Lark followed close, his expression filled with awe. His mage's cloak dragged against the floor, each step sending waves of silver light spiraling outward. He lowered his gaze often, uncertain if he was worthy of walking such a place. Beside him Ren walked.

Behind them, Kairn moved like a shadow given form. His boots touched the glowing stone without sound, his posture straight, his eyes sharp, as though he were not entering a hall but measuring every corner of a battlefield.

At the center, Veylan walked with unhurried grace, the servants lowering their heads further as he passed. His robe shimmered faintly in the light, marking him not only as master of wealth but as one who carried presence that needed no voice.

As they crossed the radiant floor, enchanted braziers flickered alive along the walls, spilling golden warmth that blended with the pale glow of crystal chandeliers. The pillars carved with living beasts seemed to stir faintly, their eyes glimmering as if to acknowledge the arrival of those entering.

The guests were led forward by attendants clad in robes lined with faintly glowing embroidery. Each bowed deeply before guiding them to their places.

The chief attendant gestured again, bowing low.

"Please, take your places at the table prepared for you."

The banquet table stretched endlessly before them, laden with enchanted plates and waiting goblets. Light shimmered across its crystal surface, reflecting their figures as they approached their seats.

At the head of the table sat Veylan, the wealthiest man alive. His presence carried weight, not from raised voice or heavy hand, but from the calm certainty that surrounded him. His robe shimmered with threads of enchanted silk, catching the glow of mana orbs as though he sat wrapped in light itself.

To his right sat Ren, the young wanderer whose silence carried its own mysteries. Beside him, Lark adjusted his mage's cloak nervously, eyes darting at the brilliance of the hall. And in the shadows, just behind Veylan, stood Kairn silent, steady, almost part of the stone itself.

Veylan's eyes flicked toward him, calm yet firm.

"Kairn," he said, his voice low but carrying through the hall, "sit."

The assassin did not move at first. His hands tightened slightly at his sides.

"My lord, it is not my place..."

Veylan's gaze hardened, though his tone remained even.

"You are not my servant, you are my friend. So I do not allow hesitation to my friends at my table. Sit. You know already everything about my behaviour."

The silence stretched thin. Lark shifted uncomfortably, lowering his head. Ren's eyes lingered briefly on Kairn, curious but silent.

At last, Kairn inclined his head. His voice was controlled, but softer.

"Yes, my lord."

He stepped forward and took the chair at Veylan's left, his movements precise, without flourish. He did not sit like a guest but like a soldier forced into stillness, a blade sheathed but never forgotten. He knew Veylan's nature well: the man despised refusal, and to resist further would be more insulting than obedience.

With everyone seated, the attendants moved swiftly. Silver trays were carried in, filled with roasted meats dusted with herbs, bowls of fruit glistening as though polished by starlight, and loaves of bread still steaming from the ovens. Crystal goblets were filled with deep red wine by careful hands, and the servants withdrew quietly, leaving only the hum of the hall's enchantments and the company of four men at the table.

The first moments passed in silence. Lark ate cautiously, as though every bite was a privilege. Ren sampled the food slowly, his expression thoughtful. Kairn ate with deliberate precision, as if every cut and every sip was part of his training. Veylan, calm and unhurried, set the pace of the meal with his steady movements.

It was Veylan who broke the quiet.

"Ren," he said evenly, "How is the food? You are taking first time food here." He leaned back slightly.

Ren glanced around at the towering pillars, the crystal floor beneath his boots, the enchanted lights above. His lips curved faintly.

"Good, food is very delicious and tasty."

Veylan nodded, sipping his wine.

"I love to hear that you like it."

Lark shifted slightly, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.

"Well," he murmured. "Kairn, I heard about you a lot. But you are too mysterious. The stories of your bravery and courage spreaded all around the planet. You are really awesome."

Kairn gave a short glance toward Lark at those words, though his face remained unreadable. He spoked...

"Thanks for that. That words carry too much weight. I hope I can lift weight of that words. I am just an ordinary servant of lord Veylan."

Veylan set down his glass.

"Brother." His eyes lingered on each of them before settling again on Kairn. " I told you so many times. You are like my brother."

Kairn nodded. And said.

"Sorry for that. I will take care of that. But I will call you always lord."

Veylan didn't argue with him. Bcz he knew Kairn was loyal to him. So he simply said.

"Okay, you can call it. But remember always you are like my brother."

Kairn spoked. "Okay."

Then the table quieted again as the meal continued. Meat was cut, wine poured, bread passed between them. It was not rushed, but steady, the kind of dinner meant for words as much as food.

And only when the dishes had begun to settle, when the weight of the hall no longer pressed so heavily on their shoulders, did Veylan speak again. His tone was smoother now, more conversational, as though the question were but a natural step in the evening's flow.

"Ren," he said, his voice calm but deliberate. "What are your plans for this journey of yours? When do you leave this place?"

The words hung in the air with quiet gravity.

Lark lowered his eyes to his plate. Kairn, though still composed, shifted his attention fully toward Ren. The hall itself seemed to lean closer, its runes pulsing faintly in the silence that followed.

Ren raised his head, the glow of chandeliers reflected in his gaze. For a moment, no words came.

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