Sheila closed her eyes, her heightened senses were swift to act. The king had used Nusquam, a simple spell from the King's Opus, written in Antiquorum—the mystical language of Elves that can only be spouted by the tongues of those "chosen ones" possessing royal blood. Of course, anyone can learn Antiquorum, given that a handful of mystical texts containing ancient verses and several academic books are written on that language alone, and is forbidden to be translated into Mystisch.
The King's Opus is a book written by Elves which is passed down to humans long before the kingdoms were founded. Origins of the said book was said to be on the Ancient City, a place in the middle of the sea separating the two continents. The Ancient City is a sacred ground inhabited by the Nephilim—half-elves.
Sheila mumbled a phrase. And then the darkness was gone, as if it never existed.
"Wh-what?"
"What was that…"
There were whispers across the room, murmurs of voices filled with puzzlement and confusion. Sheila walked towards the middle of the throne room, drawing her staff and slowly tracing a pentagram with its ruby resting on the top. She could not see anything but shadows and can only feel people's mana across the room, and there in the pentagram she traced, a strong barrier.
Orwell narrowed his eyes at the clairvoyant. He knew Sheila, a scholar under the clairvoyant program. They rarely crossed paths, but she was quite popular to be the youngest to take the masters due to her entering Magierstadt at such a young age. Orwell's gaze drifted towards Sheila's pale golden eyes, and saw how there was no life in there. She was blinded by a failed experiment, rumors say. Some also said she was attacked, or some outrageous claims saying she offered her eyes to a Warlock to be able to gain power and be accepted as the High Priestess of the king.
"Nusquam." Sheila says. "Worry not, everyone. The king only disappeared with that child to give his blessings to the seed."
"But why would he need nusquam?" Orwell asks, suspicious. "There is no need to disappear. A medium of magic is nothing but a"—Orwell stopped mid-sentence, as he felt his mother's gaze locked on him—as if telling him to stop—"nevermind."
"Good. The king might have something to discuss with… Faustina, if I may call the Lady that. Of course we need to respect what His Majesty desires to do, do we not?"
Silence.
"—Then why are we summoned?" A voice from the group of Feuerlon echoed against the room. "Why are we to be called in here?"
"Oh, about that." Sheila says. "You are all gathered here for a conspiracy."
Orwell and Lovellia exchanged gazes.
Sheila's pale yellow eyes glistened.
"A conspiracy of His Majesty and Faustina… of the Heilen clan."