Along the long, silent corridor of the fifth floor, Lucian moved forward with slow, measured steps, each one deliberate, as though drawn from effort rather than ease. The faint echo of his boots brushed against the polished stone beneath him, soft yet hollow, blending into the stillness that surrounded them.
Behind him, Marley followed in silence—her presence composed on the surface, yet carrying a restrained tension that lingered in the air like something unspoken.
Lucian was dressed in a formal attire of dark hues, a long, precisely tailored coat that carried quiet nobility without unnecessary display. The Ravencrest crest rested upon his shoulders in subtle embroidery, and his inner garments, though simple, reflected refined craftsmanship. Yet even such composure could not conceal the fatigue upon his face.
As he walked, he cast a brief glance behind him—Marley's expression remained unreadable, but the silence around her carried both displeasure and concern, tightly restrained beneath her calm exterior.
Turning his gaze forward again, Lucian's thoughts drifted inward. If Marley hadn't come… I would still be lying there… in that bath chamber… unconscious… or worse.
A quiet heaviness settled across his features, softening them into something almost melancholic. His hand rose instinctively to his chest as his breath faltered slightly. "This strange sensation…" he murmured under his breath, his voice low and strained, "it has lessened… yet even now… it feels as though it could tear my soul away from this body." His fingers tightened faintly against his coat as he forced himself to continue walking.
Marley immediately noticed the subtle shift in his movement and stepped closer, her voice calm yet edged with alertness. "My Prince… are you unwell?" Lucian straightened at once, forcing ease into his expression as a faint smile appeared on his lips. "No… I am perfectly fine. You need not trouble yourself over me," he replied, quickening his pace slightly. If she senses anything… she will confine me again… and inform the others… that would not end well.
Another thought followed, quieter yet heavier than the rest. Besides… this may be the last time I see my sister. I wish to spend some time with her… before she is freed from a useless brother like me. A faint, strange calm settled over his expression, forming a soft smile that carried more silence than warmth.
As he walked, he became aware of Marley's gaze upon him once more—steady, sharp, and far more attentive than before.
The awareness sent a cold trace down his spine. Though Miss Marley is beautiful, capable, and near perfect… there are moments when she is far more terrifying than Elias.
The memory surfaced without warning—the cold marble beneath him, the damp air of the bath chamber, the faint scent of water lingering in the space. He remembered how she had lifted him, supported his weight, cleaned him, and changed his garments before placing him onto the bed. When he had regained consciousness, his eyes had fallen upon her changing her own clothes, and for a brief moment, his thoughts had strayed where they should not have.
But Marley had spoken without hesitation, her tone flat and composed—she had merely changed because her clothes had been soaked while carrying him. The realization had struck instantly, and Lucian's face had burned with embarrassment. Yet she had added, without expression, that if such thoughts truly crossed his mind, he was free to pursue them—once he had grown older.
That had only worsened his discomfort.
Though he had snapped at her in irritation, pushing her away, the unease had remained within him.
Soon after, he had insisted on attending the gathering, stating that his mother had permitted it, while Marley had firmly refused, citing his condition. The exchange had grown tense, her tone sharpening with concern, yet in the end… she had relented.
The memory alone sent a faint unease through him. It is fortunate she is not my permanent maid… even Elias seems preferable now.
As they approached the staircase, where faint voices and distant murmurs from the gathering began to drift upward, Lucian spoke again, his tone lighter. "Tell me… who has arrived?"
Marley responded without pause, listing names of various Blood Houses, their representatives, and nobles from distant regions. The list seemed endless, each name carrying weight and implication.
After a while, Lucian raised a hand slightly, exhaling. "That will suffice… I have no desire to know them, nor to meet them. These are the very people who judge others by whispers and half-truths."
Marley remained silent. Lucian's thoughts were sharp, edged with quiet disdain, yet outwardly he maintained a calm, almost effortless expression.
He had learned long ago—reaction only fed their amusement. So instead, he chose to smile… and let the discomfort belong to others.
Lucian came to a halt at the edge of the staircase on the first floor, remaining still for a few moments as his gaze lowered over the vast expanse of the Grand Hall below.
Golden light from the chandeliers spilled across the polished marble floor, reflecting softly against the gathered figures—nobles, royals, and merchants—clustered in measured groups, their quiet yet meaningful conversations weaving together into a low, constant murmur that filled the air like a restrained tide.
His eyes lingered on a few faces—some he recognized by name, others only by reputation—but in truth, he knew none of them.
Behind him, Marley stepped closer and inclined slightly, her voice lowered yet precise. "My Prince… earlier this hall was occupied only by nobles, but now the royal families have arrived as well. Even the King of the Sovereign Kingdom is present… you would do well to keep your distance from him."
Lucian exhaled faintly, the breath almost soundless, and without turning toward her, began descending the staircase. "I intend to remain out of everyone's sight…" he said quietly, though even as the words left him, he understood the futility of it.
The staircase stood directly before the hall—there was no path here that allowed one to pass unseen.
He descended slowly, each step measured, his posture composed, a faint and controlled smile resting upon his lips. His chin remained slightly raised, as though he were accustomed to such attention, yet his senses remained keen—feeling every shift of gaze, every subtle pause in movement.
At first, only a few noticed him. Then, gradually, more heads turned, until within moments the attention that had once surrounded Princess Lyra shifted entirely toward him. The soft hum of conversation dimmed, replaced by a peculiar silence in which many watched… yet few dared to look directly.
Lyra, who had been standing beside Malakar Hellstone, noticed him at once and instinctively stepped forward, but Malakar's hand came to rest lightly upon her shoulder, halting her movement. He said nothing—yet the quiet authority in his gaze was enough.
Lyra paused, her eyes still fixed on Lucian, but she did not move further.
Amid that fragile silence, a presence began to advance through the crowd. The King of the Divine Kingdom Sovereign moved forward, a crystal goblet of wine held loosely in his hand, his steps unhurried—yet with each one, those around him instinctively shifted aside, creating a path without command.
As he walked, he lifted another crystal goblet from a passing servant's tray, turning it lightly in his fingers before coming to a stop before Lucian.
"Prince Lucian…" he spoke, his voice calm yet carrying effortlessly through the hall, "it seems we have all been awaiting your presence… and at last, you have chosen to grace us with it."
A faint stir of whispers rose again, softer than before, yet sharper—each ear now attentive. The King's gaze remained fixed upon Lucian as he continued, "Now that you are here… and Princess Lyra as well, it would be fitting for this gathering to proceed. King Alaric and Queen Seraphina may yet take some time to arrive, and our esteemed guests have been waiting for quite a while."
He lifted his crystal goblet slightly higher, the motion deliberate. "At this moment… you stand as the representative of Ravencrest. It would therefore be appropriate for you to open this assembly… a few words, perhaps, to formally begin the occasion."
Lucian's faint smile did not falter, yet within, something tightened. He understood immediately—this was no simple courtesy. He is placing me before them… deliberately. Still, without revealing a trace of it, he stepped forward, took a crystal goblet from a servant's tray, and raised it slightly, preparing to speak—
When suddenly, a sharp, resonant clap echoed from behind.
The sound cut cleanly through the hall, drawing every gaze upward at once.
At the top of the staircase stood Queen Seraphina. She was clad in a dark, elaborate gown of gothic elegance, its form flowing with controlled grandeur, while four maid attendants stood behind her, holding the edges of her train. Her mere presence shifted the atmosphere, tightening it into order. Slowly, she brought her fingers together, a faint, composed smile upon her lips.
"King Aurelius Solmire… I thank you for your refined and gracious words," she said, her voice smooth yet authoritative, carrying across the hall without strain. "I have listened to them carefully. Therefore, as the Queen of Ravencrest—Seraphina Ravencrest—I shall formally commence this assembly."
Her gaze moved across the hall, steady and discerning, before finally settling upon Lucian.
"I welcome all royalty and nobles present here. You have honored us with your time and your presence, and for that, you have my gratitude. This gathering is held to mark the return of Prince Lucian Ravencrest and Princess Lyra Ravencrest from Sylvian, along with their achievements… and it is my wish that this occasion remain one of celebration alone—free from dispute or discord."
Taking a crystal goblet of wine from a nearby servant, she raised it slightly.
"Now… let the celebration begin."
At her words, applause rose through the hall, echoing beneath the chandeliers as the atmosphere shifted once more.
Conversations resumed, music flowed again, and the gathered crowd returned to their respective circles.
And in that moment—when attention had finally turned away from him—Lucian moved quietly toward the side, taking position beside a tall pillar, as though he had been waiting for this exact moment all along—to remain within the crowd… yet apart from it.
Standing at the far edge of the hall, Lucian kept his gaze fixed ahead, watching without blinking as his eyes moved slowly across every face present.
His mother, Queen Seraphina, stood among the royal figures, engaged in measured conversation; Lyra too was surrounded, speaking with others, her presence naturally drawing attention. Everyone stood where they belonged… and in that moment, a quiet realization settled within him—among them all, he alone stood apart.
The thought had barely formed when that strange sensation stirred again within him.
The crystal goblet of wine in his hand trembled faintly, a few dark drops slipping over its rim and falling to the marble below. Lucian glanced down in irritation, the faint sheen of wine clinging to his fingers catching the golden light—but that irritation faded quickly, overtaken by the tightening pain rising within his chest. It was the same pain… the one that had overtaken him before he lost consciousness in the bath chamber.
Until now, it had remained subdued.
But now—
It deepened.
Enough that he felt, with growing certainty, that he might collapse once again.
He lifted his hand slightly, signaling to a passing servant. The man stopped at once, bowing as he stepped forward, holding out his polished silver salver. Without wasting a moment, Lucian placed the goblet upon it and spoke in a low, controlled voice, "Take this away."
The servant's eyes lingered briefly on his face, concern evident despite his restraint. "My Lord… your condition—"
Lucian cut him off gently, forcing a composed expression back into place, his tone steady despite the strain beneath it. "I am quite well. Go… and speak of this to no one."
The servant hesitated, then bowed again before retreating.
Lucian stepped further into the shadows near the pillar, positioning himself carefully so that he would draw as little attention as possible.
Leaning back against the cold stone, he allowed its firmness to support him—his legs no longer carried enough strength to stand unaided. His breathing had grown uneven, shallow at first, then gradually heavier, while a thin layer of perspiration gathered upon his brow, catching the faint light.
He tried to steady his thoughts—to push that sensation away, to refuse it space within his mind—but the more he resisted, the more it spread, tightening around him from within like an unseen grip.
Not now… not again…
His jaw clenched, teeth pressing tightly together as his hand rose to clutch his chest, fingers curling against the fabric as though he could hold the pain in place. Endure until tomorrow… I only need this time… one last moment with her… to see my sister… after that… whatever comes… it will not matter…
Outwardly, his face remained composed—controlled to the very limit of his will.
But within—
Everything was beginning to fracture.
"Lucian…"
The voice came from close beside him.
Yet he did not startle.
It was as though, in that moment, nothing held the power to disturb him further. His attention shifted slowly toward the source of the voice, his gaze steady despite the strain, as though he had already accepted whatever—or whoever—stood there.
"Uncle…" the word slipped from Lucian's lips before he could stop it.
Leaning against the same pillar beside him stood Malakar Hellstone—perhaps he had been there for some time—and his dark eyes were fixed directly upon Lucian.
His gaze moved carefully, taking in everything: the way Lucian's fingers were clenched tightly against his chest, the faint sheen of sweat upon his face, and the quiet, desperate effort he was making to conceal his condition.
Malakar drew a slow, measured breath before speaking, his voice low and devoid of formality. "What exactly are you doing here, Lucian… and tell me—have you informed anyone of this?" His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he already knew the answer. "No… you have not. I thought as much."
Lucian tried to respond, but the words caught in his throat. His grip tightened further, the pain now pressing against the limits of his endurance. How is he here… and what exactly is he referring to…? The confusion flickered through his thoughts, yet the growing pressure within him made it difficult to grasp anything clearly.
Without another word, Malakar stepped forward, pushing himself away from the pillar and closing the distance between them. Gently—but firmly—he took Lucian's hand away from his chest and placed his own palm against it. In that very moment, his eyes closed.
For a few seconds, nothing was said.
And then—
Lucian felt it.
The pressure… the burning… that unnatural pull which had been dragging at his very soul, as though seeking to tear it from his body—began to subside. Slowly, steadily, as if something unseen had been restrained. The pain that had brought him to the brink of collapse was suddenly held back, contained. His breathing eased, returning gradually to its natural rhythm.
Malakar opened his eyes once more and withdrew his hand.
"Now…" he said calmly, "tell me, Lucian—what exactly is happening here. And do not attempt to conceal anything from me."
Lucian remained still, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just occurred. He felt… better. Far better than before. Yet the astonishment on his face was unmistakable.
At that same moment, Malakar reached toward a passing servant, lifting a crystal goblet from the man's polished silver salver. He took a small, unhurried sip of wine, and without even glancing at Lucian, spoke again, his tone unchanged.
"Lucian… are you finished? Then answer me."
Even after being pressed again, Lucian did not respond. His gaze remained lowered, fixed upon his own hands—his palms, his fingers—as though he were seeing them for the first time. There was astonishment in his eyes… and behind it, something far more concealed—fear.
Malakar drained the last of the wine from his goblet and returned it to the servant's silver salver. Then, without delay, he stepped forward once more and seized Lucian's shoulder with a firm grip.
"Can you hear me, Lucian?" His voice was heavier now, edged with authority. "I am asking you a question."
The sudden pressure pulled Lucian back to himself. His breath caught slightly as awareness returned in full.
Malakar's gaze did not waver. "How has your Omiyash become so unstable?" he continued, his tone measured but sharp. "Had I delayed even a moment longer… you would have collapsed here." He leaned slightly closer, his eyes searching Lucian's. "And tell me this—when did Omiyash first manifest within you? Because as far as I recall… there was no such presence within you before."
At those words, something within Lucian seemed to crack.
In an instant, the full weight of the situation descended upon him. He stood before his uncle… and Malakar had already sensed it—the presence of Omiyash within him. Unstable… and exposed.
No… the thought echoed within him. I have been hiding this… so that no one would know… If they find out… they will believe I am corrupted by that Evil Spirit…
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked at Malakar.
He stood there, utterly still—his face devoid of expression, his eyes unwavering… as though he were not merely observing, but reading through him entirely.
For a fleeting moment, a question rose within Lucian's mind—
Does he believe the same… that the Evil Spirit still resides within me?
A pause.
No… this is something else… it has to be…