Elliot's eyes shifted in the direction of Anasthasia as she extended the 'Seraphine' to him. A furrow in his eyebrows was rather deep when he pondered her sole intention.
"I don't want you to put up a farce, Elliot. Please, show us."
Her words were akin to a melody to his ears, soothing the wariness that ensnared his heart. A simple glimpse at his family and they were somewhat hopeful than ever, which had him heave a deep sigh before taking the heirloom staff.
The small ceramic rod began to pulse a wave of warmth with his touch, much stronger than they had ever witnessed. But the rod was only gleaming white with milky clouds of dust drifting to the air from it.
The Millards came close to the bed, watching him in scrutiny. However, it was Blake who wanted to utter a matter to Anasthasia.
"Miss Ana, I'm sure you have read the guidelines: from how the clan runs to the selection of the clan head, right?"
"I did."
