The Council Chamber in the deepest reaches of Mary Geoise had never been so "lively" in eight hundred years.
Lively as it was, only twenty or so people sat there.
But everyone who could sit here represented the innermost core of power of the twenty founding families of the world.
They were not the sniveling trash who played with slaves and rode them around the Sabaody Archipelago-they were the few members of their families who had not succumbed during those long years of being "kept."
Some had joined the military, working their way up to vice admiral at Marine Headquarters; some had entered politics, holding important posts throughout the World Government's institutions; some had gone into business, running vast enterprises in the underworld; some had pursued martial strength, surviving the Holy Knights' brutal training.
They were the "elite" of the Celestial Dragons.
And the last of their own people the Five Elders could count on.
The Council Chamber's vaulted ceiling was so high that anyone looking up could see only a stretch of deep shadow.
The long table had been polished from a single slab of obsidian, its surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting everyone's blurred image. Twenty high-backed chairs stood along either side, their backs carved with the crests of each family. Those emblems flickered in the candlelight like eyes that might awaken at any moment.
Saint Nusjuro sat at the head of the table.
He wore a dark kimono with fitted cuffs, First Generation Kitetsu tucked at his waist. His gaze swept over everyone present.
There was none of the warmth one might show one's "kin," only scrutiny, assessment, and cold calculation: was this person still useful?
Saint Garling sat to his right. His fingers tapped lightly against the tabletop with a rhythmic tap, tap.
The meeting had