aamon paxley X o.c. • the duke and the runaway

12.

He found himself standing outside of the meeting hall, the tall white door with a polishedous gold symbol of the family's insignia. His hand remained still on the silver knob which was unturned, not yet able to open a way for his presence.

It was sudden of the elders to have summoned him. He was expecting them to do so sooner but not on this day. The day after his brother was expelled by the articulation of his own authoritative words. With the convoking from the geriatrics themselves, he felt that there was nothing good coming out of it.

Aamon nudged the door to open and stepped inside, being greeted with the main twelve superior elders of the Paxley household. The purple robed men sat on their respective seats that surrounded the large, dark brown round table. On the left side of his peripheral vision was a special chair served for the most high-ranking person, specifically for him— Duke Paxley.

"Your grace, thank you for coming." An elder by the name of Elder Malcolm, greeted him as the duke took his place at the head of the table.

He nodded, "Since I've arrived here, what are the matters you all wish to be brought up in this discussion?" The meeting hall echoed loud silence for a second as the candles at the center of the table continued to glow, though its illumination wasn't enough for Aamon to glimpse at the faces of the elders but was adequate to shine on the slouched figures of the cloaked old men.

"Prior to the official expulsion of your younger brother, Gusion Paxley, it seems to me that your abrupt deliverance on that day was lacking its proper judgement." Said the older male seated at his left about two chairs from him.

He raised a brow in question, "By what means, Elder Farlarn?"

"That you've decided without our confirmation, your grace." Elder Isac stated an answer that was meant for his fellow elder. The others nodded, their purple hoods wrinkled along with their small head movement.

"As far as I know it, you are against my brother's practices with blades and also, the methods of magic he used. You all have been pestering me about his misconducts. And now that I've expelled him from this house, you are disagreeing with my act of judgement?" Aamon retorted, his face stoic and his tone stern, showing no characteristics of weakness and his composure was unyielding. "The elders don't necessarily involved themselves in the duchy legislation."

"Necessarily," the most silent elder seated opposite from him— Elder Judas— met his blue-grey eyes as he repeated that single word, "This issue with your incompetent and disobedient brother makes us necessarily involve whether you like it or not. Have you not heard of a certain prophecy, Aamon Paxley?"

The question lodged into his head. Of course he knew what Elder Judas had meant. But the elder brother of the chestnut-haired Paxley feigned curiosity as if he had never heard of it. With the wordless response from the duke, the old man continued, "It is a revelation that one of our family will possess the dark mark. The one with that mark shall be cursed as Kalon's vessel for that deity's ressurection. Have you not have any idea of what that boy's existence will cause?"

He narrowed his eyes as if that information was a baloney but his heart slightly throbbed, anxiousness sluggishly crept into his chest. "Sounds like a mediocre story that you old men make. Are you really that resentful towards Gusion?"

The others were wide-eyed, astonished at his reply. Another elder named Elder Abbadon who stood up in ferocity, "Is that how you treat the prophecy?! You are becoming like that insolent child!"

"Am I, Elder Abbadon? Are you not reminded of the betrayal that the former elders have done against Valentina Paxley?" He asked.

Elder Zurich reacted with an angered tone, "That was years ago! Are you expecting us to do the same transgression?!"