The Dominion Council office was a modest yet formal space. Plain white walls, a simple wooden table, and neatly arranged chairs gave the room an air of efficiency rather than grandeur. The only striking feature was the Dominion insignia etched into the wall behind the Grand Arbiter's seat, a subtle reminder of the weight of their decisions.
The council members were seated, their expressions ranging from serious to indifferent, as Ress sauntered in with her usual lack of urgency.
"You're late," Marcus Velar said sharply, his gaze piercing through his thin-framed glasses.
"Good to see you too, Marcus," Ress replied, her tone dripping with mock sincerity as she slumped into her chair at the far end of the table.
Marcus Velar was a man of strict discipline. His specialization in Aether Crown—psychic magic and dimensional manipulation—made him one of the council's most formidable strategists. He often clashed with Ress over her carefree attitude, which he considered a disgrace to the Dominion's standards.
"Let's get to the point," Marcus continued, ignoring Ress's grin. "The boy—Fren. He obliterated a evolve ghoulom in one strike. Care to explain?"
Ress tilted her chair back, balancing precariously. "Explain what? Kid's talented. What more do you want?"
Marcus's jaw tightened, but before he could retort, a calm voice cut in.
"Perhaps we should be asking what caused the incident, rather than pointing fingers."
Selene Vayra, seated two chairs down, adjusted her green-tinted glasses. Her piercing gaze suggested she missed nothing. A specialist in Umbra Shroud, Selene was a master of stealth and deception, often the voice of reason in the council.
"Ah, Selene," Ress said with a teasing grin. "Always so levelheaded. You're like a soothing cup of tea in this chaos."
Selene arched an eyebrow. "And you're like a splash of whiskey—unnecessary but occasionally useful."
The room chuckled softly, except for Marcus, who looked as though he'd swallowed a lemon.
"Enough," a booming voice interrupted, silencing the room.
Jorvan Tyne, the council's enforcer and master of Iron Mantle, leaned forward, his hulking frame casting a shadow over the table. His focus was defense and strength, and his no-nonsense approach to leadership left little room for jokes.
"The boy's power isn't the issue. It's the cracks that are the problem. They're getting worse," Jorvan said, his deep voice carrying a weight of concern.
"Which means more monsters," added Lyssa Moira, her tone soft but firm. She specialized in Ethereal Tempest, a mix of illusions and wind magic, and often acted as the council's tactician. "If the cracks keep weakening, we could face something far worse than a ghoulom."
The room fell silent for a moment. Then, with a sly smile, Kieran Drax broke the tension. "Well, at least it's not boring around here."
Kieran's mastery of Infernal Veil—fire and destruction—matched his bold and reckless personality. His confidence bordered on arrogance, but his results often backed up his bravado.
"I'm sure Ress finds all this very exciting," Kieran added, shooting her a smirk.
Ress gave a lazy shrug. "Exciting? Sure. Do I want to deal with Marcus's lectures afterward? Not so much."
"Focus," Eryndor Vale said, his tone clipped. He specialized in Stormforge—lightning and metal magic—and had a reputation for precision and efficiency. Eryndor rarely spoke unless necessary, but when he did, his words carried weight.
Before anyone could respond, the room's atmosphere shifted as the door opened. The council members immediately stood as the Grand Arbiter entered, his presence commanding instant respect.
Except for Ress, who remained seated, her legs still propped up on the table.
Marcus scowled. "Ress! Show some respect!"
The Grand Arbiter raised a hand, his amber eyes calm. "It's fine, Marcus. Let's not waste time."
The members resumed their seats, though Marcus continued to glare at Ress, who grinned smugly.
The Grand Arbiter settled into his chair, his voice steady. "The cracks are growing more frequent. The monsters are coming through at an alarming rate."
Selene leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Do we know why?"
The Arbiter nodded grimly. "The dimensional barriers are weakening. I believe we're reaching a tipping point."
Shock rippled through the room, though Ress simply raised an eyebrow, her casual demeanor faltering slightly.
"What does that mean for us?" Jorvan asked, his tone grave.
"It means we need to act," the Arbiter replied. "And we need to prepare the next generation for what's coming. That's why I'm announcing a combat tournament. Each of you will select students to participate. It's time to test their skills—and their resolve."
Kieran leaned back with a grin. "A tournament, huh? Sounds fun."
"Fun isn't the point," Eryndor muttered, though his eyes held a glint of interest.
"Can we bet on it?" Ress asked, earning a collective groan from the table.
The Arbiter allowed himself a small smile. "Do as you wish, Ress. Just ensure your student is ready."
"Oh, The kid's is fine," Ress said, waving a hand. "My student got potential. "
The Arbiter nodded. "Then it's settled. Prepare your students. The tournament begins in two weeks."
As the meeting adjourned and the members filed out, Ress stayed behind, her gaze fixed on the table.
"what should i eat after i go back," she muttered under her breath,
To be continued…