As Grand Duke Maximilian's resounding speech came to a close with the commanding proclamation, "Let the true party commence," the atmosphere of the grand celebration hall shifted instantly from tension to indulgence.
From both sides of the hall, double doors swung open in perfect symmetry. Maids dressed in deep obsidian uniforms adorned with silver linings moved forward in practiced harmony, each of their steps choreographed to near perfection. Silver trays floated just slightly above their palms, kept aloft by subtle currents of mana-infused wind spells.
The aroma arrived before the food even reached the long, ornate banquet tables.
Succulent meats glistened under the ambient chandelier light—roasted slices of mana beast venison from the Velebrandt hunting preserves, delicately glazed in a golden reduction made from sun-nectar berries, their juices still simmering. Beside them lay racks of ember-boar ribs, their flesh slow-cooked with fire runes that had been sealed into the cauldron itself, ensuring an even, magically enhanced flavor. A river fish from the enchanted Lake Melanthis was served raw, sliced thin, and glimmering with a faint iridescence—its meat said to enhance perception for mages who hadn't yet solidified their core.
Vegetables from floating gardens outside the empire's skylands added rich color to the scene—crimson-stemmed spinach, moonlight-touched squash, and fragrant ethereal leeks. Spices and herbs imported from the elven realms lingered in the air like invisible tendrils, teasing the palates of even the most stoic nobles.
The nobles—many of them awakeners—remained composed yet visibly tempted. A few swallowed discreetly, others adjusted the napkins on their lap as if the motion could distract their nose from the intoxicating scent. On a separate table farther to the edge of the hall, a spread of non-magical but finely crafted dishes awaited the unawakened noble children. Though less intense, even these dishes were prepared by master chefs, ensuring no one felt left behind at such a grand gathering.
With a subtle nod from the head steward, the feast began.
Crystal glasses chimed softly as high-grade wine—fermented from grapes touched by moonlight and aged in oak barrels blessed by the Church of Elyssira—was poured into goblets. Some nobles remained standing to offer cheers, while others began to dine with meticulous etiquette, delicately slicing, tasting, and savoring each bite.
A warm hum of voices gradually filled the space. Conversations blossomed: noblemen trading harmless barbs and flattering words, noble ladies complimenting dresses enchanted to shimmer subtly in candlelight. It was a theater of grace, masks, and veiled intentions.
At the far side of the hall, Grand Duke Maximilian and Archduchess Sophia descended from the imperial balcony, their presence naturally parting the crowd like a ripple across water. Nobles approached with dignified bows, offering birthday congratulations to Lady Katarina—though the guest of honor was no longer present—and exchanging pleasantries with her formidable parents.
"Lady Katarina is truly the jewel of your house," one Count said smoothly, bowing deeply. "A beauty that stuns and a lineage that humbles."
"We are blessed to be under the same empire as House Obrechtz," another added, his son trailing behind him with wide eyes fixed on the duke's artifact-laced cloak.
The Archduchess responded with a gracious, if measured, smile. The Grand Duke gave a nod of acknowledgment, his face unreadable beneath the weight of countless years and untold battles.
Yet even as they mingled, both Maximilian and Sophia were aware—keenly so—that their daughters were not in the hall.
With senses sharpened from decades of combat and command, they extended their awareness subtly beyond the gilded walls. Though no threat lingered in the air, Maximilian's instincts buzzed with the ever-present need to protect what was his. His deep voice echoed telepathically through the link between him and his personal guards.
"Katarina and Helena are in the east garden. Discreetly tighten security around their location. I want eyes on them from every angle."
Sophia's thoughts followed a heartbeat later, crisp and commanding. "Ward the eastern path. Anyone without permission shall be redirected. Keep your presence unseen unless needed."
All across the estate, Obrechtz knights—clad in dark steel and bearing the sigil of the scorpion—shifted silently, a hundred movements masked by shadows and discipline. Each one had long been trained to serve without interfering, ready to strike if even a whisper of danger arose.
And so, beneath the radiant chandeliers and the clinking of fine crystal, the feast continued—a celebration of power, beauty, and legacy. But beneath its polished veneer, the mechanisms of one of the empire's greatest houses turned like clockwork, always alert, always watching.
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Far beyond the gilded murmur of clinking goblets and honeyed flattery echoing within the celebration hall, the eastern garden of House Obrechtz slumbered beneath a canopy of silverlight and hush. Here, the world held its breath. The twin moons floated high above—one a pale white, the other a pearl veiled in blue mist—watching like ancient sentinels draped in eternity. Their glow spilled across the manicured hedges and marble walkways, cloaking the garden in a quiet radiance that shimmered with every blink of dew on rose-petal and thorn.
Ivory blossoms unfurled in the moonlight as if reaching for forgotten dreams, their fragrance soft as lullabies, blending with the faint, ever-present trace of magic in the air. The breeze was a whisper against the leaves, rustling with secrets too delicate for the banquet's velvet-clad guests. Fountains murmured low in the distance, their crystalline waters catching stray beams of lunar glow—like stars had fallen and chosen to weep here, in stillness.
Nestled within a circular grove of glowing moonroses and nightbloom orchids, a grand gazebo sat in dignified solitude. Its columns were carved from darkwood entwined with silver vines that shimmered subtly in the light. At its heart, a small table had been set by an attentive maid—now dismissed at Katarina's gentle request—with steaming tea served in porcelain cups traced with enchanted gold filigree and a plate of freshly prepared pastries dusted with stardust sugar and fruit glaze.
Katarina Obrechtz sat with poise, yet her posture had relaxed from the tension she wore earlier. Her black hair caught the breeze now and then, flowing gently like silken ink. Across from her sat little Helena Obrechtz, legs dangling from the cushioned seat, her cheeks puffed adorably as she bit into a custard tart with starberry filling.
"Sis," Helena began between small bites, "do you think the academy outside the empire is scary?"
Katarina tilted her head slightly. "Scary…?" she echoed, her black-hole eyes drifting to the distance as if trying to see the academy's towering walls beyond the borders of the empire. "Well, perhaps a little. It's not like the capital or our home. They say outside those gates, the wildlands are untamed. Danger lurks in the forests. There are beasts, ancient ruins, and even bandits foolish enough to challenge awakeners."
Helena nodded seriously, sipping her floral tea with exaggerated delicacy.
"But it's not just the outside that's dangerous," Katarina continued, her fingers lacing around her cup. "The academy itself is a crucible. It trains the best of the best from every race and nation… only those who survive its challenges can become true elites."
Helena's wide black eyes gleamed under the moonlight. "Then you'll surely pass all the trials! Right, sister? You'll become so strong! Like Papa and Mama!"
Katarina chuckled, a bit of pink brushing her pale cheeks. "I don't know about that, Helena," she said, letting out a nervous laugh. "I've just turned ten. I still have to awaken my mana… then get used to my class… then survive the first year. There's so much to do."
She picked up a flake of pastry and flicked it at Helena, who dodged with a dramatic squeak, laughing.
But deep in Helena's tiny heart, shielded by the innocence of her smile, another thought stirred.
You'll become strong, she thought, her gaze locked warmly onto her sister's face. Because I'll make sure of it. I wasn't supposed to be born again, not like this… but this time, I'll do everything to protect you.
A vision from a past life flashed before her—an image of her sister Katarina, wounded, betrayed, and ultimately fading away in the shadows of another's rise. The memory struck like a blade, cold and sharp. Her fists tightened slightly in her lap, unseen beneath the tablecloth.
I won't let him ruin you again. That piece of shit Velebrandt… I'll crush him before he ever reaches you.
Helena smiled radiantly, masking the storm in her heart.
"I'll help you train! I'll even pretend to be a beast or a bandit!" she said with a giggle. "And if anyone bullies you at the academy, I'll beat them up!"
Katarina laughed gently, brushing back Helena's hair with sisterly affection. "I'll be counting on you then, little knight."
The wind whispered through the garden, rustling the silver-touched petals of moonroses. Somewhere nearby, a fountain gurgled softly as water spilled over enchanted stones, casting ripple-like glows across the cobbled path.
Above them, the twin moons watched in silence—witnesses to the quiet bond between two sisters, one blissfully unaware of the reborn soul seated across from her. And under the radiance of that cold, celestial light, a silent vow was made.
A vow to rewrite fate.