CHAPTER 15
The morning sun filtered through the arched windows of the Hall of Flamecrest, where a circle of heirloom-forged chairs surrounded a polished obsidian table.
Seated were the heirs and heiresses of noble bloodlines.
Each one a name whispered in halls, feared in training grounds, and closely watched by the Council.
Today, they were dressed like warriors, not royals.
Coats trimmed with enchantment thread, high-collared polos, fitted trousers, boots made for speed.
Sorayael leaned back in her seat with one leg crossed over the other, her golden gaze scanning the circle.
Beside her, Zarethian tapped a finger idly on the table, a relaxed grin on his face that dared anyone to challenge him.
The room hummed with tension, silence poised on a blade's edge, until a boy from House Everen, Kieran, broke it.
A scoff came from a girl on the opposite side, Ravelia, heiress to the House of Nytheris.
Ravelia's eyes narrowed. "She didn't cry. She screamed. There's a difference."
Another heir leaned in, Heir of House Kaelwyn: Silas, lips curved in a mocking smirk. "Siblings these days. My brother just took down a wyvern last week. Solo."
That earned a round of skeptical laughter.
The group whistled and laughed in return.
Then came Sorayael's voice, calm yet cutting.
Sorayael's smile sharpened. "I don't need to boast. You'll know what I am when the time comes."
'It's so fun seeing their reaction' Sorayael said while laughing inside her head.
A beat passed. The circle quieted for a moment as her words settled like frost over fire.
Then Zarethian chuckled, breaking the tension. "That's why I like having her around. Puts all of you in your place."
The heirs burst into laughter again, sharp, youthful, a spark in the looming shadow of war.
But beneath the banter and boldness, every one of them knew: this wasn't just a gathering.
It was the weighing of blades.
Just as the laughter in the hall began to fade into murmurs, a low horn blared through the crystal amplifiers embedded in the marble pillars.
Everyone straightened.
A tall figure cloaked in imperial red and gold stepped forward-Marshal Velmion, the overseer of this year's Crimson Gathering.
He raised a sealed scroll, his voice echoing through the hall. "By the command of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Lysander of the Aethelgard Imperium, the Crimson Gathering shall now commence its first official trial."
Murmurs erupted. Footsteps stilled. Sorayael's eyes sharpened as the marshal unrolled the scroll with ceremonial weight.
Gasps echoed across the room.
The Marshal's tone grew colder. "This is not for your comfort. It is a test of capability, strategy, and survival. You are all heirs. It is time you act like it."
Whispers turned into panic. Not everyone was trained for a C-rank yet, let alone surviving one.
"The rules are simple," he went on. "Form groups of five. Only one group is required to fully clear the dungeon. The first group to succeed will receive a personal commendation from the Emperor, and a boon of their choosing."
With that, the Marshal turned and left, leaving a room filled with tension and scrambling nobles.
Groups began to form rapidly. Hands reached for alliances already whispered in corridors. Some heirs were instantly swarmed with offers. Others were left behind, bitter and alone.
Among the few were untouched.
And... Sorayael.
It wasn't that they lacked power. No, actually they radiated it.
But arrogance, fear, and reputations had their price.
Kieran leaned against a column, watching the chaos with a lazy tilt of his head. "Tsk. Guess we're the leftovers."
Ravelia crossed her arms. "Speak for yourself. I just don't settle for weaklings."
Zarethian snorted. "Same."
Silas merely looked disinterested, tapping his rune-etched glove against his palm.
Only Sorayael was quiet, glancing at the window as thoughts of Krios crossed her mind.
'Will he be okay? Is he reading again? Did he eat lunch?'
She barely registered when the others began gathering around her.
Zarethian sighed and looked at Sorayael. "Hey. You in?"
She blinked. "Huh?"
Sorayael stared for a moment, then gave a faint nod. "Alright. Let's get it over with."
Just then, Jezha emerged from behind a pillar, concern painted across her features. She stepped close to Sorayael and gently pressed a folded handkerchief into her hand.
It was soft, with deep crimson embroidery, protective runes shaped into flowers.
Sorayael met her eyes and softened. "Thank you."
With that, she tucked the handkerchief into her inner pocket and turned toward the other four, who were already stepping into the arcane teleportation ring forming at the center of the hall.
The five stood still as runes lit around them, casting light onto steel and sigil-bound boots.
And then-
The world shimmered-
And they vanished.
As the five vanished into the teleportation light, the chamber slowly fell silent.
The nobility returned to their chatter, though a lingering heaviness settled over the room.
From the imperial balcony above, the Grand Duke remained still, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on where the light had once been. His jaw tightened, his breath caught in his throat.
He wanted.. no, needed to run after them.
But beside him, the Emperor sat motionless, his gaze like sharpened glass. His presence demanded loyalty.
The Grand Duke lowered his gaze.
'I'm sorry'
·________________________________________·