The great hall of the De Nivaria mansion stretched wide, its high ceiling supported by pillars carved with waves and sea serpents. Tapestries of pale blue and silver lined the walls, reminders that this house ruled the coast as firmly as it did the land.

The heirs followed behind their elders as protocol demanded. Noel kept pace beside Elena, Marcus, and Clara while Albrecht led the way at the front, his iron posture unyielding. Behind him walked Lady Mirelle, Lady Serina, and—further back—Kael, Damon, and Sylvette.

The three siblings, who had already exchanged greetings with Noel in the courtyard, broke away once inside the hall, moving to greet acquaintances from other houses. Their polite words blended quickly into the low murmur of conversation that filled the chamber. Noel noted it only in passing. He wasn't here to linger on family politics.

He stayed close to Elena, her presence a steady warmth at his side. Marcus leaned back casually, exchanging a grin with Clara, who returned it with a small, encouraging smile.

At the far end of the hall, nobles were already taking their seats—representatives of more than a dozen houses. Noel's eyes scanned over them, recognizing a few faces, ignoring the rest.

A faint shift in the air caught his attention. From across the room, Selene stepped closer, her icy composure as striking as ever. Her hair framed her face like a curtain of frost, but her cyan eyes flicked once to him, the slightest crack in her distant mask.

Noel inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. She joined their small circle without a word, standing near Elena with the kind of ease that suggested long familiarity.

Noel let his gaze drift across the hall again, thoughts tightening. 'So this will be it. The first time the Iskandar family joins the Hunt. Selene's here, which means her mother is too.'

The sound of chairs scraping echoed as the elders began to take their places at the long table dominating the center of the hall. The heirs were guided to remain on the side, gathered in smaller groups, their whispers building anticipation.

The formal meeting was about to begin.

The murmur of voices dulled as the doors at the far end of the hall opened again. Every step on the polished stone floor echoed with authority.

Lady Vaelora von Iskandar entered first. She moved without hesitation. Conversations died in her wake. Her eyes swept the room once before settling briefly on Selene, then flicking toward Noel's corner as if weighing more than appearances.

'She still remembers what happened.'

Selene's posture stiffened, but she did not look away.

Following came Lord Thalanor von Lestaria. Unlike the others, he carried no weight of ice in his presence—only a cheerful confidence that felt almost out of place in the heavy air of the hall. He waved openly toward Elena, his voice carrying even without effort. "Elena!! Hello my daughter, how have you grown!"

Elena flushed, pressing her lips together as Noel smirked faintly beside her.

More nobles filtered in, the names less important but their bearing polished and proper. Among them, Noel caught glimpses of Kael and Damon mingling easily, exchanging polite bows and measured words. Sylvette lingered near Mirelle, her sly smile never leaving her face as she whispered something that earned her mother's approving nod.

Then the room shifted again as Lord Edric De Nivaria made his entrance. His tall frame cut a severe figure, white-blond hair slicked neatly back. The long navy cloak draped from his shoulders trailed across the floor, fur lining catching the light. He did not need to speak to command the hall—his very presence demanded it.

Every noble in attendance straightened.

Edric stopped at the head of the long table, his pale eyes sweeping the chamber with quiet authority. He inclined his head once, acknowledging the assembly.

The hall grew still, the only sound the faint crackle of torches along the walls. The air carried the weight of expectation, and Noel felt the shift keenly. 'So this is the host of the year.'

"Welcome, representatives of the great houses. As host, it is my honor to open this year's Hunt of the Inheritance." His pale eyes swept the hall, pausing on each corner before he continued. "The rules remain unchanged in their essence: the hunt will last one week, and your heirs will compete within the designated grounds."

A ripple of murmurs stirred among the gathered nobles.

Edric raised a hand, silencing them. "This year, the grounds will be the mountain range north of here. Harsh terrain, unpredictable weather—perfectly suited to test strength, wit, and endurance. Within those mountains, Adept-ranked beasts have been gathered and contained. They will be the prey… and the challenge."

Edric's tone hardened as he continued. "As in previous years, there will be no room for deception. Devices have been placed throughout the grounds to monitor every participant. Every moment, every action, will be seen by those who judge. Consider this both protection and scrutiny."

Noel's eyes narrowed faintly at that. 'So they'll be watching everything. Just as last year, I hope nothing strange happens like the last time. Kael and Damon changed so nothing should happen.'

Edric let the silence hang for a breath before shifting his gaze. It landed squarely on Albrecht Thorne. His words, though outwardly calm, cut with deliberate edge.

"And of course," Edric said, "we all hope there will be no… incidents this year. The last tragedy remains fresh in memory. I trust none here wish to see a repeat—especially not from those who thought it clever to drug a beast into madness."

A heavy pause fell over the hall. The implication was clear.

Mirelle's icy stare locked on Edric, but she did not speak. Serina's lips curved into a sharp smile, as though amused by the barb. Albrecht, for his part, betrayed nothing, his posture as unyielding as stone.

Edric allowed the tension to settle before continuing, his voice cutting clean through the silence.

"As tradition dictates, each house will be allowed three participants only. Choose them wisely. For some of you, this will mean favoring strength. For others, cleverness. But the number remains the same. Three heirs will carry the name of their bloodline into the hunt—and only three will have the chance to claim victory."

"And remember," Edric added, "this is not simply about survival. It is about honor. The actions of your heirs will reflect not only on themselves, but on your houses. Every choice will be judged."

The hall stayed silent, the weight of his words pressing down on every ear.

Then a new voice broke it, warm and almost playful.

Lord Thalanor von Lestaria leaned forward from his seat, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I suppose I should save you all the suspense. My daughter will win again, just as she always does."

A ripple of chuckles ran through some corners of the room, though others stiffened.

Thalanor lifted his hand quickly, still smiling. "Of course, of course—I'm joking. Mostly." His eyes twinkled as Elena's cheeks flushed bright red.

Edric inclined his head slightly, neither amused nor offended, before closing the matter with finality. "Then it is settled. The Hunt begins in three days' time. May your heirs prove themselves worthy."

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