Sasrir remained silent, shadow still at his side, but I could feel the quiet weight of his presence bolstering me in a way Kai never could. That dark reassurance made me straighten my spine, even as the tension pressed down.
Every eye in the hall was on us now, evaluating, waiting. The meeting had begun, and I knew—intuitively—that nothing here would be simple, nothing would be safe.
The room was smaller than I expected for a meeting with the Host. Only seven of us in total, counting Sasrir and me. The rest—the Bright Lord himself and his Lieutenants—sat around the circular dais like predators in a carefully arranged nest. The air hummed with authority, cold, sharp, and deliberate. I could feel it pressing against me as I made my way toward Gunlaug's left side.
Sasrir moved silently, shadow trailing him like a second skin. He claimed the largest seat available after the throne, too big for him but somehow perfect in its imposing emptiness. He didn't bother with the chair's impractical size; he simply lowered himself into it with a grace that made the heavy wood seem like a mere prop. I felt a flicker of admiration, even as I reminded myself not to think too much—my own nerves were enough without adding awe to the mix.
I took my place at Gunlaug's left, standing rather than sitting. The throne's height made the Bright Lord seem like he was looking down into the core of the world, and I felt distinctly small. But I straightened my shoulders and forced a calm expression. Sasrir's silent presence near me made the world feel slightly less threatening.
Harus turned, slowly, deliberately, those hollow eyes locking on me like they were peeling through flesh and bone. "It seems your friend will need a new chair," he said flatly, his voice echoing faintly in the still room. The words were measured, but there was a trace of mockery hiding beneath the monotone, as if he took pleasure in silently noting the absurdities of life.
I smiled and inclined my head. "Indeed. Tessai was a few sizes bigger than him. Still, I'm sure Sasrir will grow to fit it in time." My tone was calm, almost casual, but I made sure the statement carried just enough pointed edge to stand out.
Harus let out a short, snide chuckle, the sound dry and hollow. It wasn't loud, but it carried across the room like a stone skipping over a frozen lake. Then, just as suddenly, he returned to his statue-like stillness, as if nothing had happened. I didn't miss the slight tightening of his posture before he settled again—an imperceptible acknowledgment that he had been amused, but only just.
Gunlaug, for his part, did not react immediately. His dark eyes swept over me and Sasrir with that calm, predatory precision he always carried. Then, almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head and looked around the circular dais, letting his gaze settle briefly on each of the Lieutenants. It was the kind of silent scrutiny that made you want to shrink into the floor.
Finally, he gestured with a single, measured hand toward Kido. The motion was slow, deliberate, as though he were marking her as the first to speak—but not by choice. By right, Gunlaug's authority demanded he acknowledge her, and the gesture left no room for argument.
Kido's shoulders stiffened as she rose, carrying the faint weight of being recognized yet carefully masking any hint of nervousness. Her posture was perfect, precise, the kind of poise that made it obvious she had been trained to stand in a room like this since birth. But beneath the flawless exterior, I could sense the tension coiled like a spring, every careful movement calculated to avoid drawing disapproval. She cleared her throat, adjusting her stance, and the room seemed to hold its collective breath.
I shifted slightly, glancing at Sasrir. He was the picture of calm, shadowed and unreadable as ever, sitting slightly too tall in the chair meant for someone larger. I could feel the subtle thrum of his presence, reassuring and intimidating all at once.
Gunlaug leaned back slightly, fingers tapping the armrest with quiet authority. Seishan sat with that usual perfect poise, serene and inscrutable, her pale grey skin almost luminous under the muted light. Gemma and Kido remained partnered in their odd, silent alignment—Gemma brooding and indifferent, Kido poised and carefully attentive. And Harus… Harus was still there, still watching, still unsettling, a living shadow beside the Bright Lord.
The room was silent, every movement magnified, every shift in posture significant. Kido finally began to speak, her voice steady but carrying that subtle edge of tension that only came from knowing the weight of the Host's scrutiny.
I exhaled quietly, bracing myself. This was it. The meeting had begun.
Kido cleared her throat and began in a voice that was calm, measured, and practiced, like a conductor leading an orchestra. "We've identified the primary supplies that are currently in shortage," she said, her tone crisp and professional. "Raw materials for Memory forging are all running low. Without replenishment, production will inevitably slow in the coming cycle." She paused, letting the information hang in the air for a moment, then continued.
"We've also encountered difficulties with several of the workshops. Equipment failures in two of the Memory forges caused a minor backlog, though our artisans have worked overtime to compensate. Additionally, scheduling conflicts among the workers have reduced efficiency in certain sectors." Her eyes scanned the room briefly, as if to make sure her words were registering. "Revenue for the last month has remained stable despite these issues. Stock levels remain sufficient for daily operations, though reserves are now slightly below optimal thresholds for emergency production."
I blinked. Logistics. Finance. Stock levels. Taxes. My brain was still wrapped around the idea of the Host as a group of predators, strategists, and warriors, not accountants and warehouse managers. I hadn't expected the first topic of the meeting to be inventory management and production statistics. But then, looking around, it made sense. The Forgotten Shore wasn't just the Castle—it was a sprawling settlement, home to hundreds of people, both inside the Castle and outside in the wider settlement. Someone had to track the flow of resources, someone had to ensure that taxes were accounted for, production quotas met, and that the gears of society didn't grind to a halt.
I stole a glance at Sasrir. He remained perfectly still in his oversized chair, his eyes observing Kido with a faint, unreadable intensity. Even he seemed unshaken by the mundane nature of the report; or maybe he honestly justdidn't care about it at all.
Kido continued, detailing the specific quantities needed for each category of artisan work, the projected shortages for the next quarter, and contingencies for unexpected production halts. She even provided notes on the quality of materials received from external suppliers, pointing out which sources had been inconsistent and which had exceeded expectations.
Gemma, seated beside her, made no move to comment. His expression was the same scowl he wore perpetually, as if the very discussion of supplies offended him on principle. Kido, however, didn't flinch or waver. She simply presented the information, efficient and precise, and moved on to the next topic: revenue allocation and storage.
As the numbers and details passed over me, I felt the weight of administration pressing down in a way that was very different from combat. Here, mistakes didn't just risk a failed attack—they could starve a section of the settlement, slow production, or cripple the Host's financial stability. The mundane precision required was almost terrifying in its own way.
I couldn't help but think back to the lessons from training with Saint and Effie.