The silvery chime of midnight had already swept over the Empire by the time Lucien Caelum Velebrandt's carriage passed through the final inspection point within the inner walls. Guided by enchanted lanterns that hovered silently above stone pillars, the Velebrandt convoy—comprising two luxurious carriages and a cohort of A-rank knights—glided through the shadowed elegance of the capital's innermost district.
The inner walls bore an almost sacred silence, disturbed only by the gentle clopping of the magically tamed steeds that pulled the Velebrandt carriages. Their dark flaming auras left shimmering hoofprints that lingered briefly on the cobbled roads, dissipating like smoke.
Eventually, the carriage slowed, then halted entirely before a grand iron gate adorned with intricate gold filigree in the shape of the Velebrandt winged lion. A pair of stationed guards, clad in black and silver armor, immediately moved into formation. Beyond them stood maids in soft burgundy uniforms and sharp-eyed knights bearing the Velebrandt crest stitched on their cloaks, their expressions unwavering.
With a synchronized creak and thud, the iron gates groaned open, their weight rumbling through the ground like a low growl awakening the still night. A gentle wind drifted in from beyond, brushing past Lucien's cheeks with a faint, cool whisper, like a mother's hand tucking in a child. The scent of blooming night-flowers filled the air—floral, sweet, and lightly spiced—carried on the breeze that rustled the trees lining the mansion's path.
Stretching out before them, a smooth cement pathway unfurled like a pale silver ribbon in the moonlight. On either side stood crystal-bloom trees with twisted ivory trunks, their branches draped with luminous blossoms that shimmered like stardust. Each petal glowed a soft twilight-blue, swaying gently as if dancing to a lullaby only they could hear. The gentle rustle of their leaves blended with the distant chirping of nocturnal birds, adding a quiet music to the scene. The twin moons, one ivory white and the other dusky blue rose, hung silently above like solemn guardians, casting a cool celestial light over the world below.
Inside the carriage, Lucien leaned against the windowpane, the cold glass pressing lightly to his cheek. His half-lidded eyes—one a calm gray, the other a smoldering red—reflected the glimmering path ahead. Sleep tugged at his limbs, but curiosity kept his gaze steady. The low hum of arcane enchantments pulsed softly through the carriage wood beneath him, like a heartbeat in tune with the world's magic.
And then, it came into view.
Rising beyond the path was the Velebrandt mansion nestled within the Empire's inner walls. It possessed an austere beauty—tall, elegant spires curled skyward, cloaked in dark obsidian stone that gleamed like oil under moonlight. Delicate silver veins traced across the outer walls, forming runes that pulsed faintly in time with the breeze, as though the building itself breathed—alive, ancient, dignified. Faint glimmers of protective wards hovered like fireflies near the windows, vanishing the moment they were looked at directly.
Lucien's breath misted slightly as he exhaled, his body warming in the cool air. He didn't speak, didn't need to. The sight, the sound, the feeling of the world enveloped him like a dream—one he had lived before, but somehow, tonight, everything felt deeper… more real.
Though smaller than their ancestral estate in the western frontier, the Velebrandt mansion within the Empire's inner wall radiated regal elegance. It was less a fortress and more a palace in miniature—lavish, serene, and impeccably maintained. Even so, the moment the carriage came to a halt before the steps leading to the entrance, Lucien's first response wasn't awe or excitement, but a slow, sleepy yawn.
He stepped down with the help of a nearby maid, his boots softly clicking on the stone path. Looking up, he admired the twin moons briefly. One glowed with a pale lavender hue, the other a soft bluish-white. Their light mingled with the trees, dancing faintly on the surface of the polished stone path.
Marie, his ever-attentive maid, stepped down from her own carriage and came to his side. Her hair was slightly tousled from the long journey, but her expression remained gentle as ever. Lucien rubbed his eyes and muttered drowsily, "Marie… I want to sleep. I don't think I'll eat tonight."
Marie smiled with warmth and bowed her head slightly. "Of course, young master. I'll find your bedchamber right away."
Standing nearby, Knight Rex—his tall figure practically a statue of discipline—nodded once. "We'll secure the perimeter. No one enters or exits without my leave. Rest easy, young lord."
Lucien gave a sleepy nod, already stretching his small arms above his head, yawning once more. With his hair a silver cascade around his shoulders and his noble uniform slightly ruffled, he looked more like a noble prince from a fairytale than a tired traveler.
The mansion's great doors opened, revealing a breathtaking interior. High vaulted ceilings with arcane chandeliers lit the long corridor in golden light. Fine carpeting embroidered with the sigil of House Velebrandt cushioned their steps, and ancient paintings of family ancestors lined the hallways, eyes ever watchful. Soft instrumental music could be heard faintly, as though the walls remembered the tunes of past balls and dinners.
Marie, sensing Lucien's fatigue, gently motioned for him to wait in the lounge. "Please rest here, young master. I'll return shortly with your room prepared."
Lucien shuffled toward the lounge. The room was expansive, filled with plush couches, magical fire gently crackling in a white-marble hearth, and a towering bookshelf filled with tomes of imperial history and magical theory. The ceiling above depicted a painted night sky, enchanted to subtly mimic the real one beyond the walls.
Collapsing gently into a velvety crimson couch, Lucien exhaled in relief. The fabric hugged him like a cloud, the fireplace casting a soft orange hue across his pale cheeks.
He tilted his head, gazing at the painted ceiling, then closed his eyes with a peaceful smile. "From a dying world… to all this," he mused in the final thread of consciousness. "Just how long will this luxury last?"
With that thought, sleep took him.
The lounge fell silent, save for the gentle crackle of the fire and the ticking of a gilded grandfather clock in the corner. The heir of House Velebrandt slept deeply, wrapped not in blankets but in the quiet opulence that surrounded him—a child of privilege and secrets, just steps away from the beginning of his true journey.
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Far across the grand inner walls of the Empire, beneath the soft luminescence of moonlight diffused by enchanted glass windows, the Obrechtz household roared with life.
Tonight marked the 10th birthday of Katarina Obrechtz—the cherished daughter and heir to the venerable House Obrechtz, one of the six ducal families that upheld the pillars of the human Empire. But this was no ordinary birthday. At ten years of age, all children of noble blood underwent their formal Awakening Ceremony, sanctioned by both bloodline expectations and the divine rites of Elyssari. For a girl of Katarina's lineage, beauty, and potential, this night signaled not just her entrance into magical maturity, but her first step onto the stage of political scrutiny.
The celebration hall stretched like a dreamscape—vast and echoing, where each step clicked softly against marble so polished it mirrored the world above. Countless chandeliers hovered without chains, their crystal teardrops suspended midair by glowing sigils that pulsed with ancient magic. Soft arcs of prismatic light danced across silk banners and golden garlands, shifting hues with every flicker. A warm, decadent haze hung in the air—the mingling aromas of honey-glazed roast, peppered venison, and cinnamon-laced pastries wrapping around guests like a velvet cloak. Laughter chimed like wind through crystal flutes, blending with the distant hum of spellwork. Silver trays floated just inches above gloved hands as servants glided between nobles, their silence broken only by the faint rustle of satin uniforms. Beneath the surface splendor, there lingered an electric tension—like the air before a storm—as if something unseen watched, waiting, just beyond the golden candlelight.
Noblemen and women gathered in cliques, adorned in jewel-encrusted coats, flowing dresses, and cloaks that shimmered with subtle enchantments. The House sigils of countless lineages—Lindwurm, Fairborne, Terask—stood proudly upon polished brooches. The heirs of many esteemed families had accompanied their parents this evening, and none had come empty-handed.
"Lady Katarina, please accept this enchanted locket from House Dremsworth. It enhances clarity of thought and wards off nightmares," said a prim boy no older than eleven, offering a velvet case with both nervous pride and veiled calculation.
"And from House Rengarde," interrupted another with forced elegance, "a phoenix feather quill, blessed by a wandering archmage. May it aid your studies and creative endeavors."
The line continued, each heir desperate to impress, their eyes glittering not with admiration, but ambition. Their parents stood behind them like shadowy statues, evaluating every nod or glance Katarina gave in return. Every child had been preened and polished, dressed in their house's finest, briefed on etiquette, and pushed forward with a subtle command: earn favor.
Katarina Obrechtz sat upon an elevated platform encircled by white silk curtains and violet-gold sashes. A crown of moonlilies sat lightly upon her black hair, which spilled like night itself down her shoulders and over her flowing, iridescent gown. Her beauty was the kind that silenced rooms: porcelain skin, sharp cheekbones, and obsidian eyes that gleamed like twin black holes, deep and endless, the kind of gaze that could swallow thoughts whole and leave a man breathless.
And yet, her expression barely changed. Beneath the ceremonial calm, there flickered an unmistakable dissatisfaction.
So predictable, she thought, eyes scanning the queue of suitors. They see a prize, not a person.
The sweet tone in her voice as she thanked them was rehearsed, her smiles measured and faint, like a mask she wore out of duty. Every gift laid before her was steeped in political convenience. The nobles present knew the significance of her Awakening. With power awakened and youth on her side, Katarina would become a magnet—for alliances, for intrigue, for control.
Behind the velvet etiquette of the night, she sensed it all. The way the older lords' eyes lingered a second too long, the forced laughter of women probing for future betrothals, the rigid poise of the heirs trying to emulate maturity they hadn't yet earned. It was suffocating.
She shifted subtly in her seat and let her eyes drift toward the grand stained-glass window at the end of the hall, where a depiction of Elyssari casting light across the Empire shimmered under candlelight.
Is this what it means to be noble?
As laughter echoed and music danced from enchanted instruments in the corner, Katarina Obrechtz quietly steeled herself. Her Awakening was yet to come, and with it, her first glimpse at the strength fated to bloom within her. But tonight had already taught her something more vital: the wolves didn't always bare fangs. Sometimes, they offered jewelry and smiled.