As Grandmaster Eldra strode forward, the very fabric of the room seemed to pivot upon her heel. The hands of the ancient clockwork spun in a frantic, blurred frenzy. The chamber, which but a moment ago had been steeped in the stygian, velvet depths of the cosmos, was suddenly consumed by an expanding solar radiance that swallowed the stars whole. The artificial darkness retreated in a panicked wave, revealing the Grandmaster's office as it truly existed in the physical realm.
A suite of plush sofas and polished tables materialised at the heart of the room—appearing as though they had been anchored there for an eternity, merely hidden from uninitiated eyes by layers of folded space.
Before Seraph could even move to take his seat, Eldra settled onto her sofa with a regal, indifferent grace. A side door slid open with a whisper, and a young woman with ruby-flame hair emerged, bearing a silver coffee service. She moved in a haunting silence, placing the fine porcelain and delicate pastries before Eldra.
A heavy, absolute silence reigned over the gathering. Neither woman spoke; their expressions remained void of any human emotion—as cold and distant as the dying stars Seraph had just witnessed in the void.
Eldra's crimson orbs bored into Seraph's, as if peeling back the layers of his memories or dissecting the very fabric of his conduct.
The young girl, meanwhile, couldn't stop her furtive glancing, watching the man as though he were some displaced monstrosity—
"Aaaaaaaagh!!!"
A sudden cry erupted as she stumbled over the Chrono-tapestry, her shriek piercing the air. Coffee lurched from the porcelain, and the flagon of fresh milk narrowly escaped shattering on the floor. The chamber descended into a senseless, chaotic scramble.
With a face flushed a deep scarlet, she frantically scrubbed at the dark stains and spilled cream marring the rug. All the while, her eyes darted back toward Seraph, her gaze brimming with a misplaced indignation as if he were the sole architect of her clumsy misfortune.
Seraph, witnessing the unfolding disorder, felt a stifling rigidity take hold. He felt like a caged beast in a menagerie, pinned under the unrelenting scrutiny of two high-born ladies.
Once the girl had placed a fresh service of coffee on the table, she retreated into the inner chambers. The crushing atmospheric pressure ebbed instantly. Though Eldra's gaze remained fixed on him, the weight of a single pair of eyes was a mercy.
It wrung a silent sigh from Seraph's lungs—a flicker of relief blooming within him, though the reason remained elusive.
"Sit," Eldra spoke, her voice as devoid of emotion as a winter tomb. "Sample the brew of Evlyn's hand. If she has no interest in a soul, she doesn't deign to prepare it so readily."
[boom!]
Before Seraph could part his lips to offer a word, a muffled detonation echoed from behind the door where the flame-haired girl had vanished.
Seraph's gaze flickered between the threshold and Eldra. Seeing that no further blasts followed—and noting that the Grandmaster offered not a shred of concern for the explosion—he slowly lowered himself onto the divan.
Eldra added the milk with a steady hand and raised her porcelain cup with absolute, iron confidence. Her movements were swift and decisive—entirely devoid of the languid, lazy grace typical of the highborn nobility. Instead, she possessed the fierce, predatory motion of a living conflagration.
In truth, Eldra was a flame given human form. Her hair, a cascading torrent of scarlet-fire, was bound in a high, practical ponytail, and her eyes shimmered with a piercing, verdant radiance that seemed to burn from within. Her visage and silhouette retained the scorching vitality of a woman in her absolute prime, an appearance accentuated by a heavy mageia cloak of crimson, intricately embroidered with white-flame motifs that seemed to flicker in the light.
The girl who had emerged from the side chamber was cast from the exact same mould—a daughter's perfect likeness, though she had seen but fifteen winters. Though both wore masks of glacial indifference, it did nothing to dampen the smouldering allure that radiated from them like waves of heat from a master's forge.
"You're likely acquainted with Evelyn, my granddaughter," Eldra remarked, her voice cutting through the silence.
"I've seen her in the corridors of the Citadel once or twice, though we've never spoken," Seraph replied with stark candour. "She carries a gaze that suggests she'd incinerate anyone who dares approach her. Besides, she's a rare sight in the Labyrinthine Basilica of Tomes—a place I've long made my only sanctuary."
"Heh... hardly a surprise there. That girl loathes books above all else—"
[boom!]
A second muffled detonation tore through the silence of the tower, punctuating her words with violent timing.
"Heh... besides, my private sanctum's filled with enough scrolls to drown a library," Eldra continued, utterly unfazed by the blast. "Should she ever want to study or research, every rare volume and artefact of power is already at her fingertips. She doesn't need to hunt for knowledge like the rest."
"That stands to reason," Seraph noted, his voice flat. "Evelyn's power is vibrant, restless—it clearly has a life of its own. I suspect she isn't one to languish in the stifling, dusty stillness of a library."
"..."
Though Seraph spoke with an air of clinical indifference, a faint, knowing smile curled the corners of Eldra's lips. She narrowed her eyes, her interest in the young man sharpening to a keen, dangerous edge. Within those green depths, a persistent, verdant brilliance danced like a trapped storm.
A profound, unnatural stillness reclaimed the chamber, so absolute that Seraph felt a prickle of unease against the back of his neck—a gnawing sense that some vital, lethal detail remained just beyond his grasp.
Suddenly, Eldra shifted her weight. She leaned upon her arm, crossing her legs with the effortless, predatory grace of a sovereign. That piercing green radiance remained locked onto him—delving into his mind, calculating his worth. A subtle smile played on her features now, calm yet undeniably lethal, as if she were weighing the very essence of his soul against a scale only she could see.
Eldra bore no resemblance to the typical, pampered ladies of the Royal Court. She radiated an overflowing charisma and a palpable, crushing authority that one could almost see with the naked eye. Her beauty was that of a celestial blossom, seemingly untouched and unbothered by the ravages of time.
Her allure smouldered like an eternal forge even when her mask was cold; yet, the moment she smiled, a genuine thermal wave seemed to surge from her form. As she reclined against the cushions, the world itself felt as though it might buckle under the weight of her presence.
Given that Evelyn was cast from the same formidable mould, she would undoubtedly inherit that scorching magnificence—and those emerald, soul-piercing eyes—in the winters to come.
"Drink your coffee," Eldra remarked with a slight, enigmatic smile that didn't reach her eyes. "If you delay any longer, someone within these walls'll start to take offence at your hesitation."
Seraph hesitated for a fractured heartbeat, his internal suspicion lingering like a shadow. He'd always favoured the simplicity of tea, yet as Evelyn had personally provided both the brew and the milk, he chose to yield. He added the cream and took a measured sip, opening his mind to the unfamiliar, complex flavour.
"The brew's exceptional," Seraph remarked after a moment. "The milk lends it a mellow profile, drawing out an unexpected sweetness I didn't think possible."
"Your palate's as keen as your vision," Eldra mused, her voice dropping an octave into a hollow resonance. "Much like the power currently coursing through your veins."
"Why have you summoned me, Grandmaster?" Seraph asked, finally pivoting to the heart of the matter.
"Your performance across these three missions was exemplary, to say the least," Eldra stated, her gaze radiating a formidable intensity. "Beyond the standard dividends of your contracts, I intend to bestow upon you a singular, personal reward."
"And the conditions?" Seraph countered instantly, his mind already searching for the trap.
"Heh... Seren spoke of your wit, but I didn't anticipate a fox's cunning. It seems I must re-evaluate you once more," Eldra said, her smile suggesting a hidden, complex gambit.
"I merely assume your sense of equity wouldn't permit a special boon without some form of justification," Seraph explained, his voice steady.
Since crossing the threshold of this sanctum, a persistent unease had gnawed at his gut. Seeing Eldra's predatory smile only deepened the sensation—as if he were a solitary piece being moved upon a board of her own intricate design.
"Then let's get to the essence of it! Based on your mission merits, you've cleared the threshold for the magis promotion exam. Ordinarily, the trial requires you to dominate every single acomage in Sanctus in a grand, bloody display of duelling—an event scheduled for a month's time. For others, it's a gruelling ordeal. For you, it'd be a pathetic waste of time."
"Then you intend to grant me the rank of magis without a formal exam?" Seraph asked, a flicker of relief brightening his tone for the first time.
It wasn't a lack of confidence that spurred his joy, but cold pragmatism. If he could bypass the redundant trials, he could devote his precious hours to hunting demons of a far more lethal tier.