The sound of the horn lingered, low and solemn, rolling through the marble halls like thunder before a storm. The music faded, and for a heartbeat, silence swept across the crowd. Every face turned toward the great golden doors at the end of the hall — carved with the sigils of the three Houses of Wicelind, gleaming beneath torchlight.

  Then, the herald stepped forward. His robe shimmered with red and silver thread, his voice clear and steady as it carried across the vast chamber.

  “By decree of the Council of Three, the Gathering of Houses begins,” he announced. “Let the banners of unity rise, and let the heirs of Wicelind be named before the eyes of lords and kin.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd — excitement, curiosity, pride.

  Kael stood near the right wing of the hall with Rhea, Orin, Tarin, and Joran. From their corner, they could see everything — the nobles standing tall in lines, the lords waiting near the dais, and the high balcony where the council’s representatives would soon appear.

  The herald lifted his staff. “Let lord Valenor be received.”

  The doors opened, and the nobles from House Valenor entered — their crest of golden wings displayed on banners held by servants. Their lord walked at the front, his robes deep crimson, a faint smile on his lips as he bowed to the crowd. Applause followed — polite, well-timed.

  Kael recognized the heir who had spoken to him earlier that evening. The man walked proudly beside his father, his chin raised just enough to show confidence, but not arrogance. He glanced briefly in Kael’s direction, offering the faintest nod before turning away.

  Orin muttered under his breath, “Look at him, acting like the hall belongs to him.”

  Rhea elbowed him lightly. “That’s because it almost does. House Valenor helped build half of this place.”

  Next came another name.

  “lord Teriner, of the Silver Coast.”

  The woman in green — the one who had spoken kindly to Kael — entered with her family. Her gown shimmered brighter under the lanterns, and her steps were smooth, graceful. The nobles bowed as she passed, and her father exchanged words with the Valenor lord at the dais.

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  Tarin crossed his arms. “All this bowing and nodding… when do they stop pretending and start talking about what really matters?”

  “Patience,” Joran murmured. “This is how the Houses weigh each other before the real game begins.”

  As more families were named, the room filled with a rhythm — a dance of reputation and power. Every entrance drew applause, every speech carried hidden meaning. Lords praised the peace between the Houses, but Kael could hear the strain beneath their voices. Words like unity and alliance were repeated too often, as though meant to cover something broken.

  Kael noticed how many eyes avoided meeting each other’s.

  Laughter rippled through the room. The tension eased for a moment, though Kael could tell it was practiced.

  Kael felt the air tighten. He didn’t have to look to know that several heads had turned toward Ridgehall’s corner.

  Rhea’s hand brushed his arm briefly. He didn’t look at her, but the touch was grounding.

  the herald struck his staff against the marble twice. “Let the gathering continue. The feast shall open when all banners are seated.”

  The nobles began to move again — servants carrying wine, music resuming with soft strings. The light changed; the atmosphere shifted from ceremony to conversation.

  Kael exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders.

  “They didn’t waste time reminding everyone who we are,” Orin said dryly. “Or who we aren’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kael replied. “Let them talk. Ridgehall is here — that’s what matters.”

  Rhea nodded. “Still, we can’t afford to be too quiet. If no one remembers Ridgehall for its voice, they’ll remember it for its presence.”

  Kael’s gaze drifted toward the center of the hall, where clusters of nobles had begun forming again — alliances in motion. “Presence can be louder than words,” he said softly.

  As they stood there, a servant approached, bowing low. “My lord,” he said to Kael, “the council requests that all heirs remain near the dais when the final houses are announced. The opening address will follow shortly after.”

  Kael nodded. “Understood.”

  When the servant left, Tarin stretched and groaned. “Final houses. Does that mean we’re next?”

  “Not yet,” Rhea said. “There’s one more, I think. Maybe two.”

  The herald returned to the center of the hall, his voice rising once more.

  “Let it be known,” he called, “that unity stands strongest when all three Houses are present under the same sky. Yet as tradition demands, the final banners shall be received before the feast begins.”

  The nobles quieted. The music stopped again. All eyes turned back to the doors.

  Kael’s heartbeat quickened — not from fear, but from anticipation. This was the rhythm of Wicelind’s power: every pause, every announcement, carefully timed to command attention.

  The herald unfurled a scroll and read the next name.

  “lord Arvel, keepers of the southern gates.”

  Applause rose and fell. Another procession entered — silver banners, proud steps, formal bows. Kael barely noticed. His thoughts were elsewhere.

  He wondered if Daren was watching all this unfold from the sidelines somewhere — if this was what his father wanted him to see. The game beneath the pageantry. The war that didn’t use swords.

  When the applause died, the herald cleared his throat. The final name approached.

  Rhea glanced at Kael. “This is it.”

  The hall grew still. Even the candles seemed to hold their breath.

  Then, the herald’s voice rang clear across the marble:

  “Announcing the arrival of House Ericson, heirs of the Vikran Northern Crest — by right of lineage and recognition of the council, let their banners be raised.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd — a low wave of interest, surprise, curiosity. Some Heads turned toward the open doors.Others didn't mind as they view it as something not important and continued what they were doing

  Kael straightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the entrance.

  The doors began to open again, light spilling across the polished floor.