Grand Elder Aerion did not move.
His chin rested against a hand adorned with rings of starlight-glass, his gaze fixed upon the cocoon and the faint rhythmic distortions of shadow drifting across its surface.
"A mirror," Aerion murmured at last.
"How fascinating... to give a man precisely what he wishes to see, until the moment he can no longer bear to look."
His eyes shifted toward the throne of House Artyr.
"Elder Riven."
The name alone tightened the chamber.
"Your House recovered this anomaly. Your House executed the traitor." His voice remained calm, measured. "Tell me — what manner of man was he? Had he not betrayed the Evernight, what worth would you have placed upon him?"
Riven rose immediately.
His movements were sharp, rigid with fury long restrained. The memory surfaced not as trauma, but inconvenience — a nameless vassal, a routine execution authorized without ceremony. He could not recall the man's name. Nor even the precise accusation beyond possession of a pureblood child.
To admit that would diminish House Artyr.
So he did not.
"He was a worthless coward," Riven said flatly. "A nameless vassal who poisoned a child and died for it. Nothing more."
Aerion's eyes narrowed.
Not in anger.
In appraisal.
How pitiful, that a man bearing the title of Elder could be so small.
He said nothing.
The silence that followed became its own judgment.
At last, his gaze drifted toward a quieter throne.
"Elder Braham. Do the Archives of House Oryn reveal anything within the boy's physiology that would justify such disproportionate excellence? Or does House Oryn attribute his existence to fate and coincidence?"
Elder Braham adjusted his spectacles, the lenses catching a thin sliver of starlight reflected from the Grand Elder's rings.
He leaned forward slightly.
"Grand Elder."
His voice was dry, even, unhurried.
"House Oryn does not believe in fate. We believe in biochemical inevitability."
A few thrones shifted faintly at the familiar arrogance of Oryn scholarship.
"When the boy was transferred into our custody for mandatory assessment, House Oryn conducted the complete diagnostic suite — comprehensive physical, neurological, and physiological evaluation."
A brief glance toward Zerus.
"As Elder Zerus has already stated, the results were normal. Outstanding. But normal."
His gaze returned to the cocoon.
"The boy's blood purity registers at ninety-three percent, confirming without ambiguity that his mother was Noctis. Not merely Noctis — but of the highest recorded pedigree."
A ripple moved through the chamber.
"His constitutional ratio measures sixty-three point seven to thirty-six point three, with the Harbinger Moon current comprising the latter. This accounts for the silver pigmentation of the eyes and hair, as well as elevated cognitive performance during mandatory stress trials."
Braham adjusted his spectacles once more.
Mirell did not blink.
"As for the remaining composition outside the ninety-three percent purity threshold — every marker traces back to the clan itself, with identifiable strands of Tiago, Kallistyr, Draco, and even Solen lineage."
His tone remained maddeningly clinical.
"All known ancestral contributors originate entirely within the Evernight."
"No foreign contamination. No divine scarring. No arcane grafting. No parasitic signatures."
A silence followed.
"The only anomaly," Braham continued, lifting a single finger, "was not internal."
A murmur stirred.
"His physical examination revealed fourteen hallmark runes upon the body, rather than the standard twelve."
The murmur sharpened immediately.
"Upon closer assessment, seven of those fourteen fell entirely outside my personal reference index."
Now even the stillest thrones shifted.
Braham turned toward the wing, his gaze settling upon Elder Sariel.
"Which is why the data was forwarded to House Morge for archival cross-verification."
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"If you would be so kind, Elder..."