CHAPTER 7
Time flowed swiftly, and the manor of Aethenroth buzzed with preparations-it was the young master's birthday.
From the very day she stepped into the manor, Sorayael had adjusted quickly. The halls no longer felt foreign, and the people no longer looked at her with wary curiosity. Still, buried beneath her calm demeanor, the silent ember of revenge continued to smolder.
Most within Aethenroth never questioned Sorayael's origins. Whether noble or commoner, it didn't matter. Ever since the Madam's passing, someone or anyone becoming part of their once-broken household was enough to be a blessing.
Jezha paused, unsure if she should speak. But after a moment of hesitation, she sighed.
Sorayael raised an eyebrow.
She lowered her voice to a hush. "The constellation granted her one miracle. Just one. She used it on her son, the young master, and in doing so, she vanished from this world."
The cookie in Sorayael's hand paused mid-air. Krios blinked, confused but listening.
Sorayael leaned back, her eyes narrowing, the pieces of fate starting to rearrange themselves in her mind.
Her eyes glinted, not in judgment but in understanding.
Perhaps... the stars were already playing their next game.
As Jezha's story ended, a strange chill swept through Sorayael's spine. A flicker of something.. no, someone else's sorro passed through her mind.
A woman crying beneath a sky full of stars... a pair of hands glowing with light... a boy's weak breath turning steady...
But the faces were blurred. The emotions weren't hers.
'Whose memories were those?'
She clutched her head lightly, brows furrowed in thought. Jezha didn't notice.
.............
Outside the manor, the capital was alive with color and life. Two Aethenroth knights followed Sorayael closely, along with Jezha. Krios was left behind, reluctantly, despite begging to come, everyone agreed it was better to keep him safe inside the estate.
As they strolled through the market, Sorayael's eyes wandered from trinkets to books, unsure what would be worthy enough for someone like Zarethian.
Then she saw it.
Behind a vendor's velvet curtain, a sword; long and sleek-hovered ever so slightly above its stand, glowing faintly. An enchanted weapon. It required a wielder who could channel mana to draw it fully.
The vendor blinked. "That one's rare. It can only be awakened through resonance with mana. Many nobles tried and none succeeded."
Sorayael reached into her pouch. A generous amount of gold shimmered within, a gift from the Grand Duke as thanks for saving his son.
The vendor's mouth fell open as she handed the payment and picked up the sword with ease, the glow responding gently to her touch. Jezha and the guards exchanged glances. Clearly, this girl was no ordinary guest of the manor.
Back at Aethenroth Manor, preparations for the evening celebration intensified.
Her long, wavy silver hair shimmered under the soft light as another maid gently braided a few strands and adorned them with tiny, gold-accented pins.
Her golden eyes, clear and steady, reflected both calm and caution-like a quiet fire beneath snowfall.
Her pale skin glowed faintly against the deep crimson dress with golden embroidery laid out for her; it made her look like a vision from an ancient legend, regal and distant, yet grounded in mystery.
Krios, meanwhile, giggled as two maids fussed over his tiny vest and brushed his curls. He looked like a little prince ready for court.
Sorayael glanced at her reflection, then at her little brother smiling beside her. A quiet warmth stirred inside her chest.
And yet somewhere, deep in her mind, the stars whispered.
"Tonight, something begins."
The grand hall of Aethenroth Manor shimmered with golden chandeliers and soft glowing lanterns that floated like fireflies above the guests. Nobles from allied houses filled the space with silk robes, clinking glasses, and hushed ambitions.
The heavy doors opened.
Everyone turned their heads as the Grand Duke entered, regal in his midnight cloak, his son Zarethian walking beside him, his posture proud yet clearly tense.
They strode to the center where a raised platform awaited. The murmurs died down.
The Grand Duke raised his glass, voice deep and commanding.
He gave a glance toward Zarethian who barely held his stoic expression.
Applause erupted. Musicians played. Dancers began to twirl, food was served, and the hall became a sea of colors and polite chatter.
Zarethian was quickly surrounded by children of other noble families, all close to his age-especially girls, nudged forward by their mothers' not-so-subtle gestures.
One girl, wearing too much perfume and an overly decorated gown, stepped forward with a practiced smile. "Young master, don't you think the power balance in the South is shifting too drastically? Perhaps Aethenroth could-"
The girl shrank, retreating awkwardly.
Zarethian exhaled sharply and glanced around. That's when he saw her-Sorayael. Seated casually at a side table with Krios, she was feeding him cake while nibbling on sweets herself, entirely unbothered by the fanfare.
He walked toward them like a soldier escaping battle.
Sorayael raised an eyebrow, barely containing her grin. "Oh? So the young master's heart is already taken.. by cold steel."
Krios giggled.
Zarethian flushed. "That's not-! Ugh, whatever."
Sorayael laughed, handing him a cookie. "Here, you'll need this. To recover from the trauma of politics."
He took it begrudgingly, but he didn't leave her side.
The music shifted-slower now, refined. The ballroom cleared as noble children were led to the center for the formal dance. Murmurs of parents' expectations filled the air.
Zarethian scoffed, wiping cookie crumbs from his mouth. He turned toward Sorayael, already reaching his hand out. "Tch, I guess we're supposed to dance-"
But Sorayael's sharp golden eyes met his, narrowed like daggers. He paused.
He froze. His hand slowly retracted as he slouched back into his chair with a pout.
'As if I also want it! Never!'
They sat side by side, quietly watching pairs of nobles twirl around like puppets, while they happily continued eating pastries.
Sorayael snorted. "Wow, so our young master is not only strong, but also full of ambition and a very broad imagination."
Zarethian scowled at her. "Tch!"
Before he could say more, a servant approached and whispered it was time for the gift presentation. Zarethian stood and followed them back to the front where the Grand Duke waited on his seat of authority.
A long table was already being filled. Nobles lined up, one by one offering their finest: swords with dragonbone hilts, rare jewels, enchanted relics, heirlooms long hoarded by ancient families.
Sorayael sat at the corner, sipping from a teacup, silently observing. Krios beside her leaned into her shoulder, eyes wide at all the sparkling treasures.
Then a guest stepped forward-a noble with an overly courteous smile and a veiled servant beside him. He offered a small ornate box.
Sorayael's eyes narrowed. Her golden irises flickered slightly.
'Something was wrong.' she said on her mind.
The hum of magic was too faint, too contained.
Her body moved before her thoughts did.
And then-
An explosion tore through the platform, the shockwave rippling across the hall. Glass shattered. Screams erupted.