Over the next few days, Gavran and Agora settled into the rhythm of the mansion with a grace that surprised everyone—themselves included.
Agora adapted with an effortless, fluid charm. She gravitated toward the women, spending long, sun-drenched afternoons with Iris, Selyndra, and Seraphaine. They explored the sprawling gardens, experimented with rare floral teas, and lounged on the high balconies discussing everything from complex magic theory to the baffling nuances of mortal fashion. Her twelve tails often curled around her like a living, radiant blanket, glowing with a soft, sapphire pulse as she laughed.
Gavran, conversely, found his place among the men—though "rhythm" was perhaps too rhythmic a word. He endured Vaelus's endless commentary, Dravien's dry, caustic wit, and Morvath's obsidian humor with a patience that bordered on the divine. He was a creature of silence, often retreating to the library with his wings tucked tight to read in peace.
Peace, however, was a rare vintage in the mansion of the Sages.
The air was regularly punctured by shouts, laughter, and the resonant crash of something breaking. Gavran would simply close his book, inhale a slow, measured breath, and mutter, "Silence is a luxury we cannot afford," before returning to his pages.
Yet, despite the chaos and the friction of nine monumental powers under one roof, he stayed. And he adapted.
Night fell over the estate like a velvet shroud, the twin moons casting pale, skeletal light across the polished floors. In the living room, the Sages had settled into their respective versions of rest. Eiden and Gavran sat side-by-side on the long couch, buried in thick, leather-bound tomes. A stack of histories, spell theories, and a few novels Eiden insisted were "essential experiences" sat piled on the table before them.
Vaelus, Dravien, and Morvath were huddled on the floor, locked in a heated board game fueled by deception and the occasional accusation of grand larceny. Across the room, Iris, Selyndra, and Seraphaine sipped from porcelain cups, their voices a soft murmur as they discussed the upcoming season and the peculiar behavior of the mansion's enchanted brooms.
The atmosphere was unusually serene. Until the door swung open.
Agora entered, her twelve tails trailing behind her like the luminous wake of a comet. In her hand, she held a sealed parchment. "Eiden," she said, her voice steady with curiosity. "A bird found me on the balcony. It delivered this for all of you. From King Zanders."
She placed the letter directly over the text Eiden was reading. He blinked, closed the book, and broke the deep red wax of the royal seal. He began to read aloud.
"'Dear Great Sages—or should I say, newest members of the Council. Congratulations on your ascension.'"
Vaelus grinned. "Word travels fast when you're a god."
Eiden continued, "'The five kingdoms have decided to celebrate the fall of Yajin and Jarfa. We are hosting a grand gala in my capital. Our most powerful allies will be in attendance, and we wish for the seven of you to be our guests of honor.'"
Dravien arched an eyebrow. "A festival?"
Morvath smirked. "Sounds loud."
"'On the night the second moon appears, the celebration begins. Every noble and servant has been ordered to show you the utmost respect. We would love to celebrate with you, as would the other kings who have yet to meet your acquaintance. — King Zanders.'"
Eiden lowered the letter, his gaze drifting to the moons hanging in the silk-dark sky. "The convergence happens in three nights," he said quietly.
Iris bolted upright, nearly upending her tea. "We ARE going! We absolutely have to!"
Selyndra's eyes sparkled with golden light. "A royal celebration of five kingdoms? It's a necessity."
Seraphaine clapped her hands, her mind already spinning. "The outfits! Think of the drama!"
"Think of the food," Vaelus added. "Think of the chaos," Morvath mused. "Think of the political tension," Dravien countered with a smirk. "Think of the noise," Gavran sighed. "Think of the opportunity," Agora finished, her tails swaying.
Eiden raised a hand, palm open—a quiet gesture that carried the weight of a decree. "Let's breathe for a moment," he said, his voice firm. "We will go. But first, you three—" he looked pointedly at Vaelus, Morvath, and Dravien "—need to learn how to exist in a room without causing an international incident."
The three of them froze as if struck by a paralysis spell.
"Me?" Vaelus pointed to his chest. "I'm a saint," Morvath scoffed. "Define 'appropriately,'" Dravien requested.
Eiden exhaled a long, weary breath. "These are nobles. They are… performative. They are sassy, dramatic, and they talk about everyone with an exhausting amount of flair. It's like speaking to a flock of peacocks who believe they're philosophers."
Morvath tilted his head. "So… we lie to them?"
"No," Eiden corrected. "You decorate your sentences."
Dravien nodded. "Right. Decorative lying."
Despite the warnings, the room hummed with a new, electric energy. The women were already coordinating colors that would "make the nobles faint," while Eiden spent the rest of the evening vetoing Vaelus and Morvath's suggestions for how to make people faint (which involved punching and psychological terror, respectively).
Gavran closed his book with a soft thump. "I would prefer to stay here."
"Not an option!" Iris chirped.
Gavran's wings twitched. "I knew you'd say that."
Midnight.
The mansion eventually succumbed to the quiet. The lamps dimmed to amber halos, and the air turned cool and still. Eiden walked the halls one last time before retiring.
He paused at a window overlooking the moonlit garden. Outside, Gavran had returned to his true form—a massive, white-feathered bird curled neatly in the gold-dusted grass. Beside him, Agora rested as a wolf, her fur shimmering like moonlit water, her twelve tails wrapped around her in a protective, glowing ring. They looked like creatures from a forgotten myth.
Eiden smiled and moved to the bedroom.
The girls were a sea of white silk on one side of the massive bed—Iris curled like a kitten, Selyndra poised even in sleep, and Seraphaine a chaotic tangle of hair and pillows. On the other side, the men were a sprawling mess of limbs and blankets. Vaelus, Morvath, and Dravien were already deep in sleep, chests bare, breathing in an uncoordinated rhythm.
Eiden slipped into the remaining space. Hot, he thought, the collective heat of six divine bodies acting like a furnace. He snapped his fingers. Instantly, a wave of frost-kissed air rolled through the room, chilling the sheets and softening the pillows.
Perfect.
As he settled, his mind drifted to the festival, the convergence of the two moons, and the kings. It's the perfect moment to put a ring on the six of them.
His heart gave a single, heavy thud of anticipation. He closed his eyes, only to open them again as a weight shifted onto him. Dravien, still dead to the world, had crawled across the bed to rest his head on Eiden's chest, his arms draped loosely around him like a sleepy predator claiming its territory.
Eiden blinked, adjusted his arm around him, and let his thoughts dissolve into the cool, dark peace of the night.