Wielder Of The Dragon Flame

Chapter 30

The formal proceedings had ended perhaps an hour ago, but the Xavier mansion's great hall showed no signs of emptying. If anything, the atmosphere had transformed from tense formality into something more relaxed, more social,though no less politically charged.

Servants in crisp uniforms moved through the crowd carrying silver trays laden with crystal glasses filled with wine from the Xavier cellars,vintage bottles that had been aging for decades, their labels bearing dates from before Asta was even born. 

The eternal flames in the chandeliers had been dimmed slightly, creating a warmer, more intimate lighting that softened the harsh edges of the earlier confrontation.

The clan leaders had shed some of their formal rigidity, though not their clan attire. They stood in small clusters scattered throughout the hall, glasses in hand, voices rising and falling in the complicated dance of political conversation.

 Alliances were being quietly reinforced, deals were being subtly negotiated, information was being carefully exchanged,all under the guise of casual social interaction.

Near the center of the hall, a group of five clan leaders had gathered around the representative from the Sunset Clan, listening intently as she described a recent breakthrough in flame meditation techniques that had increased her clan's younger generation's power manifestation by nearly twenty percent.

 Her hands moved expressively as she spoke, leaving trails of orange-gold light in the air that faded slowly, beautiful and hypnotic.

To the left, the leader of the Storm Flame Clan,the grey-bearded man who had spoken earlier,was engaged in what appeared to be a heated but friendly debate with the Azure Flame representative about the proper ratio of offensive to defensive training for novice flame wielders. 

Both men's voices grew louder with each point, their gestures more animated, but they were smiling, clearly enjoying the intellectual sparring.

Near one of the massive pillars, a younger clan leader,couldn't have been more than thirty,was showing off to a small audience, manifesting intricate shapes of white flame that danced in his palm like living sculptures: a bird that spread its wings and took flight before dissolving, a flower that bloomed and wilted in seconds, a miniature castle complete with towers and battlements. 

The watching leaders applauded politely, though the older ones' expressions suggested they'd seen such displays countless times before and were more impressed by power than by artistry.

The Hell Flame Clan leader, Torven,the scarred warrior who had first questioned the gathering's purpose,stood with a group of the more militarily-minded clan representatives, discussing border security and the increasing frequency of flame beast incursions in the northern territories. 

His rough voice carried clearly, describing in tactical detail how his clan had reorganized their patrol routes to better cover vulnerable areas. The others listened attentively, occasionally asking questions, clearly respecting his expertise in combat matters.

And at the very heart of it all, drawing the most attention, stood Cassian Xavier.

He had removed the dragon mask entirely now, and it rested on a nearby table like a discarded prop. His face was animated, expressive, his smile wide and genuine-seeming as he moved from group to group, shaking hands, clasping shoulders, laughing at jokes, offering words of congratulation or condolence as appropriate. 

He held a glass of wine in his left hand,red wine, deep as blood, that he sipped occasionally but never seemed to actually drink,while his right hand was constantly in motion: gesturing as he spoke, reaching out to greet newcomers, touching people's arms in that way politicians do to create false intimacy.

"Clan Leader Veyron." 

Cassian said warmly, extending his hand to a distinguished-looking man with silver hair and a coat embroidered with ice-blue flames.

 "Thank you so much for making the journey. I know the northern territories are dealing with those weather anomalies right now,your time is precious."

The man,Duke Veyron, Elara's father,grasped Cassian's hand firmly, his expression friendly but his eyes calculating, measuring.

 "The Xavier clan has been a cornerstone of stability for three centuries, Cassian. Of course I would attend your formal recognition. Though I admit..." 

He paused delicately. 

"...the circumstances are somewhat unusual."

"Unusual times call for unusual solutions."

 Cassian replied smoothly, his smile never wavering. 

"But I assure you, the Xavier legacy is in capable hands. In fact, I've been meaning to discuss potential collaboration between our clans,your Frost-Fire techniques would complement our Crimson Flame research beautifully. Perhaps we could schedule a meeting next month?"

Veyron's eyes lit up slightly,the prospect of combining techniques between major clans was always valuable, always worth pursuing. 

"I would be very interested in that conversation. My secretary will contact yours to arrange the details."

They shook hands again, and Cassian moved on to the next group, his transition seamless, his energy apparently boundless. He seemed to glow with confidence, with the satisfaction of someone who had won a difficult battle and was now reaping the rewards.

"The harvest season has been exceptional." 

He was telling the Ivory Flame leader now, a elderly woman whose white robes seemed to shimmer with their own inner light.

 "Our flame-wheat yields are up forty percent, and the quality is the highest we've seen in a decade. I'd be happy to arrange an export agreement if your clan is interested,I know your territories have been struggling with crop failures..."

But while all this social maneuvering unfolded in the center of the hall, one figure stood apart, watching from the shadows near the far wall where the light didn't quite reach.

Malachar, the Black Flame Clan leader, had separated himself from the festivities entirely. He stood perfectly still, his black attire making him almost invisible against the dark stone of the wall behind him, only the occasional glint of silver trim revealing his presence. His wine glass sat untouched on a nearby ledge, forgotten or deliberately abandoned.

His pitch-dark eyes were fixed on Cassian, tracking the younger man's movements with the intensity of a predator studying prey. He watched Cassian laugh at something the Sunset Clan leader said. Watched him lean in conspiratorially to whisper something to the Storm Flame representative.

 Watched him clasp the Hell Flame leader's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie that Torven seemed to accept with gruff approval.

Malachar's expression was completely neutral, giving nothing away, but something flickered behind those dark eyes,calculation, perhaps. Or suspicion. Or both.

"It seems like he knows something." 

Malachar muttered to himself, his voice so quiet it was barely more than a breath, certainly not loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. His lips barely moved as he spoke, still maintaining that mask of neutrality.

 "He's too confident. Too certain that Asta's awakening won't happen."

Cassian was shaking hands with yet another clan leader now, his smile brilliant, his posture relaxed and open. Every inch of him radiated the assurance of someone who had already won, who saw no possible threat to his position.

And that, Malachar thought, was either supreme confidence born of genuine belief... or supreme confidence born of secret knowledge.

A low chuckle escaped Malachar's throat,dark, dry, barely audible. The sound held no humor, just a kind of grim amusement at the games people played, the secrets they kept, the lies they told themselves and others.

He pushed off from the wall with a fluid motion, his black robes swirling around him like smoke given form. Without a word to anyone, without a goodbye or a nod of acknowledgment, he began walking toward the exit. 

His movements were unhurried but purposeful, cutting through the clusters of conversing clan leaders like a shadow passing through candlelight.

A few people noticed him leaving,heads turned, eyes followed his passage,but no one called out to stop him. 

The Black Flame Clan had always been somewhat apart from the others, respected but never quite trusted, powerful but never quite allied with anyone. His early departure would be noted but not questioned.

Malachar reached the massive double doors that led out of the great hall. 

He paused there for just a moment, glancing back over his shoulder at the scene he was leaving: the warm lights, the animated conversations, the political maneuvering disguised as social pleasantry, and at the center of it all, Cassian Xavier, still smiling, still shaking hands, still playing the role of gracious host and confident new leader.

"Let's watch and see how it goes then."

 Malachar said softly, his words meant only for himself, a promise or perhaps a threat wrapped in silk. Then he pushed thr

ough the doors and stepped out into the cooler air of the corridor beyond, the sounds of the gathering fading behind him as the doors swung closed…