Gulp... The lady at the reception subconsciously swallowed a dry mouthful watching the new party approach her desk, all things considered, a perfectly understandable reaction. She had received more high-profile names than she could count tonight, but until now it had always been either one by one or a group accompanying a single Archmage, but never more than one Archmage together, let alone four. They, who stood at the very summit of the magical world were each always known to command a separate faction. Even if just two of them were seen entering the same room, it would make headlines across the magical world, with the wizarding press spinning theories for weeks, sometimes going as far as wondering whether they were quietly plotting against one or more of their counterparts. On such occasions, the entire wizarding world would fall into anxious anticipation, so now, what kind of message was this meant to send? she wondered. Regardless, whatever happened tonight, whatever conclusion the assembly reached, she had very little doubt about who would be doing the dictating... "Good evening..." She was greeted first, which caught her slightly off guard. Quite the polite young man, she thought, the observation arriving before she could stop it. And he looked even more handsome up close than he did on the broadcast."Good evening, gentlemen." Her professional composure snapped back into place.Standing before her was the youngest Archmage in recorded history, the youngest Master Alchemist in history, the first of several things that had never been done at his age, a list long enough that enumerating it would have taken some time. He wore simple attire, perhaps a shade too simple for the occasion, a long black coat over a crisp white shirt tucked into fitted black trousers, and yet the simplicity did nothing whatsoever to diminish the quiet confidence and the particular quality of presence he carried, one that stood without difficulty shoulder to shoulder with every one of his counterparts.Beside him stood a name no less weighted in titles. Albus Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful mage alive, clad in elegant yet understated dark robes, the kind of man whose reputation had long since outgrown any need to announce itself.Next to him was the woman every witch she knew, herself very much included, looked to as something of an ideal. The only woman to have achieved the same standing as the rest of them, Olympe Maxime, whose extraordinary height, rather than diminishing anything, seemed only to add to the grace and quiet authority she carried as naturally as breathing.And finally, Edward Garling. If anyone present tonight were to be asked who among the seven possessed the most flair, the greatest arrogance, or was, if one were being entirely honest, the most handsome, she knew her own answer without needing to think about it. This particular man, whose appearance managed somehow to be both barbaric and elegant at once in a way she could not adequately explain, was, to her mind, the very definition of the word. She entertained a brief and entirely private thought on the matter before firmly setting it aside."Right this way, please." She dispensed with the usual formalities entirely. Anyone foolish enough to attempt impersonating even one of them would either be out of their mind or possess a death wish she had no interest in accommodating. "The Council has been expecting you."The atrium echoed with far fewer voices now. Local Ministry employees went about their duties while everyone else, the representatives, the press, and the invited audience, had already taken their seats inside the assembly hall as the appointed time was now only a couple of minutes away. The four of them followed the receptionist through corridor after corridor, Maverick occasionally asking about the things that caught his eye while she politely answered each question. Unlike the plain stone walls of the British Ministry of Magic, worn smooth by time and speaking only of age, these were adorned with intricate carvings apparently depicting famous witches and wizards, magical creatures, and defining moments from Austrian magical history. The corridors were also noticeably brighter, bathed in the warm glow of enchanted lights overhead. The entire place felt far removed from the dungeon-like atmosphere of Britain's Ministry, carrying instead the elegance of an old imperial palace. Two floors below, another corridor awaited them. Lining both sides were members of the ICW's International Auror Force, positioned at precise intervals. Clad in immaculate uniforms, they stood in disciplined silence, acknowledging the group only with subtle movements of their eyes. The doors at the end of it were the tall brass-handled ones visible on every screen currently broadcasting the evening's proceedings across the wizarding world, and beyond them, audible even through several inches of enchanted wood, was the low, continuous murmur of several hundred witches and wizards from every corner of the globe, waiting. One of the officials stepped forward and took hold of the door handle, glancing back at the four of them with a look that asked, without quite saying so, whether they were ready. Dumbledore gave a small nod. The doors swung open, and the sound of the assembly rolled out to meet them like a wave, and then, as they stepped through into the light of the chamber, it faded, degree by degree, into a silence that filled the room from the floor to the vaulted ceiling above, complete and absolute, as several hundred pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance at once. "Go ahead, kid..." Edward murmured in a hushed tone only the four of them could hear. They resumed their unhurried pace down the central aisle, seemingly indifferent to the weight of every gaze in the room following their progress. Murmurs moved through the hall and the gallery above in quiet waves, cameras turning, lenses tracking their every step. "An intriguing young man, wouldn't you agree, Master Weiguo?" Matheus Guimarães, a man whose features clearly marked his Latin heritage, had short brown hair neatly combed back and a closely trimmed beard. Clad in formal wizarding robes, he possessed a lean build and a youthful face that made him appear no older than his thirties. His frown lasted only a brief moment before the corner of his lips curled into a faintly amused smile as he murmured to the man seated beside him. The latter was known as the most reclusive of the seven Archmages, only rarely showing himself to the world. Second only to Takamura in age, he carried himself exactly as one would expect from an old man. His beard was white and nearly an arm's length long, rather than standard wizarding robes, he wore the traditional attire of his homeland, making him look as though he had stepped out of a bygone century. His eyes rested on Maverick for several unhurried seconds before settling back into quiet indifference, though a faint gleam now lingered in them as he watched the approaching party without offering any reply to the comment beside him. Maverick led the group, while Dumbledore, Edward, and Maxime followed a step behind in a single line, a seemingly insignificant detail that had not escaped the notice of the two Archmages. To the ordinary observer, it meant nothing, but to those accustomed to reading the unspoken language of the powerful, it said rather a lot without saying anything at all. Step. Step. Step. Ascending the short flight of stairs, their footsteps faded into the background noise without echoing. One after another, they took their seats. There were seven in total, had it not been for Volkov's unfortunate fate, there would have been eight. At the centre sat Archmage Zhang Weiguo, known to most simply as Master Weiguo, a Master-level Alchemist in his own right and the man who would preside over the assembly tonight, though the role carried little beyond ceremonial weight. Among the seven Archmages, no voice stood above another. To his right sat Matheus Guimarães, with Takamura one seat further along and the space between them taken by Olympe Maxime. On Weiguo's left, Dumbledore settled into the seat beside him, followed by Maverick, and finally Edward. "You seem to have taken a rather scenic route, Albus." Master Weiguo spoke the moment Dumbledore sat down, without turning his head. "You will have to forgive us, old friend." Dumbledore said, his smile suggesting he found the question rather more amusing than it perhaps deserved. "Though I believe the clock is still very much on our side." The hall waited, the world waited. Master Weiguo offered no reply, then slowly rose to his feet. "Let us begin." The murmurs throughout the hall ceased instantly, as though the room had drawn a single collective breath and held it. Every eye turned toward him, while beyond the enchanted camera lenses positioned throughout the chamber, millions more across the wizarding world waited in complete silence.
"It has been half a century," he began, his measured voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the hall, "since this Great Council last assembled with so many in attendance." Contrary to what one might expect from a man of his descent, his English carried not the slightest trace of an accent. "The previous occasion was to determine the fate of Gellert Grindelwald, whose reign of terror plunged our world into one of its darkest chapters." His eyes moved briefly across the assembled hall before settling forward once more. "It is with no small measure of regret that we find ourselves assembled once more under circumstances of equal consequence." Silence held for a moment, the only sounds the soft clicks of enchanted cameras and the faint, continuous scratch of countless Quick-Quotes Quills racing across parchment. "Ladies and gentlemen of our great magical communities." He allowed the address to settle before continuing. "Yesterday evening, the course of our long-held tradition was brought to a tipping point unlike anything we have witnessed in a very, very long time."