Vitu's wedding was both announced and planned for the month of Aquarius 697. Nastia, still working in the Thirteenth, seemed more and more troubled with my presence. At some point, she told me while swiftly stopping as we crossed each other's way in the main hall:

'Please never inform Vitu of… what we had.'

I did not believe what we had was much, but I had already efficiently understood we lost it, as soon as I saw her with my best friend in that little laundry room. I nodded, she left, and we never exchanged any words again.

The celebration, due to the groom's obligations, didn't last more than a couple of hours. It took place in a small administrative building that was unused that day. Vitu only brought his parents, while the pompous Anastasia felt like inviting all her extended family and friends, beginning with Mother Orla, whom I respected her dedication to Lord Larsa very much, and who had to spend all the ceremony sitting. As I arrived and noticed the crowd, I made my way to Vitu and was about to congratulate my friend, when a familiar yet peculiar shape, in this attire, appeared from a private door. Judge Zargabaath was not a Judge that day, he was a man proud of his protégé – his grey eyes did not lie. His silver hair was perfectly combed and tied in a tiny ponytail, while the rest of his costume looked more costly than all of the Solidors' combined, Phonmat included. Now that was my definition for fancy clothes. What stood out the most was his cape; a dark green cape that made him look more like a mage than a wedding attendee. It was made of some thick Kerwon silk embroidered with gold. His emerald-green velvet doublet – with actual emeralds; six on each side, next to the buttons – was slightly covered by a light vest of fine brown linen woven with silver patterns on large edges. Breeches made of brown Rozarrian wool covered his legs, as well as high Nanna skin boots, that were as white as his silky gloves. The newlyweds were also dressed in a similar gil range, but apart from them, the whole audience looked like mud-covered peasants.

'I am most glad you came today, Gabranth', Vitu said as I got closer. 'Sorry my brother couldn't join us – he is very busy. Today my second and last dream is coming true. I could not be happier, and I could not imagine sharing that happiness without you!'

'I would follow you anywhere you wish', I replied with a smile, before immediately regretting my words.

As a matter of fact, Zargabaath, who was still around, added:

'It would be beneficial to show him your new house, Vitu. Let us bring him with us after the ceremony.'

'Oh, what a wonderful idea, my Lord!' he screamed in his tight suit. 'Of course he's coming. Right, Gabranth?'

'I… I will.'

As the wedding celebrations went on – which were much less joyous than Landis ones – and Zargabaath was walking everywhere to talk to the late guests, waiters, musicians, cooks and cleaners, I heard conversations from the tables around mine:

'Who is this old man? Is it the groom's father?'

'Oh, no. Lord Palnissen is on the other side with his wife, look!'

'Then who is it? And why is he the one playing the master of ceremonies instead of Nastia's parents?'

'Lord Palnissen isn't moving a finger either. I would feel offended in his stead.'

'If the man is a regular guest, why did he not bring his family? There are enough commodities in this place to host them.'

"Enough commodities", I thought, "because he is the one paying for them. He is the reason you're putting in your chatty mouth that delicious fruit-flavored shrimp with rare herbs. And he is most likely the reason House Palnissen, that seems to belong to a much higher class than yours, agreed to welcome in it your relative, Nastia. He successfully served as negotiator. With or without the need of his mysterious family."

The hint that I needed came the following week.

Judge Magister Zargabaath – would I see him more often than mine now? – summoned me again, that time in the Eighth, his division's lodging and headquarters.

'I need you to discover one family of the Mighties', he said after I closed the door. 'Let us say that, among the four, they are the best mix of power and good intentions. House Feynis is waiting for a judgement from the trade court concerning one of their businesses. Compulsory liquidation has been decided, and in the case of the Mighties, especially those who harm the economy the less, it is courtesy to deliver it to them via a person', he explained, handing a green envelope over me.

I nodded and was about to go on my way, when a firm grip closed on my collar.

'I have a favor to ask of you', Zargabaath added with much less enthusiasm. 'When you're among them, if you see or hear a woman named Aline, please pay attention to her state and bring her news to me.'

The route to Argyll was long – probably because I wasn't used to it – and the surroundings of the train station clearly showed nothing like the opulent Offaly. Argyll itself, province capital of Argyllshire, was, unlike all my apprehensions, a lovely city. There were indeed shops everywhere, as well as giant malls in the suburbs, but the architecture was more reasonable, warmer and smaller. The town itself was not small, for people of all races were walking or running across the red-paved pedestrian paths, along frequent gardens and yellow fields in the background. The weather was overly hot, and my choice of clothes had not taken it into account.

Thus, all sweaty, I rang at The Shoemade Hunters, the store where I could find the man named Alaric of Feynis.

As soon as I heard the signal to open the door, I understood why Zargabaath had sent me to them.

One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Oh my! Six… Seven.

Seven cross-armed humans were facing me, from the other side of the empty shop, next to the counter.

Their grey eyes. Their silver hair. Most of their traits. It was striking.

They were all above the age of fifty, but their look harbored something extremely juvenile – each one for a different reason. They were visibly standing from oldest to youngest.

The man on the left looked like a playful teenager, while looking at me in the most observing way I had ever felt, and manifestly bearing his title of family's eldest. Was he the Feynis leader?

The man standing next to him had no aura in common. His face was exclusively oppressive, his monocle and top hat covering a potential lack of intelligence. Unlike his brother, his hair was waving on his shoulders and he had a thick moustache.

The woman at his side was clearly a former fighter – what we could see from her calves and thighs was clear: either a knight or an Uhlan, spear-wielder. Her hair was half-tied in a bun, and her face was completely neutral.

The next woman was the one who scared me the most. She had shorter hair, hanging in the air, and her eyes were completely dilated. Her cheeks were slightly red, and she would not stop moving. No doubt she was on some sort of hard drug.

The man on her side was, by far, the one that looked the most normal. He had short hair and glasses, and was carrying a file with an inked quill. He was so busy thinking what to write, that he had not noticed me at all.

The last man was silently shouting: "Let me leave!". With his feet faced inwards, his embarrassed demeanor and closed face; it appeared like his other siblings brought him by force. His head was almost bald – despite looking ten years younger than all the others – and his eyes always facing down.

And finally, I noticed her.

She was on the far left, next to the eldest son. Being on a wheelchair, she was the only one sitting, and her face telling a mix of the eldest son's and the youngest's. Her hair – which they clearly all had chestnut brown at some point – was gently tied in a ponytail, and her dress was less sumptuous than her siblings – whose clothing style was very similar to Vitu's wedding's organizer. Despite all the material goods her family might have, and that could compensate her legs' loss, her eyes were saying: "Help me".

However, as soon as she turned to me, she decided to say something else:

'Welcome here, Your Honor.'

'Don't treat him like a Judge Magister!' shouted the second son, holding his hat to contain his anger.

'Oh? Is he not one?' she innocently blinked her eyes.

'Of course not, you idiot!' he shouted again. 'And even if he was, these people – and all people – are far less important than us. Never utter such shameful words again, Al!'

'I… I shall not displease you again, Al.'

I deemed that a good moment to voice my request:

'I have come with a letter from Argyllshire's trade court. I am Judge Gabranth.'

They hadn't reacted at all at the first sentence, but were all suddenly interested at the second one.

'Judge?' said the former Uhlan. 'Do you think he can help us for the next trial? We've lost enough time.'

'Do you think he can tell us when we can go to Rivaccia?' said the youngest son.

'Do you think he knows our brother?' cried the youngest daughter in the wheelchair.

'I know something.'

Everybody turned to the eldest son, who turned to… me.

'Judge Gabranth', he said, 'is the current Supreme Court leader of our native province of Offaly.'

'Why are you looking at us, Al?' the Uhlan protested. 'Only this crybaby did us the offense to be born in Offaly!'

The youngest son, whom she was referring to with her strong arm, never looked more ill-at-ease. Then his eldest brother, as if nothing happened, pursued:

'And he is a well-listed candidate to be appointed Chief Justice of the Supreme Court at national level.'

How was he aware? So these people knew more than anybody else. More than the Order, and likely more than the Palace. Hell, they probably had at least relative power to appoint whoever they want wherever they want them.

'What? This kid?' the studious brother finally reacted.

'I come here on behalf of the Order of Judges to give you this decision', I concluded.

The angry brother took a step forward and tried to take the envelope from me. I pulled my arm backwards, specifying:

'I need to deliver this to Alaric of Feynis.'

And then a shiver crossed my spine: "What if it was him?"

Fortunately, the monocle, after additional seconds of scornful watch, turned away.

'Albert of Feynis is close enough to Alaric!' he said with a shrug.

'Absolutely not'.

The studious brother – visibly being the famous Alaric – came to me without paying attention to him, and I handed him the letter.

'I would never accept being mistaken with the likes of you, Al', he declared as he opened it.

'How dare you…!' Albert shouted.

All the others were laughing heartily. The sitting lady's laugh, in particular, had something heart-warming. Her eyes did not look desperate anymore.

'Without my network', Albert continued, 'you would never have had your first firm running!'

'Without your network, Al', Alaric retorted, slightly raising his head from the paper, 'you would never have a wife that is bothering us so much now.'

Bewildered at the scene, I could only stay quiet.

'Ah, forgive us, Gabranth', Alaric said, 'even the best siblings of Ivalice can have an argument. But this store is a safe place – feel free to check.'

'I am no inspector', I said in a tone that I wanted rigid and clear, but that could only sound like a child amidst six people in their fifties, who didn't need to reveal their secret group and power, nor even be slightly mean, to show authority. If their military power was unknown, their unity – or what remained of it – was their social power. 'I only came to share the court's decision regarding this business.'

Lord Alaric raised his wary eyes behind his glasses.

'This business? Dear gods, no; the decision is not about this business. Ah! How fortunate I am! Our 133rd company finally got liquidated! Now the page is turned and I can safely focus on the remaining 132.'

132 companies belonging to a single family…? As a matter of fact, these Mighties had a world of their own.