Three days later, several nobles from the Extraterrestrial faction arrived at Stargate.

  It was not an official council meeting, but rather a relaxed gathering among the Houses — a rare occasion where the nobility of the other realm mingled outside of politics.

  Only five of the thirteen leaders attended: representatives of House Venoria, House Canis, House Zenithur, and House Pulsara — all set to remain at Stargate for two days.

  By late afternoon, preparations were already underway.

  Lord Star sat at his desk, the chamber around him immaculate — an elegant balance of white marble, pale blue stone, and polished silver.

  Above him, the vaulted ceiling bore intricate carvings: constellations and swirling galaxies captured in delicate relief, shimmering faintly under the lamplight.

  Behind his desk hung portraits and framed memories — oil paintings of the All Realm Wars decades past, the First Council in their prime, and a large family photograph of Lord and Lady Star with Starmist, Starfall, Starslayer, and a baby Starlax.

  At that moment, Lord Star stood before a series of large folded sheets spread across the desk — rough architectural blueprints sketched by hand.

  He studied them carefully, then pointed at one design to his left.

  “Out of the four proposals you brought me, I’ll take this one.”

  The young man beside him — an engineer in white and brass-trimmed attire — smiled politely.

  “An excellent choice, my lord. I’ve already listed the required materials for that version.”

  He tore a small page from the thick ledger he carried, its spine stuffed with colored bookmarks, and handed it to Lord Star.

  This was Njall, a young scientist and architect from the Cogworks faction, recommended personally by Professor Bjorn to serve as an apprentice engineer at Stargate.

  The House of Star, though Extraterrestrial in origin, often welcomed trusted specialists from other factions, much like Sicilia of the Sorcerer Order who had lived among them.

  Lord Star leaned back in his chair, tapping the end of the quill against his chin.

  “To be honest, I’ve grown rather tired of all this lazuli. Do you have another suggestion for decoration?”

  Njall brightened.

  “If I may, my lord, you might consider amethyst. Its purple hue contrasts beautifully with the cosmic theme of your House.”

  He produced another folded sheet — a chart of gemstones, complete with their light resonance values and energy harmonics.

  Lord Star accepted it, his eyes tracing the shimmering mineral patterns.

  “Exquisite,” he murmured. “I’ll have to discuss this with the Shogun. Perhaps we can integrate the amethyst structures into the outer halls.”

  Njall nodded slightly, pleased.

  “There’s one more task for you,” Lord Star added, reaching for a cluster of grapes on the corner of his desk. “I’d like you to design a few training instruments for Starslayer and Starlax — something to help awaken their power.”

  “Do you intend them for single-directional drills or full simulation exercises, my lord?” Njall asked, already taking mental notes.

  Lord Star thought for a moment, scratching at the edge of his white beard.

  “Simulation. It’ll hasten their progress. But finish the main construction first.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Njall began organizing the blueprints, neatly rolling them back into his case. He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, Lord Star’s voice stopped him.

  “You’re a rather methodical young Cogworks,” Lord Star said with a faint smile, tossing a grape into his mouth.

  Njall looked back, a little startled — then smiled nervously, pride flickering behind his composure.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He exited the office and began walking down the long corridor. His lips moved faintly as he spoke to himself — reciting calculations, muttering about resource allocations, and construction schedules.

  Lost in thought, Njall didn’t notice the shadow that appeared at the intersection ahead.

  A figure stepped into his path — tall, silver-haired, eyes sharp and unreadable.

  Starfall.

  Njall stopped at once, caught between awe and unease.

  The heir of House Star was blocking his way.

  Starfall’s voice echoed through the marble corridor.

  “Hey, scientist,” he called out, his tone casual but edged with authority.

  “Did my father mention anything about the Vanguard or about me?”

  He leaned one shoulder lazily against the wall, the afternoon light spilling across his silver hair.

  Njall adjusted his spectacles, careful with his reply.

  “No, young lord. It was all about construction, nothing more.”

  Starfall gave a crooked nod, the faintest smirk flickering across his lips before he turned away without another word.

  He walked on toward the outer gardens. The air there was cool, perfumed with the scent of royal. At the edge of the walkway, he crossed paths with Starslayer, who was just returning to the estate.

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  Neither slowed their pace.

  Starfall’s gaze drifted upward, eyes tracing the distant arc of the domed sky. Starslayer’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his expression like carved stone.

  They passed each other in silence—no greeting, no glance, no backward look. Only the quiet rustle of fabric and the echo of steps that never paused.

  Brothers in blood, strangers in spirit.

  Njall continued down the corridor, his thoughts already lost in the hum of his own calculations. When he entered his workshop, he found Starlax sitting nearby on the polished floor, surrounded by a few servants. The young girl was happily eating a puff of cotton candy, her cheeks dusted with pink sugar.

  She waved when she saw him.

  “Njall! What are you building now?” she asked brightly, wandering into the room with the light curiosity only children possessed.

  Njall smiled faintly as he stacked his papers and straightened a few scattered blueprints. The room was cluttered with sketches, half-built prototypes, and chalk diagrams sprawling across the walls.

  “Your father wants to build a hanging garden, young lady,” Njall replied.

  “So Stargate’s getting bigger again?” she asked, swinging her legs as she perched beside him.

  “Something like that,” Njall said, glancing at the sugar-sticky fingers and half-eaten candy in her hand. His curiosity got the better of him.

  “Forgive me for asking, but… does your race only eat sweet things?”

  Starlax tilted her head, thinking.

  “Not really. I just don’t want to try anything else yet,” she said, licking the edge of the cotton candy.

  Njall chuckled softly.

  “But you wouldn’t get sick if you ate something different, would you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a bright smile. “I’d have to ask Mother first.”

  Njall nodded, amused and intrigued.

  Six months among the Extraterrestrial nobility had taught him many things—but their physiology and peculiar customs remained full of mysteries. Even their diet, he mused, seemed like something pulled from the edge of a dream.

  By noon, the family gathered for lunch.

  Lord Star, Lady Star, Starmist, Starfall, Starslayer, and Starlax sat together at the long crystalline table beneath the radiant chandeliers.

  Every dish glistened like a sculpted jewel sugar-laced confections shaped to resemble vegetables, candied fruits crafted to mimic real ones, and crystal-clear desserts that shimmered like frozen light.

  The table of the House of Star looked less like a meal, and more like a heavenly banquet, sweetness upon sweetness, gleaming and deceptive, masking the quiet bitterness beneath.

  Lord Star set down his cup and cut neatly into his meal,roasted meat glazed with honey, the only savory dish among the glittering sweets.

  “When the heads of the other Houses arrive,” he said, his tone calm yet firm, “we’ll gather in front of the door, as usual.”

  He lifted his eyes briefly toward his eldest son.

  “That includes you, Starfall.”

  Across the table, Starfall slouched in his seat, expression distant. He hadn’t touched his plate; his spoon rested between idle fingers as he stared blankly ahead.

  He offered no reply — not defiance, just apathy.

  Lord Star glanced at him once more, then returned to his food without pressing the issue. The silence thickened.

  “Brother,” said Starmist gently, trying to lift the mood, “Leroy will arrive later tonight, after the gathering ends.”

  At once, Starlax’s face lit up with excitement, her eyes gleaming.

  “Really? The Green Wraith’s coming?”

  Her small voice carried across the long table, and for a moment, warmth flickered again.

  But it didn’t last long.

  Starslayer, ever composed, broke the moment with his measured voice.

  “Father,” he said evenly, “Houses Quasar, Neclior, and Phorist have ignored this gathering six times in a row. Will you not issue a warning?”

  Lord Star took a calm sip from his glass before answering.

  “And what would that achieve?”

  “It would remind them that they remain under our protection and our banner,” Starslayer replied, his tone clipped but precise.

  Lady Star set down her fork softly, her voice a touch weary.

  “Starslayer, this isn’t a Council summit. It’s a friendly reunion. Try not to see politics in every glass of wine.”

  Even Starmist, seated beside her, stayed silent, unwilling to be drawn into the family’s quiet argument.

  Starslayer only smirked faintly.

  “It’s in moments of leisure that true bonds are tested,” he said. “Refusing to join one means they’re already beginning to fray.”

  “Enough,” Lord Star said finally, his tone firm but still composed. “Let’s simply appreciate those who did come.”

  Starslayer chuckled under his breath, the corners of his mouth curling just slightly, a smile more of intellect than joy.

  He turned his gaze toward Starfall, lounging still like a disinterested shadow.

  “And what of our heir opinion?” he asked, voice smooth but laced with challenge.

  Starfall looked up, his eyes half-lidded, then back down again.

  “I don’t care who shows up,” he said flatly.

  The words fell heavy, like a knife in soft silk.

  Starmist sighed quietly. She looked toward Starlax, who sat across from her, the little girl’s earlier joy had faded, replaced by confusion and unease.

  No one else spoke.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, the first of the guests arrived.

  One by one, the transports descended gracefully upon the green lawns of Stargate.

  From the balcony above, banners of starlight shimmered like liquid silver, each emblazoned with the emblem of the Extraterrestrial faction, a silver constellation medallion, circular in shape, representing the Pleiades cluster.

  Seven white diamonds marked its stars — seven for unity, seven for connection, seven for the boundless network of the Houses.

  The House of Star stood assembled before the grand entrance. Lord Star at the center, Lady Star at his right, Starmist at his left.

  Behind them, the younger heirs took their places: Starslayer poised and formal, Starfall stoic and detached, and little Starlax clutching her mother’s hand, eyes wide with wonder as the sky filled with descending light.

  The guests from the other Houses arrived in full regalia, each adorned with the same silver Pleiades emblem, the seven-pointed constellation of the Extraterrestrial faction.

  Inside the grand reception hall, the ladies gathered among soft couches and glimmering crystal lights, sipping fragrant, non-alcoholic infusions while conversing in their poised, melodic tones.

  Outside, the lords stood upon the terrace and gardens, their laughter carried faintly through the night air.

  It was, as ever, a gathering of serenity and etiquette — though notably, children were never brought to such meetings.

  In the main salon, Starmist sat beside Lady Star, her poise luminous as ever among the cluster of noblewomen. Across from them were several matriarchs of the other Houses:

  Lady Pulra of House Pulsara, Lady Zethir of House Zenithur, and Lady Canya of House Canis, each alien in lineage, yet bound by refinement.

  Lady Pulra spoke first, her tone courteous but probing.

  “How fares the Council these days, Lady Starmist?”

  “All is well, Lady Pulra,” Starmist replied with her gentle smile. “Preparations for the Silver Chair are nearly complete.”

  Lady Zethir leaned forward slightly, her voice carrying the faint musical accent of her species.

  “Please convey my greetings to King Vilion, won’t you? The Silver Chair will be held in his kingdom this year, yes?”

  Starmist returned her look with grace.

  “Yes, Lady Zethir. But I won’t be attending this year. My position has been delegated to Elysius for this year.”

  “Ah,” said Lady Canya with a knowing smirk. “Let’s hope the debate doesn’t grow too heated without your calm presence, Lady Starmist.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Starmist answered lightly. “Leroy and Bjorn are more than capable of keeping order.”

  Laughter rippled softly through the group — warm, polished, practiced.

  Lady Star joined in, her tone light but protective.

  “It’s just as well,” she said. “Many of the faction leaders have declined attendance this year. A quiet season will give my sister a well-deserved rest.”

  But Lady Zethir’s curiosity had not yet been sated.

  “Still, I wonder,” she said, swirling the pale drink in her glass, “why the Council’s choice fell to the Celestial boy. Surely they could have named someone with more… experience?”

  Starmist’s eyes glimmered mischievously.

  “Because if we choose Lucretius instead,” she quipped, “the meeting would feel more like a barracks than a meeting chamber.”

  The ladies burst into soft laughter, raising their cups delicately as if toasting the wit.

  The night deepened outside. Stars spilled like dust across the velvet sky of Stargate.