Dunstan was the first to speak. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the dark mahogany, and began his report in the clipped, precise cadence of a commander addressing superiors.
The oldest son and closest in the line of succession, by tradition he had been given the right to command an entire city and to hold a personal army. What followed next was a litany of troop deployments, supply-chain efficiencies, border patrol rotations, casualty ratios, and projected readiness scores for the coming quarter.
The words washed over Edric like distant surf—terms like "logistical throughput," "strategic choke points," "force projection capacity," and endless columns of numbers that blurred together in his mind. He caught only the surface: no major breaches, no significant losses, defenses holding steady, and his city is doing well. Everything was going well for him, which was good.
He finished talking and sat down. Next, it was Lynce's turn.
Unlike Dunstan, she had no army to command, no battalions to tally, or city to rule. Instead she presided over an intricate tree of affairs and manipulations that had grown thick and tangled just in this past month. She spoke softly, almost conversationally, as if recounting gossip over tea rather than detailing a network of leverage and deception.
Edric tried to follow. He really did, the matter was really interesting for him, but the details slipped past him like smoke.
Names of courtiers, merchants, minor nobles; favors traded, secrets bought, promises extracted. He caught fragments: a man charmed for information about a rival house's trade routes, a whispered alliance sealed with a smile and a hidden dagger, a rival's reputation quietly poisoned through carefully placed rumors.
Lynce's pink eyes glinted as she spoke, calm and amused, the black stripes on her gown seeming to shift in the lamplight like shadows creeping closer. Edric could almost see her amusement, she really seemed to like what she did.
Eventually she concluded with a light shrug, as if the entire web of affairs had been no more effort than arranging flowers.
Next came Bowie. Apparently she had acquired a rabbit, one with long velvet ears and a little embroidered nose, and she was terribly excited to try it out. She described its fur in loving detail, how it was softer than Huggy's, how the ears flopped just right when you squeezed them.
She transitioned without pause into how boring the west had become. Nothing ever happened there—no interesting persons ever visited, no merchants would pass through there, no new plushes were easily acquired. The fields were too quiet, the skies too clear. So she had decided to start a new plantation in her garden. Something experimental, she said, with seeds she had collected herself. She didn't specify what they were, only that they would grow into something "quite lovely" and possibly useful.
Through all the reports she seemed happy. Edric also liked her, she was always such a beam of joy, something totally opposite to his own. Although they didn't really talk, or even lived close, Edric was glad that she found a new bunny, though he didn't know what she would use it for.
Next came Cyan. He adjusted his glasses with one finger, opened his ever-present book to a marked page, and began speaking in the quiet, measured tone of someone reading from a lecture note.
He started with the current state of the Elemental Tower—structural wear on the upper spires, minor fluctuations in the containment arrays, routine maintenance schedules. Then he moved into daily happenings. A junior researcher had made a modest but promising breakthrough in the Wind Element—something about refining the flow patterns of sustained levitation and directional control. The man had apparently delved quite deeply into his knowledge of the element over the past weeks, documenting new equations and experimental results.
Cyan paused, turning a page with deliberate care.
"Coincidentally," he said, voice still perfectly level, "that same researcher was found dead in his bed two nights ago. Cause undetermined. No signs of struggle. His notes had disappeared."
He closed the book with a soft snap.
Cyan's moist blue hair caught the lamplight and rippled faintly, as though stirred by an invisible current. He looked up, intelligent eyes scanning the table once, then returned to his book as if he had merely reported the weather.
Then it was Alani's turn. She adjusted her long orange dress…
'Wait, where did that dress come from?'
The question flickered and died in his mind almost before it formed. No one else reacted. Not a single head turned. Not even a raised eyebrow. The family continued waiting, as though nothing had happened at all.
Alani smoothed the skirt once, grinned like she'd just remembered something fun, and started talking.
Apparently some of the other families were starting to feel negligent by the Royal family. They weren't trying to do something crazy like a rebellion…for now at least. Since the Farben family was loyal to the Kingdom, there was no way they would allow such a beehive. Other than that there was only more information related to the Capital, nothing really note-wroth it.
Before sitting down, she threw a weird look at Edric, as if mocking him to say anything better than her.
'Bitch…'
Before Alani barely finished, Rufus was already on his feet, making sure everyone was looking at him before starting his report.
Rufus was barely a year older than Edric. That small gap probably explained a lot of the hatred…his mother's hatred. The venom had clearly been passed down like an heirloom.
He launched into his report without preamble.
Life at the Academy. New faces. New powers. He listed them like trophies: a boy with his Physical Realm who could outlast anyone in sparring; a girl whose Psychic whispers could make people forget entire conversations; a quiet one who was a Summoner and already had three bound shades following her like pets.
"In my class there's this girl with the Concept of Justice," he said, smirking. "She's not very fun to be around — always too righteous for her own good — but I'm sure she could be a powerful soldier someday. If she ever loosens up."
That was his 'job', what he liked to report at least. His life in the Academy. Honestly, everytime he talked it looked more like he was telling his life for Lloyd than actually reporting something useful.
He didn't pause for breath. The words kept coming, one after another, a relentless stream of names, abilities, potential uses. Edric felt his eyelids grow heavier with every sentence.
"Right," Rufus said suddenly, snapping back to the present as though remembering the room existed. "It's said the princess and prince will start studying there this year. Father, if you allow me, I'd like to try to befriend them."
Lloyd simply nodded once. No change in expression. No questions. Just the smallest tilt of his head, as though granting permission to fetch water from the kitchen.
Rufus's face split into a bright, triumphant smile. He sat back down, still grinning, like a cat that had just been handed the cream.
'Huh…the Princess…' Edric didn't really care, he wouldn't be going there anyway, so worrying about that was pointless.
And finally, it was his turn. But what did he have to report? Absolutely nothing.
Should he mention that his disease showed no sign of improving? Or perhaps celebrate the small victory that today he managed to climb the stairs without screaming from pain — alone, no less. Quite an achievement.
Under the detached, unblinking gaze of his father, Edric let out a soft sigh. His golden eyes — cold, emotionless, reflecting nothing — met the circle of faces.
"It's my birthday," he said quietly. "My sixteenth."
The room went utterly silent.
He wasn't expecting gifts. He wasn't expecting "happy birthday." He had even forbidden Tina and Galleon from saying it this morning. All he wanted was for his father to remember what day it was.
Today wasn't only his birthday. It was also the day his mother disappeared.
Lloyd's expression didn't change. Not a flicker. Not a flinch. The gray eyes remained calm, distant, as though Edric had commented on the weather.
"I see," he said. Just that. Two flat words.
Something should have ignited inside Edric then. Anger. Hate. Grief. But there was only a vast, hollow sense of numbness. He already half-expected that answer, his Father apparently forgetting about her.
Why was he even here?
He wasn't like them. They shared only half his blood — and even that half felt borrowed. He had long ago refused to use their cursed surname. He called himself Holden. His mother's name. Her family.
Perhaps, deep inside, he wanted to try something…although he didn't know exactly what.
"Hm. So it's your birthday, huh." Rufus leaned forward, mocking smirk curling his lips. "If I remember correctly, it's also the death-day of that whor—"
Rufus's voice vanished. Gone. No rasp, no choke, no struggle — simply erased. His mouth continued moving for a second, shaping silent fury, but no sound emerged.
"Rufus," Lloyd said, voice completely neutral. "Silence."
Rufus trembled. Not dramatically. Just a fine, involuntary shiver that started in his shoulders and spread. This was one of the very few times Edric had ever seen Lloyd's power in action.
The Concept of Erasion.
Lloyd had simply… erased Rufus's voice from existence. Not damaged the throat. Not muted it. Erased it. Cleanly. Completely. It wouldn't last forever — only as long as Lloyd allowed. If he truly wished, he could erase a voice permanently. Or a memory. A life would be more troublesome though, but still possible.
Lloyd continued as though nothing had happened.
"Now that you are all done," he said, "it's my turn to talk."