A week after the camp had entered the Ivory Waste of the Hidden Realm, a prearranged gathering was held within House Runefall…
The meeting chamber buzzed with restless chatter and heated arguments, they settled at the grand ceremonial table.
Beautiful seats stood arranged around it, crafted with elegant precision, their polished surfaces reflecting the pale ethereal glow bathing the room.
At its head sat the patriarch of House Runefall. Ziyon Runefall.
A man with shimmering blond hair parted neatly down the middle, exposing a broad forehead that only added to the commanding sharpness of his features. His irises, a deep crystalline blue, remained calm as he observed the gathered nobles before him.
His expression carried the stillness of a swordsman who had long since reached the absolute peak of mastery.
His physique was refined… forged with restrained strength, the kind of body that needed no display to reveal its danger.
Seated to his right was his wife—
Elsa Runefall.
The matriarch of the household possessed smooth black crown braided alabaster hair that cascaded over her shoulders like silk woven from midnight itself. Her eyes were darker than her husband's, deep sapphire pools carrying an unnerving sharpness beneath their elegance.
To his left sat their eldest daughter—
Jessica Runefall.
Pitch-black hair braided carefully down her back, striking blue eyes inherited from her father, and a beauty that effortlessly matched the prestige of her bloodline. The house of Runefall were all dressed in dazzling royal blue attires. The ladies donned elegant black long blouses woven with delicate floral patterns, while the patriarch stood apart in royal blue trousers and a striking white robe marked by dark blue sigils curling like living flames, the outer garment falling over most of the refined blue long sleeves beneath, fastened neatly with polished buttons.
Standing behind them were two of the household's most trusted retainers.
The family butler. A middle aged man with, gray hair and a van Dyke beard.
And a personal guard. A sharp looking young man with dark hair.
Both dressed in immaculate formal suits, though the hunter's broad frame and battle-hardened physique made it impossible to mistake his profession.
Ahead of them sat the invited noble figures, each occupying their assigned seats alongside their personal attendants.
Behind the gathering stood the chamber doors…
Massive black siril doors, their dark presence sharply contrasting against the pristine white brilliance of the room.
They remained firmly shut.
Amidst the discussion… a man leaned forward.
Thomas Haze.
His lustrous green hair shimmered faintly beneath the chamber lights, resembling strands kissed by sunlight itself. His figure was wrapped in dark sleeves, lined with ivory accents that stood out with quiet elegance. Below, black trousers clung neatly to his legs, crisp, well-kept, and maintained with meticulous care. His face was twisted with worry.
No… Something closer to fear. He is one of the Provincial Governor of the high houses… Serving under House Runefall's authority across Alestria. Thomas finally voiced what had clearly been weighing on his mind.
"Monarch… did my son had to go through that?"
His tone sharpened.
"We've served House Runefall loyally for generations. If the Monarch had allowed it… we could have simply used the Runefall family's personal gate."
The complaint had barely left his lips before the hunter standing behind Ziyon stepped forward.
His voice cut through the room.
"Know your place, Mr. Haze."
Thomas froze.
Disbelief flashed across his face.
But then—
Ziyon slowly raised a single hand.
The hunter immediately fell silent.
The Monarch's expression remained unchanged as he spoke calmly.
"Tom…"
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
"Are you worried for your son… Darrin?"
He looked for a moment with a deafening silence… then spoke:
"Or perhaps… something else."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"That Core…" Before he could continue—
Thomas suddenly jolted to his feet.
"Sir!"
What—
His own reaction caught him off guard.
It was as though his body had moved before his mind could stop it.
Then—
A cold voice echoed through the chamber.
"Sit down, Thomas."
His eyes darted around the room… they eventually settled on Elsa. The Lady of House Runefall… A chill ran down his spine, as her gaze pinned him back to his sit.
Swallowing hard, he slowly sat back down.
Another voice entered the discussion.
A stout figure with a braided beard, and umber eye core folded his arms.
Gustuff…
A dwarf from Frost Haven, one of the northern kingdoms within the continent of Thalmra. He wor brown leather attire with a robe of a sygil spear as it's crest. Beside him sat his invitee…
She was a striking dwarf woman, blessed with radiant skin untouched by blemish and flowing golden curls that framed her face elegantly. Her mesmerizing brown eyes shone with warmth and wisdom, she wore a white long gown and the soft curve of her uniquely curled ears added an enchanting beauty that made her presence difficult to ignore.
"Yes, Tom. Sit back down." He sighed. His voice grumpy and cracked.
"You are not the only one in this room."
His heavy gaze moved across the chamber.
"We also have someone there. A young mage."
Then another noble spoke… Damian Beaumont, a beastfolk noble.
His eyes were an unnaturally sharp icy blue, resembling the predatory stare of a titan hawk. Two elegant black sigil-like horns curved upward from his head in beautiful spirals, while strange natural markings decorated the skin beneath his eyes. He was clad in black, his garments were etched with ornate golden designs flowing across the fabric like ancient runes. Covering them was an imposing robe, proudly marked with the crest of a mighty dragon.
At his side stood his attendant, a towering man with a rugged, bear-like physique, traces of thick fur-like hair visible across his exposed skin. His expression was fierce and unyielding, radiating raw intensity. He wore garments similar to those of his Monarch, Damian, sharing the same refined style though lacking the grandeur reserved for royalty.
His expression darkened.
"My daughter is there as well."
For the first time—
Ziyon looked mildly irritated.
He leaned back and spoke casually.
"Gustuff…"
His gaze drifted lazily toward the dwarf.
"Don't you have gates to close?"
Silence fell.
"Making sure monsters don't break free from your labyrinths."
The temperature in the room shifted.
Ziyon's eyes sharpened.
"What I understand is that your nation has many issues concerning labyrinth breaches."
A faint smile formed on his lips.
"I would hate for some depraved creature to slip through because of your… lack of responsibility."
Gustuff immediately paled.
'What the hell is this maniac saying…? Bringing up these dire and delicate matters...!'
Then—
Ziyon turned.
"And you, Damian." Damian frowned.
"What?"
The patriarch of the household smiled softly. A dangerous smile… Blue eyes gleaming with quiet menace.
"Why didn't you allow your daughter, access to your family's personal gate?"
Silence.
The room grew tense, and then voices erupted. Several nobles began arguing at once… Questioning one another, if the gate had been under their supervision…
How had such an incident happened?
Were they not supposed to constantly monitor and maintain it?
Most had greed… and curiosities in their question, they wanted to use the chance to prier into the kingdom of Alestria's personal affairs.
Their hidden motives led them asking… Do you misuse your resources… or what?
The chamber descended into chaos.
He looked at them.
"Bastards… they are doing this in my kingdom."
Strands of rage surfaced across his face. Elsa glanced at him and gently touched his arm; he looked back at her, and for a moment his expression softened with understanding.
Then he coughed, signaling that he wanted to speak. Several were still reluctant to yield the floor. The House of Night remained silent throughout.
Monarch Stella Night, of the Kingdom of Virelia within the Cadrion Continent—the closest Nation to Noctyra where Alestria stood—watched everything unfold without a word. A beautiful dark-skinned woman with sharp, irritable features, her eyes remained fixed on the Runefall Patriarch with quiet intent.
She was dressed in a wine-red, figure-hugging gown that clung elegantly to her form, its rich color making her presence all the more captivating. Beside her stood a young man in black, sleeveless attire that left much of his dark skin exposed. His dreadlocked hair fell in carefully maintained braids, while a slender chain earring gleamed from his left ear. He remained silent, observing everything with quiet intensity.
Ziyon finally spoke.
"The thing is, most of you here are Monarchs. Apart from my provincial governors, you all have personal gates that can access the Burst Realm. So why did you send your children through my gate…?"
He frowned.
"I can understand Thomas' anger, but you all know the consequences of doing that."
The noise in the room softened, though tension remained thick. Several were already searching for a response—carefully measured, politically safe.
No one wanted other kingdoms digging into their affairs. Every word spoken here had to be chosen with precision.
Then, suddenly, Stella Night spoke—an attempt to halt the rising tension before someone said something irreparable.
"I believe we all have our personal reasons."
She didn't know what the reason the other Monarchs had but her's… was what had happened. The Night family were a battleborn Bloodline… so she had hoped for this kind of situation.
So her son could punch anything that got in his way. Why not guide a battle loving child well… even beast that loves the hunt must be guided. Left in endless slaughter, it forgets the prey… and begins to tear at the world itself. A safe corridor was an insult in her eyes. She would rather see him dragged through Infernal ordeal itself, teeth clenched against every step.
Her eyes revealed a faint dark glow of burning black flames. Her heart skipped, tainted by an unwelcome thought. But she just smiled… curving her lips a little to hide it.
Ziyon frowned at her.
"And what would those be?"
His gaze shifted briefly toward his wife… then his daughter. What he was about to say would not just prove a point—it would wound pride.
He spoke anyway.
"Even my son…"
He hesitated, then steadied himself.
"The one people so openly mock behind my back… the one they call a good-for-nothing, unworthy of inheriting our family's flame…"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"But I still sent him through my personal gate."
They all likely believed it was protection—an attempt to avoid deaths within the family. To them, the young master was no war-born monster… at least, not beyond the narrow reach of what they knew, and the rumors they so casually blurted out.
Thomas frowned sharply.
"Sir, you sent the disapoi—" He cut himself off, correcting his words. "You allowed young Lord Carlos to use it… so why not my son?"
The room erupted into renewed murmurs and argument. Gustaff thought bitterly, How do you get out of this one now? Others nodded in agreement, voicing fragmented support. Deep down, however, they all knew the truth—tradition dictated that the main household's gates were meant for the main bloodline. But under the pressure of the situation, no one had dared say it outright.
The Patriarch of Runefall's expression darkened as he looked at Thomas for derailing the discussion and twisting its direction.
Before he could shut the man down—
A sharp knock echoed at the grand doors.
The guards outside opened them.
A young man stepped in, dressed in a white office-style shirt and black trousers. He quickly announced that contact had been established with Noah—the B-rank Hunter from the guard units.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Different reactions rippled through the Monarchs: agitation, surprise, anticipation… and for a few, indifference. Whatever personal politics had filled the room moments ago now bent toward a new focal point.
They moved out at once, heading toward the Alestria Hunter Headquarters—the Burst Gate Maintenance Sector—to meet the faculty… As for Noah's excuses, they would not matter. He would be blamed regardless. That was nobility.