As the Nighvictorian group stepped into the space pre-arranged by Minister Zila as their meeting location, the prince and his lady retainer were immediately astounded at the sight that unfolded before them.

"This is no throne room," Yurisviel whispered. Around them, the polished silver-grey walls curved upwards, meeting at a sharp convergence point above the group. The intrados region surrounding the crown of the dome seemed to be constructed entirely from a special kind of glass, with interlocking triangular patterns etched into its surface. Shimmering waves of rainbow radiated and danced across the vertex, creating a dazzling performance of light while allowing rays of the sun to permeate the dome's expanse.

"It's....a smaller colosseum of sorts, except indoors and much more sophisticated," Zenvix remarked softly, arching his head to observe the neat array of seats embedded within each layer of the dome.

Many of the seats were already occupied by unfamiliar faces of Ceil, presumably invited on Minister Zila's behest. They seem to hail from different walks of life, with some donning attire befitting that of a noble while others sported decorated military uniforms and even steel armour.

Under the group's feets the cerulean silk carpet extended to the bottom of a short flight of steps, ascending which a raised platform held a monumental table that was heptagonal in shape. Each side of the heptagon sat an individual whose eyes were focused on the approaching Nighvictorian visitors. One of them stood up as the prince neared.

"Welcome, Prince Nighvicto, to the Hall of the Seven. I trust that your stay with Ceil so far has been a pleasant one?" A deep, robust voice resounded emphatically across the hall, its message carrying clearly to all ends of the dome.

The prince took a short moment to compose himself after registering Zila's unnaturally powerful voice. "Very much so, Minister Zila, I am grateful for your warm hospitality. Ceil is a beautiful city to behold," Zenvix responded adeptly, making a short bow of respect to the mature woman dressed in ministerial attire. The prince was taken aback at his correspondingly resonant voice, but allowed no emotions to surface although his companions understandably shot alarmed glances at him.

Political interplays are a different war game. It is won or lost starting from innocuous words and naked emotions.

The minister's eyes shot between the prince's retainers and the prince himself in momentary scrutiny. Her poker face broke into a smile. "My apologies, my servants must have been remiss in informing you that here in the Hall of the Seven, an arcane bubble exists between where you are standing and the Heptagonal Table. Whoever speaks within this bubble will have their voices magically amplified such that they can be heard by the vast entirety of Ceil's royal court."

Zenvix smiled, feeling the pressure of over a hundred eyes upon him as he spoke. Tacit pressure maneuvers are not uncommon in the politics game. They must have underestimated him.

"No apologies required, Minister Zila. The size of the audience matters little, only that my words need to be heard by the highest leaders of Ceil."

"I have already heard the gist of your story from Sir Dylas, Prince Nighvicto, but in accordance with the laws of Ceil, it has to be presented before the Council for its final judgement. As you are a foreign envoy, I will briefly elucidate the Council's purpose....." Minister Zila responded, gesturing to the six other individuals who briskly stood at her signal before resuming their seats. As the minister explained, Zenvix glanced cursorily across their demeanours, and quickly attempted to identify the faces that Dylas had previously spoken to him on.

Located at the far left of the table was a lanky man dressed in robes of pearly white, complete with an undershirt of midnight blue and a white hood that concealed the upper half of his visage. Across the lower region, Zenvix spied a black tape of sorts which was wound around the man's mouth, binding it tightly and making any form of speech utterly impossible.

A peculiar thin sword peeked from its scabbard hung from the slender man's white belt. No doubt about it. That must be the Commander of the Silent Guard, code-named "Brain". The Silent Guard were known as the elites of Ceil's forces. Their operations were clandestine and done in absolute silence.

Rumors had it that they were so brutal, merciless and swift in delivering death that no blood ever stained their pristine robes of white. Hence the folklore saying arose: "robes of purest white, hearts of blackest night", which was meant to frighten Ceil's enemies. The fact that not a spoken word was uttered as they killed, enshrouded the Silent Guard in an ominous aura of eeriness and disquiet.

Ceil's command of the Silent Guard and heavy use of well-paid and well-equipped mercenaries since the founding decade was why Nox, led by the kings before Zenvix's father, never decided to challenge it until Kush'Tar Expedition V.

Even then the expedition past Merchant's Hill was a hollow one, which marked his grandfather's final legacy as no more than the senseless, ego-filled acts of pillaging undefended villages under Ceil's control. They beat a quick retreat in weeks, after the closest cities to the siege‒Ceil, Tahoa and the Guild‒resisted their sieges a tad too well that economically and logistically, drew an end to the expedition.

Seated beside the foreboding man was a relatively younger lady, who shot a look of discomfort at the adroit killer, as if the last thing she desired was to be assigned a place adjacent to Brain. Dressed in a white shirt adorned with gold buttons, the latter was neatly tucked within an obsidian pencil skirt, complete with a brown coat that cascaded imposingly from her shoulders. On the shirt was pinned a lustrous insignia of distinguished military office.

That, coupled with coffee-colored hair tied in a ponytail and a side-swept fringe pinned securely to the side of her heart-shaped face, told Zenvix her identity. Faelynn Erisbane, the General of Ceil's army. At the tender age of twenty six, Faelynn succeeded her father as the General, in part because of her father's illness but also due to her latent potential in military affairs.

Despite other similarly qualified and more senior candidates, Ceil's army was known to have passed on the mantle of leadership purely within the Erisbane family due to its significant military contributions in decades past. As to whether that was a wise decision, it became a matter of higher political complexity.

The prince's eyes glazed across Minister Zila's seat at the head of the table and centered on a curious lady towards her left. Unfortunately, his knowledge stopped there; despite Zenvix's instruction, there was a limit to how much digging Dylas could do on the Ceil leadership while the prince was absent.

The lady with pink hair reminiscent of cherry blossoms in full bloom had a strange air around her; she felt familiar even, almost alike to a sense of kinship, but that was impossible. Zenvix's kin was dead. As his eyes rested on her for a moment, the young woman's eyes shifted abruptly to meet his own, as if she felt his stare.

A peculiar jolt coursed through his mind and the prince almost winced at the sudden sensation. Fleeting, lightning-quick images of familiar cities...Nox...Ceil...even images of establishments he had never witnessed flashed through his mind. And then those landmarks fell rapidly away from him as the world zoomed out and five burning dots manifested in his mind's eye; they were subsequently linked via infernal lines to form an intricate symbol before fading away into nothingness as its dying embers fizzled out. A blank, buzzing state of emptiness filled the ensuing void.

What was that? Who...are you? Zenvix thought, as he resumed his grip on reality. The lady's eyes were fixated intently on him now. The prince compelled himself to stay calm. Now is not the time, he has a case to win.

Adjacent to the enigmatic woman, an all-too-familiar lady made a small wave. Zenvix blinked. Ah of course, that's the reason why she knew he was meeting Minister Zila. It was unsurprising that the most powerful sorceress of Ceil would have an esteemed seat at the council. Novita smiled in response before directing her eyes at Zila, who seemed to be at the last leg of her explanation. She yawned, having grown restless at the minister's meandering speech.

The fact that Ceil's leadership decentralized its power across the members of its council was both an advantage and disadvantage, depending on how we perceived it. If we could convert a number of members to our cause, we could influence Ceil's actions and bring a united front against Aderis's scheme. As opposed to absolute power vested within a single individual, we would be impeded if the said individual refused to be persuaded. Zenvix thought.

If only Jerius was here. His ties with Novita may well strengthen our impression with the sorceress. Hopefully we could still make an ally of her yet, and from her, we would be able to navigate the web of relationships among the council members.

The last two men to round up The Council were in stunning juxtaposition to each other. Seated with his stubby legs dangling over the chair, a white-haired man had a thick tome opened wide on his lap as he read, barely listening to the minister's words though he looked up from time to time to check if the speech was concluding soon.

His diminutive stature marked him as an abnormality by normal standards, which would have automatically incurred society's prejudice and ostracism. Yet here he was‒a member of the esteemed council. How did he even earn his place at the table? It was not a question the prince could foreseeably answer. Zenvix did not know him, but the notoriety of the man next to him, that he knew. Even without Dylas's gathered intelligence.

Gyburn. The Chief Warrior of the Half-Brother company. Alongside Bolam's Sons and the Black Vipers, the Half-Brother company formed one of the three largest mercenary companies in the region. Feared for their black-hearted pursuits in exchange for the tinkling of gold coins, these syndicates were involved in acts of degeneracy such as kidnap, looting and extortion.

The ironic revelation was, one of these syndicates served the greatest nation of order, the nation that prized civility in its repertoire of treasured values. And the syndicate's lord was now a decision-maker among the nation's highest authorities. The madness.

How did Ceil even come to terms with such a decision? Zenvix thought, as he surveyed the behemoth of a man. Clad in steel cuirass of respectable quality and donning a large two-handed sword to match his gigantic frame, the gruff-looking company lord docked an elbow to the table and slothfully rested the side of his bearded face on his palm. His gaze swept slowly across Faelynn's face, passing quickly over Zila, and finally centered on the pink-haired lady's well-endowed bosom, his eyes lingering for a long moment.

Pathetic. Zenvix almost shook his head, except it would look strange should Zila's observant eyes catch him. A clear resonant voice from his front snapped him back to attention.

"I hope we are clear now on the council's role and why your account, as with all other narratives brought before Ceil's leadership, would have to be judged fairly and comprehensively on its merits to Ceil," Minister Zila uttered.

"I am clear," the prince nodded, his eyes meeting unwaveringly with those of the minister.

"Then, let us begin."