Whispers began to stir at the edges of the room, uncertainty flickering in the eyes of even the most composed elders. Still, there was no reaction, no light, no symbol, no element, nothing at all.
"What is the meaning of this Lord Kaelith?" A sect elder spoke out, clearly annoyed by the scene.
"This is disgraceful" another Sect elder spoke out, detest visible in his voice.
"An heir of the head house unable to awaken anything? Not even the faintest spark from the sigil?" His voice grew louder as the murmurs increased
"He should be cast out from the clan, there is no use for someone as useless as him in our midst. It might affect the younger generation"
Lord Kaelith slowly rose from his throne, the motion deliberate and unhurried, his robes cascading in dark folds around him as the chamber fell into a tense silence.
His gaze, sharp, and unwavering, locked onto the elder who had dared to speak, and though his face betrayed nothing, the weight of his presence was suffocating.
When he finally spoke, his voice cut through the air with the cold precision of a blade, measured, emotionless, and devoid of even the faintest tremor.
"You forget yourself. He is my son, bound to me by blood and name. I will not cast him aside to appease your pride."
The elders murmured among themselves, their hushed voices weaving through the chamber like a rising wind, uncertain and uneasy. Then one stepped forward, a woman, her expression stern and her presence commanding.
With a sharp glance that silenced the others, she raised her voice, giving shape to the thoughts that had been festering unspoken in the minds around her, her words echoing with the weight of collective doubt.
"This is not about pride lord Kaelith, you saw what Sheriff accomplished before our eyes, he showed great affinity and a flame spirit at the age of sixteen."
"We can't afford for the younger generation to follow in his footsteps, regardless of who he is to our clan, we need and want someone we're sure can protect us in times of danger not an incompetent leader"
The words stung, cutting deep into both Lord Kaelith and Ralph, who stood trembling beside the altar, his body barely able to stay still. Lord Kaelith didn't respond at once.
He stood in silence, his expression unreadable as he stared at his son, quietly turning the elder's words over in his mind, measuring them against the weight of the moment.
Then, after several long moments of weighing every word spoken and every unspoken judgment in the room, Lord Kaelith slowly lifted his head.
His gaze swept across the hall with quiet finality, turning to face the gathered elders and spectators seated in the grand hall, each waiting with bated breath for the verdict that now hung on the edge of silence.
"We are thorne" his sounded loud enough for everyone to hear.
"We have been blessed for twelve generations with strength, not just because we are proud but because we proved ourselves"
"If I let this pass, if I pretend what happened here was nothing more than misfortune. Then I will be giving licence for weakness to root itself into our strong foundation"
"And the blood we have spilled for centuries to keep this clan standing strong will be for nothing"
The sect elders nodded in unison, their movements deliberate, each one reflecting the weight of his words with a solemn air of contemplation and restrained judgment.
Then, slowly, he turned his gaze to his son. His expression had shifted, whatever lingered there before had vanished, leaving behind a mask of cold neutrality, unreadable and distant, as though even the bond of blood had been momentarily set aside.
"I am not just a father, I am the head of this house and the ruler of this clan" he said lowering his voice softly.
Ralph stood tall and still, bracing himself to accept whatever decision his father was about to declare, because deep down, he already understood where every carefully measured word was leading.
A heavy silence settled over the gathering, cold and sharp as the wind that swept through the ceremonial hall. Not a single voice rose in protest or support.
Everyone remained quiet, frozen in place, their expressions etched with shock as they hung onto Lord Kaelith's words.
"Ralph Thorne, by the power vested on me by this house. You are hereby exiled from this clan, you will leave these grounds before the sun sets and take nothing bearing the crest of Thorne."
"And you are hereby ordered never to set foot on these grounds again or be ready to bear the consequences"
Ralph stared deeply into his father's eyes, searching for anything, remorse, anger, even disappointment, but there was nothing. Just a cold, detached void, completely devoid of emotion.
He had braced himself for punishments, perhaps even a violent outburst, something loud and furious to match the weight of his failure. But never, not in his darkest expectations, had he imagined that his father would go so far as to disown him.
His own flesh and blood, cast aside as though he had never belonged.
In that single, hollow moment, every illusion Ralph had carefully built about his father crumbled. The image of a proud, if distant, man who would still stand by his son, shattered.
All that remained was a quiet, painful clarity. And a silent understanding that ran deeper than words could explain.
"I understand father, I respect your words and will leave the clan before sun set as you have commanded"
He quietly turned and walked away, not uttering a single word. There was no point in lingering, no sense in dragging out something that had already been decided. The damage was done.
If his father had truly wanted to protect him, if even the smallest part of him cared, there were countless ways he could have appeased the elders and preserved the clan's pride without resorting to such a brutal choice. Banishment was never the first option.
It was a last resort, one meant for traitors or threats to the sect, not for a son. Yet his father had chosen it swiftly, almost thoughtlessly, as though casting him aside required no pause at all.
As he made his way through the clan, heading toward his home to gather what little he would take with him, the air felt heavier with every step.
One by one, doors creaked open and faces emerged, men, women, even children, each staring at him in silence, their expressions a blend of pity, scorn, and quiet judgment.
To them, he was no longer Ralph Thorne, son of the great Lord Kaelith, he was an outcast, a disgrace, someone who had somehow shamed the very blood that ran through his veins.
The message had traveled fast, swifter than he expected, whispered from mouth to mouth until even the smallest ears in the furthest corners of the clan had heard it.
By the time he reached the threshold of his own home, the news had already arrived ahead of him. His mother, eyes wide with disbelief and worry, burst through the doorway the moment she caught sight of him.
"What is this I'm hearing, my son? Tell me it's not true," she said, her voice trembling as she gripped his arm tightly.
"It's true mother, father has made his decision and I must obey regardless of who I am"
He kept his tone restrained and respectful, emphasizing both his inner pain and acceptance of the situation, while avoiding blame or emotional outburst.
"But you're my son, my flesh and blood. How I'm I supposed to live with that?!"
He kept his silence, knowing there was little he could say that would ease her distress or change what had already been done. Words felt useless now, hollow things that would only deepen the wound.
He simply stood there, eyes cast downward, letting the weight of his mother's trembling grip anchor him in place.
Moments later, heavy footsteps echoed behind him. Lord Kaelith appeared, his presence as commanding as ever, though his expression bore the tension of a man who knew the storm he'd invited into his own home.
He was fully aware the news had traveled ahead of him, that his wife would not accept this decision quietly.