CHAPTER 68: THE MEETING

Auralyne was standing in the courtyard, staring at the moon—unmoving, quiet, as though waiting for something written in the stars. The mansion behind her lay cloaked in silence and shadow. Not a single lamp glowed.

Not a single hallway flickered with life. Unlike other nights, there was no trace of warmth, of lingering laughter, of bustling footsteps. Even the girls were fast asleep—an unnatural, almost imposed slumber. It was as if something had laid a heavy hand over the household, demanding stillness.

But Auralyne waited.

Her eyes stayed on the moon, serene and alert.

Then—fwip—three figures landed beside her, their descent silent, masked only by a breath of displaced air. They had dropped to her right. Cloaked in black, eyes glinting faintly, they looked at each other, startled.

They had not expected anyone to be here.

But they composed themselves quickly. Professionalism reasserted its hold.

Auralyne regarded them without alarm, as if she had known they would come. Her voice was steady and quiet, commanding yet soft.

"Follow me."

They gave no words in return. A nod was all. And then they followed her into the mansion.

Inside, darkness reigned.

The living room greeted them with its vastness, but no comfort. No light. The moonlight filtered in through tall, narrow windows—but barely. The house itself seemed to resist the intrusion, cloaking everything in a gentle, yet oppressive dusk.

Then, the pendant around Auralyne’s neck pulsed—once.

A soft hum of light.

As if something whispered to her soul, inaudible to the rest.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes sharpening. Then, wordlessly, she ascended the stairs, her steps measured and quiet. The three followed close behind, their feet making no sound against the marbled floor.

Upstairs, the hallway greeted them with equal darkness. Not even the usual ambient glow of mana-crystals adorned the corners. It was dead still.

But the three figures were trained. Elite. Even in this, their presence vanished into the silence. Footsteps erased themselves. Breathing reduced to nothing.

Then they reached a three-way fork in the hallway.

Two of the corridors continued the silence—pitch-black, dead, quiet.

But the third...

It glowed.

Not with visible lamps or lanterns. The glow came from everything. The walls, the velvet carpet, the polished wood of furniture—all of them radiated a subtle, pearlescent light. Dim. Ethereal. Not lit—but alive.

Auralyne paused only briefly. She understood.

This was what Alaric had meant by the path that glows.

Without hesitation, she turned and walked down that corridor. The others followed.

Turn after turn, the corridor twisted. With each bend, the glow brightened, though not by much—just enough to notice. Just enough to feel like they were heading toward something... sacred.

Outwardly, Auralyne was composed. A quiet guide.

But within her—alarm, confusion.

She knew this mansion. Though not Intimately. But enough to tell this much turns can’t be possible within the small mansion.

And she knew—there was no such path.

No part of it should exist like this.

Yet... it did.

A few more turns. The air changed. Denser, richer.

Then—

A gate. A normal wooden gate like any other gates in the mansion.

Before it, Auralyne heard a whisper again—wordless, but unmistakable.

Open it. With the pendant.

As if answering the call, her necklace pulsed again.

She reached out. The gate reacted.

And opened.

And then, they saw.

Their eyes widened—Auralyne included.

Before them stood a golden door.

Impossibly massive.

Impossibly majestic.

Mythical looking patterns.

The golden light it emitted pulsed like a living heart. The sheer presence of the door felt... divine.

As it opened—without rumble, without creak—only smoke seeped outward. Not real smoke. Something finer. Like mana rendered into vapor. And then—

Woosh—

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

A breath of pure mana swept out, hitting their faces like a spring wind. Cool, refreshing, exhilarating. It wasn’t just a breeze—it felt like they had inhaled heaven itself.

The white marble walls around the door reflected the golden light, making everything around them glow like the inside of a celestial temple.

Auralyne froze for a moment.

Her doubts—gone.

This place had never existed in the mansion.

She was sure of it now.

The door behind them closed.

But she gathered herself. Stepped forward.

The three, still stunned, followed—though their eyes trembled with reverence.

Just as she was about to place her hand on the Grand Golden Door, she heard another whisper.

She paused. Turned slightly.

"Please. Stick closer to me."

Her voice was quiet, but firm.

The three nodded and stepped closer—though not too close. A respectful distance was maintained. Perhaps instinct warned them not to touch her.

Then, as Auralyne’s hand touched the door—no sound.

No click.

No rumble.

Only smoke.

And light.

And then— mana.

Purer than before.

Richer.

As they stepped into the room, even just breathing elevated their cultivation. Their mana cores trembled, purified. Cleansed.

They staggered slightly. This wasn’t just a room. This was a sacred space.

And then—

They saw it.

The throne room.

A temple masquerading as a hall of kings. A domain far too celestial to belong within mortal architecture. The walls rose endlessly, adorned with arched windows and gilded inlays, every surface gleaming with a divine luster.

Pillars carved from alabaster and trimmed with living gold lined both sides—impossibly tall, as if they held up the heavens themselves.

But their view was not complete.

From the very base of the stairs upward, curtains—massive, velvet, pure white with golden embroidery—fell like ancient drapes of secrecy. They obscured what lay beyond the upper dais, creating a veil, a barrier. They weren’t simply drawn—they hung, deliberately, like a ceremonial seal not yet broken.

Yet still, enough was visible to shatter mortal pride.

The lower floor itself was a masterpiece: white stone tiles polished to mirror finish, veined faintly with threads of gold.

Along the periphery, sconces burned with quiet flames of pale light—not fire, but some ethereal luminance that hummed with the resonance of higher magic.

Trees of crystal stood in alcoves, blooming with blossoms of glass and mana. Every breath drawn in this place felt filtered—cleansed.

At the top of the stairs, behind those veils, a presence sat.

Indiscernible.

Untouchable.

But unmistakably there.

It was Him.

Even if they could not see the throne itself, nor the figure seated upon it, the air warped around that spot—folded in reverence.

Their instincts knew before thought did.

This was no mortal seat of power.

This was where divinity ruled from silence.

It was The man that called him.

Lord Aurelian, he called himself.

And standing just beside the foot of the throne before the curtain —silent, attentive, her posture perfectly subservient—was Auralyne.

She was already there.

She had somehow gotten there ahead of them.

Caldrith composed himself.

Straightened.

And walked forward. At the center of the room.

Then fell to one knee.

His voice steady, but not unshaken.

"Greetings, Lord Aurelian."

The other two followed.

One man. One woman.

Both [Rank 5].

Both trembling.

Despite their strength, despite their training—the gap in presence... it overwhelmed them.

Before Alaric, they felt as ants before a mountain.

A god, seated upon a mortal throne.

And their knees—shook in awe.

-To Be Continued