Ten in the room, yet a deafening silence. They were seated around a long mahogany table, five on each side, in a room not too dark and not too bright. One of them was an exception, the eleventh member, whose seat was at the head of the table. In front of each person was an open book and a quill next to it.
Right at the center of that table, there was an abstract object floating mid-air. It was almost invisible, but pulsated with faint glows that shifted and changed in color, and each time it did, the room would get darker.
“We can't all sit here, silent, like nothing isn't terribly wrong.” The man at the end of the table spoke first, looking at each member one after the other.
“I believe that's exactly why we're all here, against our schedules,” replied another, a bit sarcastically. He
