Avalon was already moving before the nobles were ready to be seen. Servants crossed the pale courtyards with hot water, breakfast trays, polished boots, folded coats, sealed letters, and the strained silence of people trying not to be blamed for anything before the Grand Radiant Auction began. Pages ran between residences with leather message cases tucked under their arms, auction clerks unlocked side offices with tired eyes, and guards changed posts beneath holy lamps that still glowed faintly even after sunrise. The city looked clean in the morning light, all white roofs, gold crosses, marble bridges, saint statues, canal water, and banners stirring above the district, but Noctis had spent enough time inside its rooms to know that clean did not mean harmless.
He stood near the warded window of the Church-controlled residence, still wearing Ren Arclight's face. The white-and-gold armor fit smoothly across his shoulders, the hooded shroud kept the upper half of his face shadowed, and the pale silver-white hair rested where the disguise needed it to rest. The faint golden aura behind him remained folded and subdued, visible enough that servants who glimpsed him would remember a high templar, not strong enough to make them linger and stare. Nocturne and Ruin stayed inside Blood Storage Space, along with the enchanted gold taken from the Five-Star Fortress and the compact treasures already gathered.
Cardinal Aurevan stood at the desk with the morning messages arranged into separate stacks. Noble greetings were placed on the left, temple requests in the center, knight-order courtesies on the right, and merchant concerns in a thinner pile near the inkstone. Almost every note was directed to Aurevan first. Ren Arclight appeared only in careful side phrasing as the high-templar escort attached to His Eminence's sealed party, which was exactly how the public role should look. Aurevan was the door everyone wanted to knock on, and Noctis was the armed shadow standing beside that door.
Noctis did not speak aloud. The room was private, but private in Avalon still meant wards, staff, records, and too many ways for a careless phrase to become a question later. He used the channels left by Binding Stare instead, sending his voice into Aurevan's mind with the same calm directness he would have used if they were standing beside each other in an empty hall.
Aurevan, accept the greetings. Decline the invitations. Push meetings to later unless I say otherwise.
Aurevan's hand moved across the first paper without hesitation. He signed a polite refusal to a dinner request from House Orvain, marked a temple inquiry for later review, and instructed the attendant outside that His Eminence's morning schedule was restricted under sealed auction business. He did not look dazed or unnatural while doing it. He looked like a cardinal handling a busy morning, and that was the entire point.
A note from House Caelbrin arrived while servants were collecting the breakfast tray from the outer room. It was written by Edric's clerk, not Edric himself, full of proper respect for Cardinal Aurevan and a little too much pride hidden beneath the offer of assistance. Noctis felt Edric through the binding thread like a pressure at the edge of awareness: fear buried under excitement, greed wrapped around the memory of last night, and the private belief that he had been given access to something other houses lacked. That was useful. Edric Caelbrin was easiest when his own vanity did most of the work.
Mirelle Valcyr's note came next. Her wording was cleaner. She confirmed House Valcyr's willingness to cooperate with any auction security review related to old holy-war relics, defensive lots, and chapel barrier materials, but she did not overreach or make the message feel urgent. She mentioned Ren Arclight only as part of Aurevan's party, not as someone she was trying to flatter directly. Through her binding thread, Noctis felt her caution holding steady under the command, not resisting it, but organizing around it in a way that made her more useful than the others.
The Veyr townhouse sent no note at all. Noctis accepted that as progress. Rowan had probably woken with a headache, shame, and the serious new belief that staying quiet made him look mature. For someone like him, silence was almost a skill.
Aurevan finished the morning replies, sealed them, and stood ready. Noctis sent the next instruction through the private channel.
Aurevan, lead. I'll stay with you as your escort. Let people come to you, not me.
The cardinal adjusted his sleeves, lifted the sealed folder from the desk, and left the chamber with Noctis following slightly behind and to his right. The residence staff lowered their heads in the hall. A steward opened the door to the courtyard. Two Church guards straightened when Aurevan passed, then stiffened further when they saw Ren Arclight's hood and armor behind him. Noctis gave them nothing to react to, which made them more careful than a glare would have.
The route to the Grand Radiant Auction Hall was crowded but controlled. Noble carriages rolled along separate lanes while temple delegations walked beneath attendants holding white parasols. Knight captains arrived in tighter groups, less colorful than the nobles but much more aware of exits, guard positions, and storage doors. Merchants entered with ledgers, payment tokens, and faces trained to show nothing until money forced them to. Children leaned from carriage windows until tutors tugged them back, and old noblewomen watched the crowd through veils with eyes sharp enough to cut softer people apart.
The auction hall itself looked like a cathedral built by people who had decided relics deserved better seating than worshippers. Seven arched entrances led into different lanes for nobles, temples, knight orders, merchants, Church authorities, sellers, and restricted appraisers. Tall banners hung from the towers in red, white, and gold, each one embroidered with scripture about stewardship, purity, righteous exchange, and other words people used when they wanted wealth to sound holy. Templars stood at the arches, payment clerks checked sealed authority crystals, and ward-priests monitored every case, carriage, box, and storage route with the tight expressions of people expecting someone rich to try something stupid.
The chief auction steward hurried toward Aurevan when they reached the Church authority lane. He bowed deeply to the cardinal, glanced once at Noctis, then immediately looked back to Aurevan. Good instincts. Noctis sent a short instruction into Aurevan's mind while the steward began his greeting.
Aurevan, ask about payment verification and where the lots are held after they're sold.
Aurevan listened to the steward's welcome with a patient face. "Before we enter, confirm the payment verification crystals and the post-sale holding rooms. I want no confusion once the sealed lots begin later."
The steward straightened as if grateful to be asked something important. He explained that morning lots would pass through the side transfer corridor into temporary holding before release, while higher-value lots in the second session would use the lower processing lane with extra witnesses. Noctis used the extra time to scan the arriving participants. Edric Caelbrin came through the noble lane with his clerk close behind, already looking annoyed at someone else's carriage placement. Mirelle Valcyr entered under a pale parasol with two relic guards and a steward, calm enough that even her caution looked like good breeding. Rowan Veyr stepped down from a townhouse coach with two companions, refused a comment from one of them, and kept his eyes forward with the stiff seriousness of a man trying to look like last night improved him.
Baron Telwick, one of the minor bound buyers, took his place in the lower noble rows with the mild anxiety of a man surrounded by people who could outspend his house without noticing. Lady Mariel Oswin, the young heiress who had tried to stab Noctis with a hairpin before Binding Stare caught her, entered with an older aunt and two household guards. Master Harrow Vell, a private collector of failed repair notes and strange manuals, passed into the scholarly side lane with ink-stained fingers and a battered leather case. In the merchant gallery, Pellan Orthis of the Argent Ledger Consortium sat with a ledger already open, his assistants placed behind him like tools he might reach for later.
Noctis entered behind Aurevan and let the hall settle around him. The inside was broad, circular, and layered with money. Noble boxes rose behind carved screens and warded glass. Temple balconies curved along the northern side beneath suspended scripture lamps. Knight order seating was closer to the stage, where weapon lots and martial manuals could be viewed without leaning too far forward. Merchant galleries spread along the southern tier, packed with appraisers, accountants, agents, and old men who measured a room by where ignorance gathered.
Aurevan's authority box sat high enough to see the platform and low enough not to look like a bidder's throne. Noctis stood beside his seat instead of taking an attendant chair. It looked right. A high-templar escort did not lounge while his cardinal sat; he watched the stage, the exits, the hall, and everyone who thought a quick glance at him would go unnoticed.
The first lots were exactly the kind of things Noctis expected Avalon to sell first: pretty, famous, and mostly useless.
A saint's ceremonial pendant rose through the central platform beneath a cone of pale light. The herald spoke warmly about shrine consecrations, old blessings, minor miracles, and the saint who had supposedly worn it during three public rites. Omni Eyes found weak residue, good goldwork, and almost no practical value beyond status. It opened at fifty enchanted gold coins and sold for one hundred eighteen enchanted gold coins, which was ridiculous enough to tell Noctis the room was warmed up properly. Enchanted gold was not ordinary coinage. Every piece could be melted, refined, inscribed, and used in relic frames, ward anchors, weapon channels, formation joints, and scripture cores, yet nobles still spent it on a pendant because a dead saint's name made them feel closer to history.
Noctis moved no one for the pendant.
The cracked sword of Captain Marcell came next, a long blade with a famous story and dead enchantment channels. The herald described the captain's last stand in enough detail to make several young nobles sit straighter. Rowan's attention shifted almost immediately. He wanted the sword because someone else wanted it, and because men like Rowan were always in danger of confusing being seen with being useful.
Noctis sent a direct instruction through Rowan's binding thread.
Rowan, leave the sword. It's junk with a name on it.
Rowan's hand stopped near his bidding marker. Across the knight-side boxes, another young noble smiled at him, clearly hoping for a public contest. Rowan's heartbeat jumped, but Noctis did not need to guide the rest. The order was already lodged deep enough.
The rival noble fought another bidder to two hundred twenty-eight enchanted gold coins and won with the satisfied face of a man who had bought a story with a handle attached to it. Rowan looked stiff for a few breaths, then settled into a colder kind of pride because the command had turned restraint into something he could admire in himself. He had not won the sword, but he had also not wasted Veyr money on a dead relic with a famous owner. That was a better cover than anything Noctis could have staged for him.
The next few lots passed without Noctis touching the threads. A blessed banner from the Western Chapel War sold for one hundred forty-two enchanted gold coins after two temple delegations made doctrine look suspiciously like spite. An ornamental reliquary of Saint Edris climbed to ninety-seven enchanted gold coins because its casing was beautiful even though the relic inside was weak. A minor healing charm of Ilyra's Mercy opened at twenty enchanted gold coins and sold for sixty-three enchanted gold coins after an elderly noblewoman decided it would look sentimental in a family chapel. The hall paid well for appearances, and Noctis was happy to let them.
The first useful item looked dull enough that half the room stopped paying attention before the herald finished reading the description.
The cracked battlefield formation core rested inside a plain warded case, gray, damaged, and small enough to fit in one palm. The herald called it a support node recovered from a ruined chapel-fort, unstable in active deployment and suitable for repair study, scrap use, or historical research. Most nobles dismissed it at once. A few merchants looked at it for material value. Noctis saw the damaged outer ring, the exposed inner scripture channels, and the support logic beneath the cracks. The core had once distributed blessing stability, morale reinforcement, and low-grade suppression over a defensive line. Broken, it taught more than an intact one would have.
He opened Telwick's channel.
Telwick, buy the formation core. Your limit is fourteen enchanted gold coins.
Telwick looked down at his catalogue as though weighing a minor estate purchase. The herald opened at eight enchanted gold coins. No one moved during the first call. A merchant in the southern gallery bid nine enchanted gold coins with a bored lift of his marker, probably intending to strip the core for parts. Telwick waited until the second call and raised.
"Fourteen enchanted gold coins," his steward announced.
The merchant looked at the case, decided it was no longer cheap enough to be fun, and withdrew. The gavel fell. Telwick won the core, and the hall barely noticed.
That was the sort of purchase Noctis liked.
The next item came as a scripture bundle misfiled as devotional copies from a shrine armory. The herald described faded prayers, old calligraphy, local military tradition, and preserved devotional margins. Omni Eyes saw the copied prayer structure hiding firing inscriptions, bolt-consecration rhythms, ammunition blessing marks, and shorthand notes used by shrine armorers who had wanted technical records to survive under religious language. Noctis immediately opened Mariel's channel.
Mariel, buy the scripture bundle. Don't bid past twenty-one enchanted gold coins.
Mariel's eyes lowered to the catalogue. Her aunt leaned toward her, and Mariel answered softly enough that Noctis caught only tone, not words, but the older woman nodded. Mariel's steward bid ten enchanted gold coins. A scholar bid twelve enchanted gold coins. Mariel waited through the next call, then lifted her marker again.
"Twenty-one enchanted gold coins," her steward said.
The scholar withdrew. The gavel fell, and the ammunition blessing records went under Mariel's household account as old devotional copies. Noctis made a note to have those moved carefully later. Holy projectile logic would matter for Nocturne, Ruin, fallen clergy firearms, and any future unit that needed to shoot something blessed without dying from its own ammunition.
The morning continued in that uneven rhythm: useless things dressed beautifully, useful things hidden under bad descriptions, and buyers pretending money was judgment. Noctis kept his face still under the hood and used the controlled buyers only when the item deserved it. Aurevan received occasional messages and procedural questions, and whenever someone lingered too close to the authority box, Noctis used the cardinal as a screen.
Aurevan, ask about the storage timing.
Aurevan asked. The official answered. Noctis used the conversation as cover to direct another purchase.
The Greywood Demon-Tracker Field Notes rose in a cracked leather folder, described as ranger company records from corrupted forests and abandoned villages. The herald admitted they were incomplete and unpleasantly practical, useful for estate patrols, hunter families, or frontier scholars. That made nobles less interested and serious scouts more interested. Noctis wanted them for Rengar's people, fortress patrols, and anyone responsible for recognizing infiltration before it reached a gate.
Telwick, take the tracker notes. Don't go over forty-six enchanted gold coins.
Telwick bid twenty enchanted gold coins. A lean hunter-guild agent countered at thirty-five enchanted gold coins. Telwick consulted his steward with a pained expression and raised to forty-six enchanted gold coins. The hunter agent shook his head and withdrew. The gavel fell, and Telwick looked unhappy enough that a nearby minor noble smiled at him in sympathy. His own personality did the cover work without needing Noctis to paint each motion for him.
The Sevenfold Archer's Sight Manual drew more attention. It arrived in a narrow dark-wood case, pages protected behind fine scripture threads, and the herald spoke of breath control, distance reading, wind correction, target prediction, and battlefield sight discipline developed by an old archer company. Archer guild representatives leaned forward. So did a few knight houses with serious estate guards. Noctis wanted the manual not only for archers, but for Nocturne and Ruin. Good sight discipline, target prediction, and breath timing were not limited to bows.
He opened Mariel's channel again.
Mariel, get the Archer's Sight Manual. Keep it under ninety enchanted gold coins.
Mariel's steward opened at forty-five enchanted gold coins. The archer guild agent countered at fifty enchanted gold coins. A small estate bid sixty enchanted gold coins, then dropped out at sixty-eight enchanted gold coins after the guild raised again. Mariel waited, her posture calm beside her aunt. The guild reached seventy enchanted gold coins, and Mariel raised to eighty-eight enchanted gold coins. The guild agent stared at the case for a few seconds, then withdrew. The gavel fell. Her aunt looked pleased, probably thinking the girl had made a practical household investment instead of chasing a pretty relic. Noctis preferred that version of the story too.
After two more prestige lots, the Fragmented High-Templar Guard Manual came up.
The case was plain, the binding cracked, and several pages had been replaced with preservation sheets where water damage had eaten the original diagrams. The herald called it incomplete, historically valuable, and unsuitable as a full training inheritance without reconstruction. Some knight order representatives watched it with interest but not urgency. To them, missing chapters meant missing value. To Noctis, the visible diagrams were enough. Omni Eyes traced aura-pressure guard principles, narrow-corridor footwork, shield-line breathing, anti-demon close-combat transitions, and old high-templar habits for surviving clawed enemies stronger than the user.
Rowan stirred before Noctis gave the order. This time, the desire was useful.
Rowan, you're up. Get that manual. Don't bid past eighty-two enchanted gold coins.
Rowan waited. A small knight order placed the first bid at forty enchanted gold coins. Rowan raised to fifty-five enchanted gold coins. The knight order countered at sixty-eight enchanted gold coins, then glanced toward the Veyr box to see whether the young noble would lose his nerve or overpay. Rowan did neither. He waited until the second call, then raised to eighty-two enchanted gold coins. The knight order withdrew. The gavel fell, and Rowan won the manual at less than half the price of the dead sword he had wanted earlier.
His companions looked surprised, then impressed, which made Rowan sit even straighter. He was still proud, but now the pride sat in a shape Noctis could use. That was better than forcing him to act humble. A controlled man who still looked like himself drew fewer questions.
The Purifying Bolt Scripture followed later in the same session. The spell itself was not rare among clergy, but the copy carried old battlefield annotations: shortened casting routes, correction notes for fast demons, and stability adjustments for firing through interference. Noctis wanted the spell structure for fallen clergy and for comparing holy projectile formation against blood pistol empowerment. It did not need a major buyer.
Mariel, get Purifying Bolt. Your limit is forty-four enchanted gold coins.
Mariel's steward bid twenty-five enchanted gold coins. A lesser temple clerk raised to thirty enchanted gold coins. Mariel waited, then took it at forty-four enchanted gold coins. The clerk withdrew rather than make a scene over a mid-tier scripture. Another quiet win.
The Sainted Crossbow Mechanism Notes came three lots later. Publicly, they were maintenance records for heavy crossbows, bolt blessing, reload timing, and armor-piercing angles. Privately, they were a bridge between human projectile discipline and the kind of firearms work Noctis wanted for his fallen clergy. He opened Harrow Vell's channel.
Harrow, buy the crossbow notes. Stop at sixty-three enchanted gold coins.
Harrow bid exactly as instructed. A craftsman countered at forty enchanted gold coins, and Harrow waited long enough to look irritated before raising to sixty-three enchanted gold coins. The craftsman withdrew. Harrow won and rubbed his forehead like a man who had just paid too much for a habit he could not break.
Pellan Orthis did not care that Harrow had won a strange bundle of old crossbow notes. Buyers came to auctions for strange things all the time, and the Argent Ledger Consortium made money by turning strange interests into clean settlements. What mattered to Pellan was that the account cleared, the consignor received the proper percentage, the claim slip matched the correct storage shelf, and the delivery route did not embarrass the auction house before the week ended. He marked the sale in his ledger, gave one instruction to an assistant beside him, and moved on to the next line.
Noctis watched him anyway.
Pellan's usefulness had nothing to do with suspicion. The man had access. His assistants moved between merchant seating, clerk desks, claim counters, appraisal rooms, seller corridors, and post-sale holding areas with the ease of people who belonged behind the visible parts of the auction. One assistant carried consignor confirmations. Another checked delivery notes. A third copied settlement numbers into a narrow ledger meant for private estate consignments. Pellan did not know Noctis existed behind Ren Arclight's hood, but he knew where sold items went, which sellers had supplied them, which estates still had private collections, and which lots had been held back for later negotiation.
That made him worth taking after the auction.
The Radiant Bulwark Formation Manual came up near the end of the first session, and this one needed to land with Mirelle. The herald described it as a defensive formation record used by temple guards during demon raids, covering shield-line rotation, civilian protection, wounded-person extraction, fallback spacing, and barrier positioning. It was practical, not glamorous. That made it valuable.
Noctis opened Mirelle's channel.
Mirelle, take the Bulwark Manual. Keep it under one hundred thirty enchanted gold coins.
Telwick entered first at sixty-five enchanted gold coins, moving on his own interest in estate-defense scraps before the price passed what his house could justify. A temple guard representative raised to eighty enchanted gold coins. Telwick answered at ninety-two enchanted gold coins and looked uncomfortable. Mirelle's steward entered at one hundred ten enchanted gold coins, smooth and calm, which made the purchase look like Valcyr family defense interest rather than sudden opportunity. The temple guard representative went to one hundred twenty enchanted gold coins.
Mirelle waited through the call and then raised to one hundred thirty enchanted gold coins. The temple guard representative hesitated, checked with a senior attendant, then withdrew. The gavel fell, and House Valcyr won the manual. It looked planned. It looked normal. It looked like exactly the kind of thing a careful defensive house might buy during a public first session.
The Breath of the Unbroken Gate came after another decorative lot, and Noctis took it with Telwick. It was a stamina and pain-control breathing method for infantry holding gates during sieges, too plain for wealthy collectors and too useful for Noctis to ignore. Fortress guards, fallen clergy, converted templars, and anyone holding a choke point would benefit from it.
Telwick, get the breathing manual. Don't bid past sixty-six enchanted gold coins.
Telwick opened at thirty enchanted gold coins. A small guard company agent pushed him to fifty enchanted gold coins, then sixty enchanted gold coins. Telwick went to sixty-six enchanted gold coins and stopped. The agent withdrew with a sour look, and Telwick won while looking as if the number physically hurt him. Noctis approved of the result. The man's nerves were already a better cover than any forced performance.
The Failed Relic Repair Commentary was the last low-tier item Noctis cared about before the break. The herald almost apologized while presenting it: incomplete notes from a retired shrine artificer, hard to verify, full of shorthand, mostly theoretical. Nobles ignored it. Most merchants ignored it. Omni Eyes saw scripture-channel replacement logic, holy-metal reinforcement notes, relic-frame repair principles, and several failed ideas that could be much more useful once stripped of Church assumptions.
Harrow, buy the repair commentary. Don't go past twenty-seven enchanted gold coins.
Harrow opened at twelve enchanted gold coins. A merchant agent raised to eighteen enchanted gold coins. Harrow waited, sighed, and raised to twenty-seven enchanted gold coins. The merchant laughed softly and withdrew. Harrow won the commentary with the miserable face of a man overpaying for scraps, which was perfect because it was also mostly true from everyone else's perspective.
The first session ended near midday with a chime from the suspended scripture lamps and a formal blessing over the recorded bids. The hall loosened without becoming disordered. Nobles moved toward dining rooms and private lounges, temple delegates headed for prayer chambers, merchants gathered in small clusters to compare notes while pretending they were not lying, and servants hurried through rear corridors with trays, wine, fresh ink, folded napkins, and claim slips. Clerks carried winning-bid confirmations to payment stations, appraisers reset the stage wards, and templars escorted the purchased cases toward temporary holding rooms.
Noctis kept the break simple.
Telwick, pay for your lots. Don't meet the others.
Telwick entered a side corridor with his steward and handled the first confirmation desk, still muttering about repair costs as if the morning had gone a little too far for his budget.
Mariel, stay with your aunt until the second session.
Mariel sat near a windowed lounge and let her aunt speak with another older noblewoman about household education, guard discipline, and the foolishness of spending enchanted gold on decorative relics. Her purchases sounded sensible in that conversation, which meant no extra cover was needed.
Rowan, no wine. Stay with your group.
Rowan refused a cup from one of his companions and took bread instead. When they teased him, he said he wanted a clear head for the sealed session, and the words sounded stiff because Rowan himself was stiff, not because Noctis had shaped them. One of his companions laughed, then put his own cup down half-finished.
Mirelle, send your steward for the claim slip. Then stay where people expect you to be.
Mirelle's steward moved toward the confirmation desk at an unhurried pace. Mirelle remained behind a privacy screen with her guards nearby, speaking only when necessary and giving no one a reason to think her morning had gone differently than planned.
Harrow, claim the notes. Keep to the scholar side.
Harrow did exactly that, complaining softly to a familiar merchant about old artificer shorthand and how he had probably bought another headache. The complaint sounded natural because it was the kind of thing Harrow would have said even without the binding.
Aurevan remained the busiest public piece. He received Caelbrin's formal greeting with the right amount of distance, blessed two officials because refusing would have looked stranger than agreeing, delayed a temple concern about storage priority, and kept the chief steward occupied with a question about afternoon transfer procedures. Noctis did not explain why any of that mattered. Aurevan did not need the larger picture. He only needed to perform the role given to him, and he did it well.
During the break, Pellan remained near the settlement clerks rather than the noble lounges. He spoke with a delivery officer, checked two claim ledgers, and sent an assistant toward the private consignor wing with a sealed note. Noctis followed the assistant's route with Sense Pulse until the man disappeared behind a staff door near the eastern corridor. That path mattered more than anything Pellan might have said in the hall.
The Argent Ledger Consortium had its hands in more than public bidding. Pellan's people knew which items were public catalogue lots, which ones had private backup buyers, which sellers could be approached after the auction, and which old families were using the Grand Radiant Auction to clear vault space without admitting they needed money. The man did not need to suspect anything to become useful. He only needed access to paperwork that Noctis wanted.
When the second-session bell rang, the hall changed. People returned to their boxes with sharper attention. The morning had been minor relics, practical manuals, damaged items, and prestige bait, but the afternoon belonged to high-value lots, old bloodline tools, private chapel relics, inheritance devices, sealed martial records, and items dangerous enough to make ward-priests tighten their hands around their staffs. The stage lights shifted from pale gold to a denser white. Two additional templars took position near the lower processing lane, and the herald returned wearing gloves inscribed to the wrist.
Noctis felt every bound buyer sharpen in a different way. Caelbrin wanted whatever bloodline item appeared next before he even knew what it was. Rowan sat straighter, disciplined but eager. Mirelle closed her fan and watched the stage with calm attention. Telwick looked nervous because higher prices meant higher risk. Mariel reread the catalogue margin. Harrow leaned forward despite trying to look uninterested. Aurevan sat in public composure, ready to smooth a path, answer a question, or block unnecessary attention the moment Noctis gave him a reason.
The floor beneath the central platform opened, and a sealed case rose through a lattice of stronger holy light. Inside rested a long needle-like instrument of pale gold and dark crystal, slender as a finger, its tip sealed inside a bead of old blood that had not dried despite the age around it. The herald waited until the scripture bands tightened around the case before he spoke.
"The Aurelian Inheritance Needle," he announced.
The noble tiers quieted fast.
Omni Eyes pierced the outer glow and found bloodline compatibility arrays, relic-attunement channels, holy-vessel testing logic, and enough hidden structure to make the item far more important than the morning scraps. This was not something to grab carelessly. This was the kind of tool old families used to decide which blood could carry power and which heirs were only names on paper.
Noctis opened the channels to every controlled buyer at once, his voice calm and plain inside their heads.
Everyone wait.
The herald announced the opening price at five hundred enchanted gold coins, and across the hall, Caelbrin, Mirelle, Rowan, Telwick, Mariel, Harrow, and Aurevan all stayed exactly where Noctis wanted them.