The Triarch looked bold today, more sure than he had in a long while now. His head was growing silver with age and he did not seem to have the same aura of inner calm that he had once possessed, though the weary lines of his face showed the strain of time was beginning to get to him. Once the most powerful man in the land without question, everyone knew that the Triarch had been a paragon of seamless grace and power. When he completed the tournament, the image of him had been emblazoned within the minds of his citizens of him standing over his fallen foe. There was fire in his eyes as he turned to face the people that he would now rule and they had cheered for him wildly. His left palm was studded with the brilliant scarlet spines of red magic and his right arm held the sword he had been wielding. Those glory days, however, were long past. Now, his advisor came to him with another letter from a messenger, another sign of the decline in his rule. The crest at the front of it was the symbol of his general to the east, a sea serpent cresting a wave. The wax was dried and showed an unbroken seal, which the Triarch promptly broke to read the contents of the letter. His mouth thinned into a single line, his eyes narrowed and he reread just to make sure that he was clear on its contents. Assured that he had not misread, he called his advisor to bring him a quill, some ink, and a blank leaf of paper. He scrawled a quick note to the general before folding the note and his seal and wax were given to him. The wax was pure and snowy white, a symbol of the Triarch's mastery over all of the other colors in the Seven. The symbol on the seal bore a three-point crown, emblematic of a Triarch. The message sent back was simple and the king hardly cared if it was intercepted, much to the terror of the messenger who then did not have added protection to carry back the missive. "I will send my Seven" A meeting was being called of the new members of the Seven. A recent ceremony had been held in the city outside the castle for their austere honor. Each had been given flowing robes in their respective color and been expected to memorize a long and complex speech of acceptance in the old tongue of Mas'Elli, but since then, there had been very little going on for them to do and they had not met to speak with one another at all. They did not, after all, know each other. They had been born not only in different regions of Mas'Elli but some of them on separate kingdoms completely. Secretly, Eris wondered why they had all been assigned an alias - so that no one would know their origins, or so that they none of them were considered actual people anymore. They were instead the elite, the best at their given branch of magic, or so she hoped. It had been incredible to be invited to the tournament of the Red, absolutely surreal to have won. Now the reigning champion of Red magic on Mas'Elli... the feeling was incredible. Even if there were not that many magic users born, still only a seventh born Red, there were enough that the tournament had been clustered with people from all over. Not just Mas'Elli but other country's magic users showed themselves to compete. Having been able to watch the last few minutes of the Green tournament, Eris was alarmed at how much more violent the Red competition had been, but not surprised. Green was a magic of defense and its chosen frequently displayed a tendency for it. Green could craft barriers from the earth itself, it was said, and use the very land to defend themselves. Red, on the other hand, formed weapons from pure light and were often violently tempered. She herself was no exception to the rule, though staunch discipline made her more calm than many of the Reds who'd been gathered. The other branches were less familiar to her, though Black seemed an eerie and unnerving thing. The ability to drain the life force from one you touch... it was a daunting thought. At least the energy one could drain from an unwilling host was substantially smaller than that of a willing one. Still, it was not something one should make enemies of. That could be said for all the colors, though, she supposed. Each terrifying in their own way, the chosen. Having found her way to the throne room of the Triarch with only a few wrong turns, Eris pushed open the door and stepped gingerly inside. Resplendent in decoration and imperious usage of color, she was instantly on her guard only because it was so foreign to her. One man sat in the throne, his silver hair shimmering in the candle light. Another stood at his side, surely an advisor. Before Eris had a chance to speak, the advisor cut her sentence short. "Color?" His voice was nasally, though he looked harmless enough. Eris coughed and stared straight ahead, trying to see if any other the Seven had arrived before she had. "Red. My color is Red, sir." "Ah. From this moment on, whatever your name was before, forget it. You are now Sparrow, the Red. When the others come, we will assign their name to them as well. Stand there and wait patiently."