After dessert, the grand feast loosened into a roaming reception. The heads of branches scattered across the garden, talking in pairs or small clusters, their laughter rising with the sweet notes of violins. Everywhere servants wove between them with trays of wine, champagne, and silver platters of delicacies.
It felt less like a formal supper and more like a noble gathering — a courtly reception cloaked in candlelight in the abbey's garden.
Azazel stayed close to the Grandmaster, moving almost like his shadow. He felt safer there, though not at ease. Juan, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy himself too much, drifting from servant to servant, sampling oysters from Brittany, spiced lamb from Constantinople, and candied fruits from Venice.
Wardens approached Aurelius in turn, bowing slightly before whispering their questions.
"How did you hide your pupil so long, Grandmaster?"
"He must be exceptional to be worth such secrecy…"
"We will be watching closely when the selection begins in two days. Surely he will not tarnish the honor of his teacher."
Their words carried expectation heavy as iron.
Azazel stood rigid, his palms moist inside his gloves. And then—
A voice burst suddenly in his mind, clear as a bell.
[So… You decided to become his disciple, didn't you, boy?!]
Azazel almost jumped, his breath catching.
"Grandfather?!"
A flood of questions poured from him, desperate and unfiltered. Why had Johann been silent? Why only now? What is hiding from him? Was Aurelius telling the truth? What's even happening?
His grandfather only chuckled, low and amused.
[You're asking the wrong questions, Azazel. Right now, you should be thinking about—]
A sharp poke in his side dragged him out of the conversation with the Codex.
"Sir! Excuse me — your name?"
The voice was louder than it should have been, edged with irritation. Azazel blinked, realizing the man had been asking him once already.
He turned — and his blood ran cold.
Before him stood Basil, the Warden of the Constantinople branch.
Panic knotted in Azazel's chest. His hand trembled faintly, his mind blank. A thousand memories flashed .
He hadn't thought once about what new name he should use.
He could not say Azazel.
Yet the silence was stretching, and Basil's eyes narrowed with suspicion.