A Gorgeous White

Colahn's fingertips vigorously rubbed against the warm porcelain teacup, half-full of a light herbal drink. Silently, he sat across two men, both staring at him and the woman sitting gracefully beside him. The nightly wind did its best to enter the room. However, it did little to influence the temperature, for it fought against the writhing flames within the fireplace. With a relieved smile, Colahn lifted his head and gazed at the two young men awaiting his response. 

"I am glad that you thought this through. Indeed, it would be unwise to make the judgment yourself with your eldest brother and father in the dark about this matter." Colahn nodded, "Worry not. I will take good care of the orb and make sure it is good and untouched until we return back to the city."

"Thank you, Colahn." Emlen smiled faintly as he squeezed Moulin's hand within his. "We will make the final decision together with the rest of the family."

My brother is right, Moulin thought.

"Of course, young master." Phaelona chuckled as she shook her head lightly. "In the meantime, we'll be deciphering the runes on the artifact in preparation."

"Yes, please do." Emlen nodded. 

After several minutes, the brothers departed to retire to their quarters. Before Emlen left, he stroked Moulin's head dotingly, rubbing his little brother's hair like how he used to before. His grey eyes gleamed with pride and love as he stared at his dearest brother, and after wishing Moulin good dreams, he left, soothed and calm. The empty hallways, illuminated by the glowing flower buds from the swirling vines, gave off a peaceful ambiance. However, only Moulin was left restless. He returned to his room, glancing at the guards posted right outside his doors. 

"You're back." Lord Hadrian lifted his eyes from his reflection on his sword to the sighing young man tossing his coat over the chest at the foot of the canopy bed. He sat on one of the chairs beside the bed, shining the blade in his rough hands. 

Moulin cracked his head and loosened the ribbon of his hair, letting the long waves of his hair drape down his shoulders. He kicked off his boots, and his eyes never strayed away from Hadrian's gaze. "I've got a long day tomorrow..."

"Indeed, you should rest early." The golden-eyed man lifted the corner of his lips as he traced every movement of his approaching lover. He put away his sword and cloth and held the hand, reaching for him tenderly. 

Moulin sighed, reluctantly nodding. He straddled the man's muscular thighs, wrapped his arms around his neck, and closed the distance between them. "Console me to sleep."

The words softened the look in the lord's eyes. How could he refuse such a request? From the nightmares and the dreadful pressure of the court upon him, Moulin was undoubtedly exhausted. Despite wanting to shoulder it all by himself, his mind was in chaos, and he'd come to Hadrian for comfort and help. 

"Mn, let's head to bed, young master." Lord Hercullio stood up, carrying Moulin as if he weighed nothing. Moulin was too lazy to be envying his lover's strength and could only mumble incoherently as he was laid to bed.

The following day, the council room was bustling with a restless crowd. Elves bearing high statuses streamed towards their seats, murmuring as they gazed down at the High Table where the Esteemed Councilor and his Majesty were seated. They talked as quietly as they could. However, with so many of them running their mouths carelessly, it sounded like waves endlessly crashing on the seashore. 

The Elven king sat darkly, furiously glaring at Councilor Ardathna, who was neither regretful nor satisfied with the crowd he intentionally summoned. When Nordehl arrived, he was alarmed at the number of people within the area. For years, he'd put up with their nonsense and lived to hide his emotions from the public. However, he could not describe the burning rage in his heart to be schemed behind his back. 

The witnessing should have been kept a secret from the public. The only ones to participate should have been him, the councilors, High Lord Hercullio, Moulin, and those already knowledgeable of Moulin's presumption of the Core of Gala'En. Councilor Ardathna really had the nerves to anger him...

However, He didn't have time to dismiss the audience all at once. The doors opened, and Moulin, Oracle Na'El, and Lord Hercullio stepped into the halls. 

Suddenly, everything was silenced. Each pair of eyes stared at the three people unhurriedly entering the area. Moulin's silver eyes scanned the judging crowd, and scorn dripped from his gaze. Moulin severely met Nordehl's aggrieved expression and Ardathna's mocking smile. 

'I see,' Moulin mentally thought. This pointy-eared pig of a councilor dared to go against the King's orders just to humiliate them. Did this idiot even think if this was an act of treason? Fool. Did he believe that he was higher than the will of the King?

"Greetings, your majesty." Na'El smiled. 

Nordehl nodded wearily. He acknowledged them and stood to lead the High Lord to his seat personally. When the King rose, so did his subjects. Passing by each other, Moulin met Hadrian's cool and firm gaze, appreciating the hidden amusement from the thought of Moulin making them highly regretful. Moulin mentally shook his head. 

The crowd sat once the two prominent figures settled themselves on their seats beside each other. 

However, Moulin certainly could not let anyone be drawn into this situation. So him, with Na'El following him from behind, stood a careful distance before the High Table. 

"Your Majesty, forgive me for my imprudence. However, I must request you to dismiss the others for their own safety. When I begin, it will be very dangerous for them." He spoke calmly as if nothing could faze him. 

When these words were brought to their ears, the people complained to themselves. Ah, what was with this nonsense? They were told to be present to witness an extraordinary event! Just who was this person wanting to kick them out?

Ardathna laughed, "You must be so arrogant to think that you could command our king whenever you wish to-"

"Granted." 

Nordehl abruptly interrupted Ardathna with a straight face, not sparing him any face at all. Moulin was brave enough to request this from him. 

"You're majesty! Dismissing our guests, your own people, for the sake of this foreign thing, is preposterous!" Ardathna abruptly stood up from his chair, baffled. "Have you gone soft for these enslavers?-"

Bang!

A heavy fist banged the solid surface of the table, startling every soul within the halls. Seething, Nordehl spat at the councilor. "I've been generous enough to keep your head while you've been running your mouth around, insulting our guests whether before their presence or not. And now you undermine me by making rulings without my authority? Perhaps, I have been too lenient with you, Ardathna. You dare to go against me and question me?"

Ardathna stood pale and shocked. Outrage burned within his eyes! He opened his mouth to refute, but the voices surrounding him grew louder. 

"All of you!" The king's voice bellowed throughout the room. "Leave!"

Without further ado, the people hurried down their seats and rushed towards the doors. They muttered their complaints in their hearts. Some turn back, glancing coldly at the people in the high chairs as well as at the two maeruthans within the area, while others hurriedly tucked their tails between their legs, fearing their King's wrath. 

After everyone was out of sight and the doors were shut and guarded, green eyes struck Ardathna, flaring with poison. "And you... shut your mouth and sit down. I shall deal with you myself."

Ardathna swallowed the bitter words he was about to say and stiffly sat on his chair. He clenched his fists with a twisted expression. 'I'll show you... I'LL SHOW ALL OF YOU!' 

Na'El's expression hadn't changed ever since he stepped into the room. His eyelids lowered slightly, tasting the tension within the air. The whole event didn't faze him in the slightest. He chuckled, "Since that matter has been taken care of, may I suggest we begin presenting the young master's evidence, my lords? Your Majesty? "

Taking a glimpse at the impassive High Lord sitting on the elaborate chair next to his, Nordehl nodded with a sigh, "Of course, let us proceed."

"What have you brought for us, Esteemed guest?" One of the councilors spoke out of curiosity. Moulin had not even a single object on him. The youth's hands are empty. Perhaps, he'd brought a tiny thing? Kept in his pocket?

An air of soothing tranquility surrounded the young man with captivating silver eyes. He doesn't take a step forward but remains in his place like an immovable statue. When he spoke, his voice was clear and calm. 

"I have brought you nothing but myself." 

His words sparked confusion in the minds of the lords. Nordehl's eyebrows rose in uncertainty while Ardathna raised a mocking brow and smirked. But before one of them could question the young man, Moulin's voice continued. 

"His Holiness, despite his greatness, is currently trapped within Gala'En's core, a space no one could ever bring any object with them aside from their internal spirit, presented before him. Thus, documenting anything from the core is simply impossible. Furthermore, his spiritual body cannot reach us beyond Gala'En's core, for the Great Tree forbids him. It is for his own protection." 

Nordehl shakes his head, already assuming how the witnessing would be ending. Doubts we're growing in his chest. "Are you implying... that there is no means for you to grasp evidence of his existence because of the restrictions?"

"Indeed, it is already enlightening..." Ardathna taunted with a low voice before silencing himself when his king shot him a glare. Nevertheless, he felt as if he was already winning...contemporary romance

With a shake of his head, Moulin spoke, "No, your majesty. He has found a way to reach you... all of you... personally."

As the last of his words entered their ears, Nordehl and the councilors exchanged confused looks. Their wrinkled foreheads couldn't be more folded as they stared intensely at the youth as if the answer laid on his elegant countenance. 

The Elven king blinked, "What do you mean?"

Moulin turned to Na'El, who smiled as he approached the younger man. The empty palm of his right hand glowed a stunning golden light, glittering and sparkling as if he was holding countless little suns within his hand. A long golden staff with a simple hooped head materialized within his grasp. Before the many eyes gazing at them, Nordehl stepped behind Moulin and whispered to him. His lips an inch before the youth's scalp. 

"Hold still... It will be over when you wake up."

Moulin didn't respond. However, his heart was pounding wildly. His eyes drifted to meet those familiar, golden eyes, never straying from him. 

Na'El uttered a brief chant. It was short and straightforward when heard. However, an extraordinary amount of mana was instantly sucked away from his body, channeled into the golden magic circle marked beneath the cloth, imprinted on the skin of Moulin's slender back. The youth closed his eyes. 

The air within the halls shifted, mana grew restless, and anticipation coursed within the lords' nerves. 

Slowly, Moulin's eyelids parted slightly. A stream of bright white rays beamed between the long silvery lashes. The calm, serene air that once surrounded the young man transformed into something heavy, intimidating, thriving with bold unyielding power. It was as though... he had become another being. 

Hadrian's gaze darkened. A choking feeling climbed in his gut when the intimate feeling of the bond utterly disappeared.

The youth finally opened his mouth, and a voice that didn't belong to him echoed out from his throat. 

"You foolish ungrateful mortals..." 

The voice boomed within their minds. It was grinding them, piercing their souls. Every word slammed into their beings like a hundred giant boulders were crushing their bodies. Not only did it speak to the ones within the room but the others beyond the walls. It was so strong that their minds buzzed excruciatingly. Covering their ears was useless, for it spoke through their minds, beating their consciousness to submission. 

Galadin only adopted contentment from their distress.

done.co