The invitation had no name.
Only a symbol—two roses, entwined. One white. One black.
Elira stared at the embossed parchment again, still half-wondering if it had been a dream. But the velvet box that accompanied it, the faint shimmer of teleportation dust on her windowsill, and the gown now hanging in her wardrobe said otherwise.
The Midnight Assembly.
She had heard rumors. A gathering for noble-born students—secretive, opulent, strictly invitation-only. Not even professors were allowed in. A place where alliances were forged, where heirs whispered pacts beneath crystal chandeliers, and where masks concealed more than just faces.
Elira never imagined she'd be dragged into that world. And yet, the black silk mask now rested on her nightstand, watching her like an omen.
She tried to refuse.
She really did.
But the moment she stepped out of her dorm to find the invitation's bearer—a cloaked girl with no voice and eyes like polished amber—her lips had gone dry.
"It is not a request," the girl whispered before vanishing into shadow.
And so, as midnight approached, Elira stood before the gilded mirror, heart hammering. The gown fit her like second skin—deep crimson with golden threads, its neckline bold and back scandalously low. A subtle scent of night-blooming flowers clung to the fabric.
Someone had chosen this for her.
Of course they had.
The mask hid her expression, but not her unease. She stepped through the teleportation portal and into the unknown.
The Assembly Hall was unlike anything she'd seen.
A ballroom of moonstone and glass, suspended in what seemed to be a pocket realm. Stars gleamed above like a living sky, while musicians played from floating platforms. Nobles danced in elegant arcs, their laughter veiled behind masks of silver and lace.
Elira stood at the edge, a glass of untouched champagne in hand.
She didn't belong here.
And yet, eyes found her—recognition flickering despite the mask. Whispers spread faster than perfume: That's her. The girl from the Affinity trial. The one the Raventelle and the Virellith want.
She tried to move through the crowd unnoticed, but it was futile. These people had hunted prey in ballrooms since birth.
"Elira."
The voice slid against her name like silk.
She turned.
Celestienne stood there, radiant in silver and starlight. Her gown shimmered like frozen moonlight, her mask barely hiding the sharpness in her gaze.
"You look exquisite," she said softly, reaching out to touch a loose curl that framed Elira's face. "Exactly as I imagined."
"Did you… arrange this?" Elira asked, fingers tightening around her glass.
Celestienne smiled. "I merely nudged fate."
A gentle pressure at her back made her flinch.
"Don't hog her so soon," came the velvet purr.
Isolde.
She was dressed in midnight blue, thorns embroidered in black thread that seemed to shimmer like blood in the light. Her
mask was a sleek, feline shape, shadowing her crimson eyes.
Between them, Elira felt like a candle caught between two mirrors—trapped in reflections she couldn't escape.
"She hasn't danced yet," Celestienne said, her tone light, but her gaze locked on Isolde.
"I was about to ask," Isolde replied smoothly.
Their tension wrapped around Elira like a ribbon pulled taut.
"I don't dance," Elira murmured, trying to step back.
"Then let us stand," Celestienne said, slipping her arm around Elira's waist with practiced ease.
Elira stiffened.
But Isolde was already pouring her a new glass. "Drink, darling. It calms the nerves."
"I don't think I—"
Isolde tilted her head. "It's just elderflower. No potions. Not tonight."
Not tonight?
Elira took the glass with numb fingers. Her heart thudded like war drums beneath her ribs.
"You arranged this," she whispered, voice trembling. "Both of you. Why?"
Celestienne leaned in, breath brushing her ear. "Because the world should see who stands beside you."
"Because power loves an audience," Isolde added, brushing imaginary lint off Elira's shoulder. "And jealousy tastes better when it's fermented in public."
They were too close. Too knowing.
The music changed.
A slow, haunting waltz.
Celestienne extended her hand. Isolde mirrored her.
Elira froze between them.
Whispers grew louder.
Eyes gleamed behind masks.
Even the musicians seemed to slow their tempo, anticipating her choice.
Choose one.
Or choose neither—and offend both.
Elira swallowed, then did the only thing she could. She curtsied, awkwardly, and stepped backward into the crowd. "I… need air."
Neither followed.
But their gazes never left her.
She found a terrace at the edge of the realm, stars swirling like a vortex above. Cold air bit at her skin, but she welcomed it.
A moment. Just a moment to breathe.
"What did I walk into?" she whispered, gripping the marble railing.
"I could ask the same."
Elira turned.
The voice was unfamiliar.
A boy stood there—tall, dark-haired, his mask half-lifted to reveal a curious smile. His uniform bore the insignia of House Aurelith—one of the few neutral factions.
"You're braver than most," he said, stepping closer. "To keep both their attention. And survive it."
Elira blinked. "You mean Celestienne and Isolde?"
"Who else?" he chuckled. "One's a glacier. The other's a forest fire. Most don't dare approach either, let alone both."
"I didn't ask for any of this."
"No one ever does," he said, more gently. "But you're in their game now."
She didn't reply.
He gave a short bow. "Call me Kael. If you ever need a third option… look for me."
Then he vanished into the shadows, leaving her more confused than comforted.
When Elira returned inside, the waltz had ended.
She tried to remain in the background, blending in with students too drunk or distracted to notice her.
But from the dais, both Celestienne and Isolde watched.
Not with anger.
Not even surprise.
But something worse.
Amusement.
As if her attempt to escape had been expected.
As if the game had only just begun.