One by one, the nobles of the Moonshade Family stepped forward, their earlier confidence still present on the surface, though beneath it there was a quiet tension that none of them could fully hide. The massive clawed hands loomed before them, ancient and unmoving, yet filled with a presence that made even the most composed among them feel as if they were standing before something that could see through every layer of their being.
The first noble drew a slow breath before stepping into the curved palm of the stone hand. The surface beneath his feet was cold, yet it pulsed faintly, as if it were alive in a way that did not belong to flesh. He sat down as instructed, trying to maintain dignity, trying to ignore the dozens of eyes watching him.
Achilor raised his hand slightly.
"Drop your blood onto the fingers," he said calmly.
