Though Galactic may not have been useful in the practical side of things, he prided himself in being a knowledge seeker, a knowledge keeper. So though he worried of what might be danger, he took to Orion, fluttering silently through the air. His hearing was keen, so he made for a perch far away from the others, digging his talons into the back of one of the pews. There were others, many of them, he could make out fluttering hards and soft breaths.

Someone began to speak--a familiar voice, Pride?, he thought they were a stag, if he remembered right, and Galactic never forgot. He ruffled his feathers in no small amount of alarm at the thought of beings such as the Controllers, able to kill creatures much greater than he with little more than a touch--how could he defend himself with no sight, nothing more than wind magic and talons?

But just bowing to this 'Vargas', who he assumed the loud breaths belonged to, did not sit with him. He did not want to turn over children to anyone, though having children itself was not something he intended on doing for quite a long while.

Though the 'Vargas' words were... fascinating, and something he deeply intended on looking into. The caves were some sort of testing ground? Orion an arena? Fascinating, absolutely fascinating! Who could have known? Though he hated Vargas for his words alone, there was some part of him that respected this... Overseer, as he called himself, for giving him such knowledge.

Someone else spoke, offering more knowledge, and he twisted his head this way and that to listen, 'Fascinating!' And... a ship? What was that? He dearly hoped that the strange little creature would have her questoin answered, because not knowing would leave him molting. And who was Farina? and Draco?

Someone very loud, off to his side, refused to give up his children, and he agreed though he didn't voice it. Another asked someone to help them, and someone's breathing started to rattle violently as someone else refused as well, and another asked an 'Astraea', another Master, perhaps the one the first had asked for help, if this was correct, while someone else offered so much magic, although it seemed insanity, dramatics.

Where Hemlocke - and any of the other Sentinels, for that matter - had this meeting explained as optional to them, attendance was essentially mandatory for Orthoclase-Alpha. From the outset, its Overseer had stated... well, that they would both be there, at the minimum. The monstrous hybrid was standing in the bleachers, closest to the floor as it could get - and pointedly at the opposite end of the dragons. It scanned the crowd briefly, then the floor, and couldn't help the slight snarl, seeing Pride.

All that Vargas said, it already knew to be true. Failure was not optional, and neither was all of this. It'd be wise for all of them to just sit down and take the inevitable. (Then, it could do its assigned task without many obstacles but the training itself.)

Upon being mentioned - and then indicated towards - the orthoclase straightened, set its jaw. Once attention drawn away from it, it slipped back into that low half-crouch it wore so often, head hung and tilted down to continue to listen and -

Master Astraea, and - offering something that would turn its own thinking on its head for a moment. The clockwork turned in its head, first noting that it would be the spawn of a Master (if he weren't so - foolish - to turn ascension down) (and not that that granted itself any benefit of the doubt, hm?) If his plans to name it as a second were not changed by this promotion - or any backlash from the crowd - would that mean...

It'd digest that later.

Azizos filtered into the forum at a mild pace, stepping out of the way of larger Gembound and keeping an eye on his footsteps for smaller ones. He wasn't in a particular hurry to get the best seat in the house, but he'd like to - at least - see his father down there around the admittedly large, terrifying beast standing next to him.

Pale eyes found the silhouette of Khloros in the crowd as he spoke, faintly recognizing him from his other father's storytelling. The stallion's tone held far more gravitas than Azizos would have anticipated, and it dredged up a memory of a... ah, it'd been a child, hadn't it? coming to him in Pisces, murmuring about Jupiter and her baleful hatred for the Spire - its capture of essence from the world outside. What Pride'd seen and shown to him struck a particular note of... sadness? in him, if only for her rebellion's death with her.

But, again, here was that redeemed horse, calling upon the very thing that'd tortured him to help them all against this endless cycle.

Without magic, though... surely they would all die. Their lives over whatever unknowns was outside? Beyond these walls of rock? That wouldn't matter if whatever was outside killed them first. Azizos settled down quietly, lying sideways on a part of the bleachers, and watching with wary eyes.

All this was... unsettling.

Mercurius was unfortunately acquainted with regimes, children twisted into soldiers against a cause they did not understand. That king had been hurt, struggling to cope with the death of his beloved lamb - and yet, he drove that harm into the hearts of others. Into his own, in the end. This - it seemed - was at least somewhat different.

The beast padded the length of a few seats, moonset eyes fixing eagerly on the figure of his son and drawing him closer. "I hope you've been doing well," he rumbled softly, and turned his gaze to the stag down below, "and your father, too." Azizos gave a conflicted smile, nod, and a sigh.

Mercy huffed, head swinging back. Trepidation crept through his dulled claws, and he sheathed them with a sniff. Aiming to comfort himself, he ran through his magical reserves, bringing only a soft carpet of mosses and blossoming white flowers beneath his paw pads. Something to keep himself busy while he listened.

Nassir prowled along in the darker corners of the arena, if only to check for... something? Assassins sharpening their knives? Scraping their claws on stones to hone their edges? Magical traps'd been accounted for, but that said little for unwanted guests. The Seven were on careful watch.

Everything about this had him tense, but he listened along, and he quietly hoped: Pride deserves a long nap after this. Surely, his advice'd been going on repeat in the stag's mind for the past three days.

Mercurius and he were attending the meeting as representatives, sort of, of the Kingdom of Eridanus. Or what was left of it, at least. Oliver wasn't too sure about any of this, but they'd been told this would be a very, very important meeting. And he didn't want to miss it.

There were so many Gembound here... so many were strangers to him. But the forum was large enough that they did not have to jostle for space. The crowd milled, spoke, listened; Oliver remained silent, quietly observing.

He'd not known about... any of this. And it was bad--it was very, very clearly bad. All of it was bad. Slavery-? Children, given away? Death? Vargas was terrifying to look at, his demands for acknowledgement of his power and titles... worrying. And Astraea-... Oliver watched him warily, worriedly. He was the one who had threatened them in the past. Asked them to kill. Sent Venari (as much as Oliver adored her) after them or, at least, after Rift.

The little hybrid had little to say--he feared speaking out to much, and it was quite possible that his own input was given in a voice too quiet to be heard. But he spoke, nonetheless, having to take a moment to gather his courage to do so in such a crowd, and against such power. Feeling faint from it. Feeling cold, and then hot; his heart racing.

"It sounds... wrong," was all he said, softly, though he tried to make himself heard.

Her entry is quiet, just like the rest of theirs. The iceblade is still clutched in her jaws, though time made her more used to the biting chill it set into her teeth. It didn't bother her as much as it did before, fresh out of her chrysalis and not already frostbitten to the point of numbness. She'd attempted to use it on other lessers, but she found out two things: one, they were difficult to hit, even with its short length and swing; two, damage didn't seem to be amplified by it when it was jammed into something. Not any more than stabbing something with a sword would, anyways.

Regardless, Hargrave liked it, and set it down at her side as she settled in to watch, listen. It was wise to be politically aware, especially with the imagery of dead Masters haunting her; and she felt a faint thrum of - something? - at knowing that the Chaos Beast was not dead and gone. There was still something to succeed.

Eythan trickled in behind Giggle, ears flicking around and bright eyes searching, if only for holy shit, this is a lot of people. The gryphon wasn't sure he'd ever seen an assembly as large as this; or that he ever would again. Cetus paled in comparison to this. I recognize some here, too. The key figures in that fight, the more... unmissable, even with fire raging around and his own blood roaring in his ears and pulsing out of him. Dread, mostly.

It's difficult to miss a dragon, particularly when he was surrounded by two others and bellowing.

He settled on the opposite side of Aure, spotted shoulders rolling. Unless things got particularly hairy, he intended on keeping his mouth shut - just acting as part of Bonebound representation. Quiet and polite; he could do that.

Even as his posture immediately started to slouch over, legs kicking out a bit, taking up entirely too much space for his general mortal form.

He had not asked much of his Bonebound for this meeting other than to simply be present — if they so desired (and he spared a few too many worried glances towards his mother and daughter both, as short as the trip was.) They wouldn't have to speak, presenting an ultimatum that may very well shape how the Caves proceeded in the not-too-distant future. That responsibility fell on him. It'd be the presence of his family that grounded him on the outset he was perched on, and not allow the Overseer's booming voice or demeanor to send him spiralling away from here — nor the stag Astraea's presence and offerings of yet another untouchable figure of power.

Khloros's call did not go unheard, did not go unused. But, seeing beyond death as he had, the horse couldn't know the raw power that being'd held. To have a presence so thickly-layered with magic and energy that it could be felt… revolution would spell death, even with the wrath of Masters behind them. Raheerah, gone in just a touch — even if he was not dead — Jupiter mauled by beasts from the shadows and Oil. Auré despised this revelation.

There was a moment of silence, and the Bone King took a stuttering breath, flared himself up — with a forceful push of magic and several faux wisps now surrounding him — and began:

"Overseer — Master," (he appended the latter with a shudder,) "you're asking us to give our stones, our magic, ourselves — to create living, breathing, thinking things." Auré straightened on the spot, and continued, "if only to deny them that for… what's beyond here. I don't think I speak for only myself when I say… I cannot justify that. It can't go well on my conscience that I've had a piece of my stone or magic demanded from me, shaped into someone that's alive, and used to make soldiers for elsewhere; even if it's for our collective survival." Imagine if I'd given the stone that became Damask to… this machine, ran through Auré's mind again, and he steeled himself with that what-if and the wisdom his mother had found from in the bones: "I — and my mother, advisor, seer — have, at least, somewhat of an alternative to propose."

"You may have your stones and magic as you deem necessary, but we — their parents — would want a part in raising them. Cooperation between us raising them and your… training would be mutually beneficial, and we would still have —" this sounded horribly insensitive in his own ears "product to deliver to… whoever is in control. There would be little backlash from us, no impediment to you. I would not reject your demands or rebel against you, knowing that my — or anyone else's — children are safe as they can be in these Caves, and at peace with themselves."

damask took a deep, mustering breath, in through her nose, out through just-parted lips. another, another, each accompanied by a different permutation of the same dogged thought. keep it together, kid. you're fine, you're all right, you're okay; all you need to do is stand and listen. you have got this.

her father stood just beside and ahead of her, his presence the anchor that moored her to here. he had primed her for this: shown her visions of dragonfire, monsters melting into oily froth, hands that swirled with almighty power — a reel of horrors that looped in her skull. his descriptions gave her some rough idea of the major players, and through him she knew of the countless, uncertain numbers who would attend, very few of them familiar. none of it could prepare her for the reality that she was now forced to face. the arena swarmed with bodies, voices, movement, a sensory assault clamoring for analysis that she (for once) could not fully supply. instead, she had to ration it. damask's eyes snapped to the few faces she recognized as they all settled into their respective groupings; then, to the speakers — pride, vargas, astraea — each more staggering in power than the last. and yet, through it all, it was auré she tracked. a measure of inches separated them, mathematically maintained with leans and shifts of wing and feather. the nearest she could go without chancing contact.

she didn't know enough to make a judgment she'd consider sound enough, nor did she consider herself so in the flash flood of information that was this moment; but she did have ... a certain train of thought. fact: no one alive would be killed unless they chose to rebel. fact: of the choices given, only one would minimize loss of life at no ostensible risk. fact: that choice was surrender. she had no idea of what the masters' servitude would entail, nor were the stakes so high in her eyes. something about the prospect of ... having children — it made her recoil, and that was a side she couldn't see. but regardless of her biases, despite how wrong it felt, the logic was clear. she was almost sure of it — until auré inhaled to say his piece.

for all that she wanted to shrink from the spotlight, damask stood tall at her father's side — not so much shorter than he was, now — and made herself a worthy shadow, straight in the spine with steel in her eyes. the more he spoke, the harder it was to keep herself still. that's ... me he's talking about. i'm the reason he's fighting. her gaze lifted to his with a slight swivel of her head, blinking away an inkling of emotion. he's suggesting a compromise. a smart one, a fair one. even if it gets him hurt. this is what bravery looks like. this is what a king looks like.

the young vita dragged her focus away as he finished. wanting nothing more than to push a nudge into his chest, whisper her thanks in his ears, give him so much as a smile — denying every wish. facing the crowd and all its sets of eyes. held together with wire and will.

don't forget to breathe, now.