Chapter 103: Chapter 103: The Banquet of the Ancestors

​The sun began its slow, majestic descent over the western horizon of the Aethera Continent, casting a tapestry of deep oranges and bruised purples that reflected brilliantly off the arched crystalline surface of the Solar Prism of Zenith. Dayat stood for a moment at the edge of the ancient wooden railing, allowing the gentle Vaelith breeze to sweep across his face. The view from this peak was undeniable in its grandeur, yet he knew the time for silent awe had passed. Below him, in the heart of the Emerald Palace, a pivotal banquet awaited—a diplomatic stage that promised to be far more treacherous than any physical battle against a rampaging Golem.

​”Master, the time for departure has arrived. Palace protocol dictates that we must be present before the sounding of the fifth bell,” Dola’s clinical voice shattered the silence. His assistant stood with perfect posture, her electric-blue eyes mirroring the rainbow hues emanating from the prism above them.

​Dayat offered a curt nod, his expression hardening. “Let’s move, Cil. Stop gaping at the clouds, or you’ll catch flies in your mouth.”

​Kancil blinked, quickly snapping his jaw shut. He had been staring at the continent below with wide, saucer-like eyes. “E-eh, sorry Bang! It’s just… we’re so high up! In Bakasa, the highest thing I ever saw was a heap of scrap metal. Up here, we feel like gods.”

​They walked toward the Organic Elevator. Unlike the jarring, mechanical lifts of Earth that rattled and hummed with industrial anxiety, this elevator was a vast hollow within the World Tree’s primary trunk, lined with a moss so soft it felt like walking on silk. As the root-doors slid shut with a natural grace, they felt a sensation of gravity being dampened to absolute perfection. Instead of steel cables, the lift operated through the rhythmic contraction of gargantuan wooden fibers, controlled by growth-regulating sorcery. During the descent, the transparent walls of the lift revealed the glowing layers of Vaelith. The city was beginning to ignite its Light-Bloom flowers, creating a luminous cityscape that looked like a galaxy captured within the confines of a tree.

​Upon reaching the palace courtyard, Lyna and Ilthir were already waiting. Ilthir offered a rigid military salute, his Adamantite armor gleaming under the twilight, while Lyna approached with a soft step to ensure Dayat’s silk robe remained pristine after the journey. Dayat, now fully adapted to the weight of his new status, allowed Lyna to perform her duties without the awkwardness that had once plagued him. He had learned that in this world, refusing service was often perceived as a slight against the servant’s dedication.

​”Lord Dayat, the Queen awaits in the Crystal Throne Room. However, I must warn you that tonight is not merely a family affair,” Ilthir whispered, his voice laced with a subtle warning. “The Ancestors of the Council of Root Guardians are present. They are the keepers of our most rigid traditions, and their hearts are as unyielding as ironwood.”

​Dayat offered a thin, cynical smile. “I figured as much, Ilthir. There’s no such thing as a free meal in any palace.”

​They traversed the opulent corridors of the palace. The light did not emanate from torches or lamps, but from thousands of tiny Pixies fluttering against the high ceilings, shedding glowing dust that provided a soft, sedative illumination. Dayat observed Dola; his assistant was quieter than usual. Her sensors were working at maximum capacity, mapping every inch of the architecture and gathering data on the Mana frequencies emitted by the ornamental flora lining their path.

​The massive doors, woven from living Kenanga trees, groaned open. A powerful, yet refreshing fragrance immediately greeted them. In the center of the hall, a gargantuan dining table crafted from living roots slowly coiled and grew, creating intricate geometric patterns that served as natural placemats. Upon the table, plates of clear water-crystal were arranged with surgical precision.

​Queen Verene stood at the head of the table, draped in a gown woven from shimmering silver fibers. Beside her, Lunethra looked regal in a deep green dress that complimented her vibrant hair. However, Dayat’s attention was immediately seized by the three elderly Elven figures seated on the left side of the table. Their hair was as white as mountain snow, and their skin bore fine wrinkles that looked like the patterns found on the bark of ancient trees. The aura of Mana they radiated was heavy—ancient—as if they carried the crushing weight of centuries upon their shoulders.

​”Welcome, Dayat,” Verene said, her voice crystalline and commanding. “Please, take your seat. Allow me to introduce our Elders. Thalmirion, whom you already know, Eldara, and Faelar.”

​Dayat bowed with a precision that would have made a diplomat proud. Eldara, the only female Elder among the three, offered a wise, knowing smile that felt genuine yet guarded. Meanwhile, Faelar, a man with a jawline like a mountain ridge, merely offered a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

​The banquet commenced with a display of sorcery that was both beautiful and chilling. An Elven attendant gestured with a hand, and the water from a nearby vase spiraled into the air, pouring itself into the crystal glasses without a single stray drop. Fruits served on the platters suddenly bloomed, releasing an intoxicating aroma with just a touch of a finger.

​Kancil, who had spent his life scrounging for scraps in the gutters of Bakasa, was suddenly confronted with high-noble cuisine. There was Mana-Infused wheat bread, so light it practically dissolved on the tongue, and cuts of Verdant Stag venison cooked with secret forest herbs. The boy’s eyes sparkled with a mix of hunger and awe. Yet, despite his craving, he ate with a level of restraint he had never shown before, conscious of maintaining Dayat’s dignity as his master.

​”The meal is extraordinary, Your Majesty,” Dayat said after tasting a piece of the venison that melted like butter.

​”It is a small token of our gratitude, Dayat,” Verene replied. “However, the Ancestors have a few inquiries regarding the… ’miracles’ you have introduced to Vaelith.”

​Thalmirion set his glass down with a soft, resonant clink. The atmosphere in the room immediately turned frost-cold. “Lord Hero,” Thalmirion began, his voice raspy yet filled with an undeniable power. “You have saved Vaelith, we acknowledge this. However, history is a cruel teacher to our kind. Thousands of years ago, this world witnessed the emergence of a ’Logic of Iron’ very similar to what you manifest. That entity was known as the Maiden of Steel.”

​Dayat glanced at Dola. She remained motionless, but her eyes flickered with a faint blue light, indicating that she was recording the conversation with high-priority tags.

​”The Maiden of Steel is not merely a legend to us, young man,” Thalmirion continued. “She was the fallen goddess who brought about a structured apocalypse. She believed that everything—emotions, nature, life itself—could be measured through numbers and iron. Eventually, she deemed organic life an inefficiency that had to be erased. Verdia was nearly annihilated then, buried under machines that possessed no souls.”

​Faelar added in a voice like cracking ice, “And now, you arrive, bearing knowledge that… bears a striking resemblance to the ancient descriptions of the Maiden’s servants. How can we be certain that you are not the harbinger of the World Destroyer’s return?”

​Dayat set his fork down, meeting Thalmirion’s gaze with eyes that were calm, steady, and unafraid. “Knowledge is not a threat, Elder. The way it is used is the threat. The iron that saved your World Tree today is the same iron you fear. If I truly wished to destroy Verdia, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of healing its heart first.”

​Eldara attempted to mediate with a softer tone. “We understand your perspective, Dayat. However, you must know that the Mana in this palace is being distorted by a presence that feels… discordant. It feels as though there is an invisible ’pressure’ radiating from her.” She gestured toward Dola.

​Dola suddenly spoke, her voice startling the Elders with its crystalline clarity. “Environmental analysis has detected an active Aura Filter in this room attempting to suppress my internal frequency. I am not a threat; I am Master Dayat’s protector. If the suppression frequency is increased, I will be forced to classify it as an act of aggression.”

​The tension reached a boiling point. Verene immediately raised her hand, signaling the Elders to cease their pressure. “Enough. Tonight is a banquet, not a tribunal. Dayat has proven his loyalty ten times over. I personally guarantee his safety and the safety of his assistant.”

​Though Verene spoke with absolute authority, Dayat could feel the deep-seated resentment radiating from Thalmirion and Faelar. They were obedient, but the suspicion in their eyes remained like a festering wound.

​For the remainder of the meal, the conversation shifted toward lighter topics, but Dola continued to feed data to Dayat’s internal sensors: [Warning: The behavioral patterns of the Council of Root Guardians indicate a hidden hostility level of 78%. This room feels like a gilded cage, Master.]

​Dayat only nodded in silent agreement. He sipped his nectar-wine, but his mind began constructing a dozen contingency plans. He realized that behind the luxury of the silk robes and the fragrance of the Kenanga flowers, Verdia was a kingdom built upon a foundation of ancient trauma.

​The banquet concluded as the sky darkened under the light of the twin moons. As Dayat walked out of the Crystal Throne Room, he glanced back over his shoulder. He saw the Elders whispering in the long shadows of the palace pillars, while Queen Verene looked exhausted, massaging her temples.

​This victory felt incredibly fragile. Dayat knew that the title of ’Hero’ he carried was merely a label that could be stripped away the moment the Elders succeeded in triggering the people’s fear of the “Maiden.”

​”Dola, prepare an emergency escape route mapping of the capital,” Dayat whispered as they walked back toward the East Wing.

​”Already in progress, Master,” Dola replied flatly. “I have also begun wirelessly copying the ’History of the Maiden’ from the palace archives through the gaps in the Aura Filter.”

​Dayat offered a small, grim smile. At least his assistant was always three steps ahead. However, Dola’s warning about being “caged” continued to haunt his thoughts throughout the night. In Verdia, kindness was often just a curtain, and behind that curtain, the knives of betrayal were being sharpened to a lethal edge.

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