The Constella — the three individuals who forged this nation. They were venerated to such an extent that reverence soon turned to fear; their strength was unlike anything ever witnessed, and it was evident that anyone who dared stand before them could be crushed by their mere presence. In time, they were bestowed with titles — divine names spoken only in myths — representing the three deities: the God of Control, Zeus; the God of Famine, Limos; and lastly, the God of War, Ares. All three were regarded as the gods who founded this great dominion, their believers spread throughout the vast expanse of the country.
Sector 1, ruled by House Vermillion, venerates the God of War, Ares. Owing to a marital alliance, Sector 3 — governed by House White — also follows Ares, though their prior devotion had been to the God of Famine. Sector 4, presided over by House Garnet, venerate the God of Famine, Limos. Sector 5, ruled by House Violet, follow the God of Control, Zeus. Meanwhile, Sector 2, ruled by House Green, follow no singular deity they venerate all of them.
'This boy truly drew the short end of the stick,' Ruben mused silently, seated at his desk as he perused a tome detailing the differing faiths of the cities. 'Though many blessings accompany those favored by the God of War, the curse is equally grave. To live a life of ceaseless conflict and endure the suffering it brings... I doubt many could bear it.'
He rose from his seat and approached the grand wardrobe that held an array of tailored suits. He thumbed through them uncertainly, unsure of what to wear for the evening's dinner.
'These suits have lost their allure since I first wore them,' he thought with faint distaste. 'I should acquire new ones — perhaps Amelia will want new gowns as well.'
At last, Ruben selected a suit crafted specifically for him — one that would ensure he stood apart. It was adorned with gemstones at the collar and jeweled buttons that shimmered faintly under the light.
He laid the suit across his king-sized bed, then proceeded to bathe before donning the garments he had set out moments before. Making his way downstairs, he met Tristan and Garfield midway; both were dressed in the formal attire that had been arranged for them.
"I don't understand why we must wear such formal clothing just for dinner," Tristan muttered as he tugged at the constricting bow tie.
Ruben chuckled softly.
"We dress formally in case our father decides to grace us with his presence," he replied. "He rarely does, but it's better to be prepared than to face his displeasure."
Tristan finally adjusted his bow tie into a more comfortable position, then slipped his hands into his pockets as the three descended the marble staircase of the manor.
"That still doesn't answer my question," he countered.
"My father is... something of a perfectionist," Ruben admitted, his tone edged with unease. "Every detail must be precisely arranged — every spoon, knife, and fork in its rightful place. A single mistake could ruin his mood, and none would wish to see that. Everyone must appear impeccable at the table — even the food must be served flawlessly — all to please him."
Tristan recognized the emotion hidden beneath Ruben's composed tone — a mix of fear and the desperate need to please. They were emotions he knew all too well, as the soul now inhabiting Tristan's body.
They soon entered the grand dining hall — an imperial chamber dominated by a long table, with rows of chairs lining either side and two distinguished seats at each end.
The trio took their places: Tristan and Garfield side by side on the left, while Ruben sat across from them. Moments later, Amelia entered, her gown exquisitely tailored to accentuate her every feature — her eyes most of all. She approached with quiet grace and took her seat beside her brother.
"Don't you look elegant," Garfield remarked with a grin. "Wouldn't you agree, brother?"
Tristan said nothing at first, his gaze fixed on the silver-haired maiden in awe. A sharp elbow from Garfield brought him back to his senses.
"Ouch," he muttered under his breath.
He turned toward Amelia and said softly, "You look beautiful."
Amelia smiled gently. "Thank you."
Soon, the servants arrived bearing a sumptuous three-course meal fit for nobility. Amelia's gaze, however, lingered on the door — waiting for her father to enter so that they might dine together as a family.
"I suppose Father isn't coming?" she asked, her tone tinged with sorrow as her eyes fell upon the plate before her.
They began to eat, conversation gradually filling the silence between the clinking of silverware.
Tristan, curious about their knowledge of French, finally spoke.
"That language you speak — it's rather distinct. Besides what you've already told us, is there more you know about it?"
Ruben swallowed the food in his mouth, dabbed his lips with a napkin, and answered.
"Little is known about its origin. All we know is that it was brought here by the first settlers of this land."
Tristan accepted the answer, though he suspected that much of its history had been lost — or intentionally buried — through the ages.
"Amelia, your ability seems remarkable," Garfield said. "Is there a story behind it?"
'I would like to know as well,' Tristan thought silently.
"La Glace du Paradis is an ability inherited through the Green bloodline," Amelia explained. "It is typically bestowed upon the strongest member of the family — or the one who shows the greatest potential to reach that strength."
"Typically?" Tristan asked, curiosity in his tone. "What do you mean by that?"
Amelia looked away, reluctant to speak. Ruben answered in her stead.
"Amelia believes La Glace chose incorrectly," he said softly. "She thinks she is unworthy — that I was the one it was meant to select. But I believe she holds the potential to surpass every Green before her. It's a pity she cannot see it herself."
Garfield and Tristan exchanged glances before turning toward Amelia, whose expression was downcast, touched with quiet disappointment.
"Well, I believe you can do it," Tristan said, continuing to eat with a calm smile.
Garfield nodded. "Though I don't always agree with your methods, I do believe your potential eclipses ours."
A faint smile touched her lips. "Thank you. I shall do my best to meet your expectations."
"Why exactly didn't it choose Ruben?" Tristan asked suddenly.
A heavy silence fell across the room. The question was one Garfield would rather have avoided, but he knew Tristan's curiosity would not be easily sated.
Ruben chuckled quietly.
"You truly don't know how to read a room," he said in a lighthearted tone. "There was a time when I believed I would be the next to inherit La Glace — it hadn't awakened in nearly a century, after all. But after ten years of waiting, it never came to me. Instead, Amelia was born... and the signs appeared in her."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"The simplest answer is that I was never meant for such a power. It saw in me what I could not — that I lacked the strength to reach the heights it demanded."
Tristan furrowed his brow.
"I know I'm still new to sensing Star Energy," he began, "but my first impression after meeting you was that you were incredibly strong."
Ruben smiled faintly.
"Oh, I am strong," he replied. "But the level La Glace seeks... that is something else entirely. It yearns for power akin to that of Adel Vermillion — one of the five who have ascended to the rank of King or Queen within Constella."
He paused, eyes darkening slightly. "A Five-Star."