverence, they placed it beside the elders' seats—not among them, but beside. A distinction that did not go unnoticed.
The elders shifted in their chairs. Some exchanged glances. Others stared straight ahead, faces carved into masks of neutrality.
But they understood what it meant.
"Go, child," the Ancestor smiled.
