The Grand Hall was now entirely filled with an assembly of nobles. The gleam of chandeliers shimmered across the polished marble floor, and in every direction, small circles had formed where guests stood with crystal decanters and goblets of wine in hand, engaged in quiet political discourse.
The music still played, and the servants continued their measured movement. Every conversation, on the surface, remained courteous and restrained, yet beneath it lay a clear undercurrent of rivalry—each striving to assert the strength, wealth, and influence of their Blood House above the rest. There was respect in their words… but comparison, and veiled challenge, in their intent.
Divided into many such circles, the nobles conversed among themselves. Some spoke of Lyra's achievement, others viewed the occasion as an opportunity to secure future alliances, while a few… simply waited—to see what else might unfold behind this display of power.
Yet amidst all these discussions… one subject returned again and again.
"Prince Lucian has yet to be seen… curious…"
"At the very least, he ought to have made a formal appearance…"
There was no open mockery in their voices—yet the question beneath their words was unmistakable.
Respect remained… but trust did not.
"Or perhaps…" one voice murmured softly, "he does not wish to appear…"
"Or cannot…" another added in a near whisper.
Some concealed faint smiles, while others merely lowered their gaze to their goblets—as though they had heard nothing at all.
The soldiers of the Ravencrest Empire, clad in black uniform, stood at the edges of the hall like shadows. Their presence was so measured and controlled that they neither drew attention… nor were they ever truly unnoticed.
Meanwhile, the attendants and maidservants moved with quiet efficiency among the guests. In accordance with the traditions of the palace, male attendants served the gentlemen, while the maidservants attended to the ladies. Their steps were disciplined, and their expressions bore that practiced neutrality—neither visible, nor entirely absent.
In the absence of King Alaric and Queen Seraphina, the responsibility of the entire gathering now rested in the hands of Elias. He stood in his dark coat, upright and composed—yet within that composure lay a certain distance. Many nobles cast sidelong glances toward him, for it was not easily accepted that in such a grand assembly, they were being received not by a member of the royal house… but by a mere Head Steward.
"How… unbecoming," one noble murmured, taking a measured sip from his goblet, ensuring his words reached only those standing close to him. "In the absence of the King and Queen, their heirs ought at the very least to be present… what manner of arrangement is this?"
"Prince Lucian has yet to be seen…" another added, his tone edged with quiet curiosity, "and the Princess is nowhere in sight either…"
"Either it is negligence…" a third remarked with a faint, knowing smile, "…or a deliberate insult."
Amidst their exchange, a merchant—who had until now listened in silence—stepped closer to their circle and spoke in a calm, even tone. "Duke Volter… your observations are most intriguing."
"Oh… Mr. Jasper Sterling, I had not expected your presence here," one of the nobles replied, turning slightly toward him.
"Indeed," Jasper answered with an easy smile, inclining his head in courtesy, "I have long been in service to the House of Ravencrest, so my presence here is only natural, my Duke."
He paused briefly, then continued, "As for what you mentioned… I saw Queen Seraphina here not long ago, though she departed shortly thereafter to confer with King Aurelius Solmyr. And as you are well aware… one does not refuse the King."
With a light shrug, he added, "As for King Alaric… he too is absent, and so it would be unwise to dwell upon such matters. There may well be reasons beyond our knowledge. In any case, nothing here appears wanting… and I see no cause for concern. The people of Ravencrest seem to have matters well in hand."
Duke Volter gave a small nod of agreement, letting out a light chuckle as the conversation began to drift toward matters of trade.
Then, quite suddenly, Jasper spoke again, his tone casual—yet deliberate. "Tell me… you have surely heard of those Blood Houses that stand unaffiliated with any Kingdom?"
Duke Volter lifted his shoulders slightly, curiosity stirring in his expression. "Hmm… I have heard whispers. Do you happen to know something of them?"
Jasper adjusted the fold of his coat and spoke in a calm, measured tone,
"No… I do not know much. But it is being said that someone is providing them with patronage. And these are not merely whispers—I have heard the same from the mouths of other nobles. The matter has caught everyone's interest…"
He inclined slightly, his voice lowering—soft, yet precise.
"I believe… your time would be better spent considering this, rather than indulging in the censure of Prince Lucian Ravencrest."
The three nobles standing beside him clenched their fists.
They understood exactly what Jasper meant.
With that, Jasper took his leave and moved toward another gathering of nobles, leaving the three of them watching him in silence.
Not far from them, a group of merchants were engaged in a different discussion.
"Have you heard the news from that technological state in the west?" one of them said quietly. "It is said they have once again tested new weapons… yet they still have not risen to the standing of a Kingdom."
"Without Celestial power…" another shook his head, "it is impossible. They wish to wage war through machines alone… such ambitions will not endure. If they seek to be recognized as a Kingdom, they must prove their worth."
"Or perhaps…" the first murmured, "…this is their only path. They possess no Celestial Blood Family, and so they turn to these machines. But truth be told… this alone will never make them a Kingdom."
Elsewhere, a group of military officers spoke in hushed tones about the Sylvian incident.
"The reaction of the Seal was far from normal…" one said.
"And if word of it spreads…" another added quietly, "we would never have learned of it, had our children not been present there. Elder Vyom concealed the matter rather well… he was attempting to shield that useless, weak prince."
Among them stood a commander of the Blackmarsh Kingdom, who until now had remained silent. Suddenly, he spoke—his jaw tightening with anger as he crushed the glass in his hand.
It shattered within his grasp.
Shards of glass drove into his palm, and blood began to seep through his fingers.
"What are you doing?" one of the officers stepped back slightly, his tone edged with discomfort. "I have no taste for blood… outside the battlefield."
A military minister nearby gestured sharply to a maid. "You—come here. There has been a mess made. See that it is cleared."
The maid immediately bowed and began gathering the shattered pieces, while another swiftly wiped away the mingled stain of blood and wine. A third stepped forward, attempting to bind the commander's wounded hand with a strip of cloth.
But the commander shoved her aside.
"What do you think you are doing?" his voice rose, harsh and cutting. "A lowly servant such as you—do you believe I require your aid? I will not fall to such a trivial wound!"
His raised voice drew the attention of those nearby; glances turned, conversations faltered.
The minister intervened at once, restoring order. Drawing a handkerchief from within his coat, he bound it firmly around the commander's hand.
"Whatever Kingdom you hail from," he said in a controlled tone, "you will observe decorum here. A man of standing does not cast his anger upon those beneath him."
The commander's expression tightened, the weight of his misstep settling upon him. He lowered his head.
"My apologies… and my thanks."
Another officer stepped forward, extending a goblet toward him with a faint smirk. "Here—take this. And try not to shatter the glass this time. Tell me… what has unsettled you so?"
The commander's voice grew heavy.
"When you spoke of that weak prince… I lost my temper. My daughter—she is but ten—was present in Sylvian Village that day… her life could have been taken."
The pain in his eyes was unmistakable.
One of the officers placed a hand upon his shoulder, his voice calm—yet firm. "You are not alone. There are many whose children stood at the edge of death that day. But remember this…"
His tone hardened.
"We are but officers. There are those here who stand far above us. And above all—though the Divine Kingdom may rule this continent… the most powerful family remains Ravencrest. And that prince… is their blood. So mind yourself."
The commander drew a slow breath. "Understood…"
Before long, the maids had restored order, and the conversation drifted once more toward matters of war and borders—as though nothing had occurred at all.
Amidst these whispers and layered conversations, a certain group standing along the edge of the hall remained visibly displeased.
"I should not have attended this Ravencrest gathering…" one noble muttered under his breath. "At the very least, an heir should have been present to uphold propriety…"
At that moment, a tall and imposing figure entered their circle of hushed voices. Clad in dark robes, he carried himself with the quiet authority of a sovereign. Upon his attire was inscribed the emblem of a nine-headed skeleton, arranged in a circular design. His black eyes, paired with equally dark hair, gave rise to an unsettling, almost otherworldly presence.
"Gentlemen… it would seem you find yourselves troubled," the man spoke, his voice calm—yet heavy with weight. "Might I be of assistance?"
One of the nobles turned toward him in irritation. "And who might you be—"
His words died in his throat.
The moment his gaze fell upon the white nine-headed skeleton emblazoned upon the man's chest, his hands began to tremble. Realization struck him at once—this was no ordinary figure. This was a member of one of the three great Dark Families… the House of Hellstone.
The goblet in his hand wavered, spilling its contents. "Y-you… you are here? I was not aware… Forgive my insolence, my Lord!" The arrogance in his voice had vanished, replaced entirely by fear.
Malakar Van Hellstone, without haste, gestured subtly to a passing attendant. The servant immediately bowed, and from the tray he carried, Malakar lifted a crystal goblet. Without uttering a word, he regarded him with calm, composed eyes—a silent acknowledgment—before his attention shifted back to the nobles before him, the very same who moments ago had spoken in quiet disdain of Ravencrest.
The goblet in his hand remained perfectly still. He blinked once—and then his gaze settled upon them.
"I regret, gentlemen…" his voice was soft, yet it carried such weight that the surrounding murmurs fell silent of their own accord, "that you have taken the trouble to attend… and yet no distinguished presence stood to receive you. Therefore… allow me to assume that responsibility."
He raised his goblet slightly.
"On behalf of the Dark Families of the Ravencrest Kingdom—
I, Malakar Van Hellstone, current head of the Celestial Blood House of Hellstone… welcome you."
A faint pause.
"I trust… you shall find this evening… agreeable."
His eyes did not waver even for a moment. The smile upon his lips bore less warmth than it did warning—cold, restrained, and unmistakably deliberate.
He extended his goblet forward.
The nobles, visibly shaken, hurried to raise their own in response; their hands betrayed a clear tremor. As the crystal touched crystal, one of them spoke in a faltering voice—
"It is… our honor, my Lord…"
The others followed at once, lowering their heads in quiet reverence to their respective deities before taking measured sips from their goblets. Malakar remained where he stood and joined their exchange—but the tone of that conversation had changed entirely.
Where moments ago there had been mockery and disdain, now only caution and carefully measured respect remained. Even the nobles observing from afar noticed the shift; their whispers softened of their own accord, and none dared speak of Ravencrest as they had before.
Amidst the gathering, another figure—standing quietly among the crowd—suddenly halted a passing maid. She froze at once, as though her steps had abandoned her, and bowed immediately before him.
The man before her appeared no older than eight-and-twenty, his face bearing an unusual calm that set him apart from the other nobles. Without haste, he lifted a crystal goblet from the tray in her hands and offered a faint, composed smile—one that carried a subtle warmth not often seen in such a place.
"Do not trouble yourself," he said gently, his voice low and measured, "I merely required another drink."
The maid remained bowed, her voice trembling slightly. "Y-yes… my Lord…"
He regarded her for a moment before speaking again, "You may stand. You have duties to attend to."
She straightened with quiet hesitation, though her gaze remained lowered. "Y-yes…"
After a brief pause, he continued, "But before you go… I would ask you something. Would you be so kind as to answer?"
The maid bowed deeper at once. "O-of course, my Lord… you may ask whatever you wish…"
The man's smile softened further, his tone carrying a rare courtesy. "There is no need for such formality. I am aware you are a maid… yet you are no less deserving of respect. In my house, even servants are afforded the same courtesy."
For the first time, the maid lifted her gaze. The fear upon her face lessened, if only slightly. "Y-yes, my Lord… I understand… You wish to know of Prince Lucian Ravencrest, do you not?" she spoke quickly. "He is within his chambers… and will soon make his way to the hall, my Lord…"
The man finished his drink and returned the goblet to the tray. "Ah… I see. Then I am satisfied. You have my thanks, miss, for indulging my question."
This time, she bowed not out of fear, but with genuine respect. "The honor is mine, my Lord…"
She turned to leave—but his voice stopped her once more.
"Ah… I have yet to offer my name. I am Wilhelm Dravenor… and you have not given yours."
At once, her composure faltered again. Thoughts rushed through her mind—Divine Kingdom… the Sovereign's Seven Families… Dravenor… She understood enough to realize the man before her was far from ordinary. Her breath quickened, and her fear rose without restraint.
"M-my… my name…" her voice faltered, breaking between words, "my Lord… I am… Annie… Annie Boulder…"
Her words came in fragments, as though her voice refused to obey her.
Wilhelm understood at once. He turned his gaze slightly aside, allowing her a moment to breathe, and spoke in a calm tone, "It would seem I have delayed you from your duties. You should go. And… you have my apologies for detaining you."
The maid looked at him in quiet surprise. "N-no, my Lord… it is my duty…" she began, but said nothing further. Bowing once more, she departed—her steps now steadier than before.
Wilhelm's attention drifted back to where, only moments earlier, the head of the Hellstone family had stood. A faint smile touched his lips.
"Oh… it seems I am late," he thought to himself. "The amusement has already passed."
His gaze slowly lifted toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall.
"I had hoped… to witness something of interest this evening… yet the one I came to see has not arrived at all…"