The glow of golden chandeliers bathed the ballroom in warmth, their brilliance reflecting off silver-rimmed glasses and jewel-laced dresses. Laughter and classical music intertwined, creating a vibrant harmony under the starlit illusion that hung from the silk-draped ceiling.
Amidst the buzz of the nobles, a small shift in attention occurred when two striking individuals stepped forward toward the Augustus family.
"Lord and Lady Silvermoon," a maid whispered nearby.
The couple was unmistakable.
Layla's mother, Selene Silvermoon, held herself with a quiet, haunting grace. Long black hair, braided with shimmering silver threads, cascaded down her back. Her gown was elegant and dark, with velvet layers that mirrored the night sky, glittering subtly with amethyst gems.
Her husband, Darius Silvermoon, on the other hand, stood like an unmovable wall. Towering, with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw, his slick silver hair was swept back, revealing sharp golden eyes. His cloak shimmered with layers of woven starlight, symbolizing their house's ancient mastery over darkness and illusion magic.
They approached Richard and Julia Augustus, both of whom stood with regal posture near the refreshment table, accompanied by their son, Noah, and his three radiant companions.
"Richard," Darius spoke, his voice low and weighty like thunder beneath calm skies. "It's been a while."
"Darius," Richard replied, offering a composed nod. "We meet under more... festive skies tonight."
Selene smiled gently at Julia, offering the traditional Silvermoon hand gesture of greeting. "Lady Julia. I hope you've been well," she said, her gaze falling on Lyra and Scarlett with quiet curiosity. "You are all... quite the sight tonight."
As they exchanged formalities, Darius's eyes finally locked onto Noah.
The atmosphere grew cold for a heartbeat.
"Boy," he said, his voice suddenly sharper. "My daughter may be many things, but she is not one to be discarded or taken lightly."
Noah met his gaze without flinching.
"I'll never let her go," he replied evenly.
Layla, standing beside Noah, beamed with a proud, satisfied smile.
Darius's eyes narrowed—then he grunted and looked away. "Good."
Then came a soft voice, cool and radiant.
"I hope I'm not interrupting."
All eyes turned to see Saintess Olivia Lanze approaching.
She was dressed unlike any had seen her before. Gone was the modest, flowing white of the Church. In its place, a rich maroon gown, sleek and elegant, traced her curves without excess.
The neckline was high, bordered with golden patterns of the sun, and the sleeves glimmered with woven holy symbols.
Her platinum blonde hair flowed like silk down her back, pinned with a shining emerald brooch matching her striking green eyes.
Those eyes swept over the group—but lingered.
Where is he? she thought. Her gaze wandered, then finally settled on Noah.
A smile touched her lips.
"Noah," she greeted softly.
"Saintess Olivia," Noah replied, bowing politely. "You look... Stunning tonight."
"Stunning?" she chuckled. "I was going for surprising."
"You succeeded," he said. "But I think it suits you."
A brief, quiet exchange—yet one that drew curious looks from those nearby.
The conversation was interrupted when the massive clock near the ceiling struck.
DONG!. DONG. DONG.
Eight heavy tolls echoed through the palace like a divine summons.
Suddenly, the musicians halted. The maids stepped aside. The red carpet leading to the central staircase shimmered with threads of mana.
Then—
"Announcing His Majesty, Emperor Charles De Angelis! Her Majesty, Empress Louise De Angelis! And Her Highness, Princess Charlotte De Angelis!"
A hush fell across the hall.
From the grand staircase above, the imperial family descended.
Emperor Charles walked with absolute dominance. His tall frame was adorned in black military regalia trimmed with gold and sapphire, his silver cloak billowing behind him. Short golden hair and a sharp, square face gave him the air of an unshakeable monarch. His eyes, like blazing sunfire, scanned the room with calculated poise.
Beside him, Empress Louise glided with command and authority. Her silver-blue gown sparkled like frost beneath moonlight, her hair arranged in a towering cascade of blue curls. Every step she took was silent and divine.
But it was the girl between them who truly stole the moment.
Princess Charlotte De Angelis.
Her long golden hair shimmered under the starlit chandeliers, cascading down her back in flawless waves.
Her gown—a mesmerizing black silk creation with silver embroidery—clung to her form with dignified beauty. The silver reflected every light, creating an illusion of constellations drifting across her dress.
But what captured all hearts, and perhaps chilled them, were her void-like eyes—calm, unreadable, and terrifyingly beautiful.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Charlotte descended with poise, not a flicker of hesitation in her steps. Her expression was serene, her aura a mix of authority and mystique.
When the three reached the center stage, the Emperor raised his hand.
"Lords and Ladies," he began, his voice resounding like a spell. "Tonight, you gather beneath our roof not only as nobles of the empire, but as witnesses to the 18th birthday of my daughter, the Princess of the Crown."
He turned toward Charlotte, his gaze softening ever so slightly.
"She has grown in power, in wisdom, and in elegance beyond even our proudest expectations. From this day forth, she will no longer walk in the shadow of our legacy—but begin to carve one of her own."
He faced the crowd once more.
"Raise your glasses, and honor your future queen!"
"To Princess Charlotte!" the room echoed as crystal clinks filled the air.
The Emperor gave a nod. "Now, let us celebrate."
And with that, the crowd stirred again as nobles began to step forward, one by one, bowing and offering their congratulations to Charlotte, the living moon in black and silver.
The imperial ballroom buzzed again with movement as nobles lined up to pay their respects. The orchestra resumed a softer tune, the violin strings humming like whispers in the wind.
Charlotte stood like a statue of grace beside her father and mother, her black gown shimmering like a veil of night wrapped in stars. She greeted each noble with a composed smile, her void-like eyes never betraying emotion, yet impossible to look away from.
"Duke Aldren of House Valenwood," the announcer called.
A man with chestnut hair and gentle eyes stepped forward with his wife and daughter. Known for their deep ties to the land, House Valenwood had long supplied the empire with enchanted wood and medicinal herbs.
"Your Highness," Duke Aldren said, bowing low. "It is an honor to witness your coming of age."
Charlotte gave a small nod. "May your family continue to grow in peace and prosperity, Duke Aldren."
His daughter, blushing, couldn't help but admire Charlotte's beauty up close. "She's like a goddess," she whispered to her mother.
As the Valenwoods stepped aside, the next family was announced.
"Marquis Eland of House Stormwatch."
Clad in ocean-blue robes trimmed with storm-gray accents, the couple strode forward. Known for their control of coastal defenses and storm-based magic, House Stormwatch held influence over the empire's seas.
"Your Highness," Marquis Eland said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, "the tides are ever loyal to the crown."
Charlotte's lips curled faintly. "And may the storms never rise against it."
Then came the sound of metal boots.
"Duke Ragnar of House Ironclad."
A man with a steel jaw, a crimson cloak, and armor that clinked with every step entered with his wife and two children—a tall, sharp-eyed boy and a refined daughter with silver hair tied in twin braids.
The Ironclads were famed for their unmatched blacksmiths and their iron magic—unyielding and proud.
"Happy birthday, Your Highness," Duke Ragnar said, giving a stiff bow. "May your reign, one day, be unbreakable."
Charlotte inclined her head. "May the empire always stand on foundations forged by your house."
As the Ironclads stepped aside, the announcer's voice rang out again.
"Announcing Lord Darius Silvermoon and Lady Selene Silvermoon of House Silvermoon."
A wave of subtle darkness seemed to wash over the hall as Layla's parents made their entrance.
Selene floated beside her husband like a dream born of moonlight and shadow, while Darius's eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned the crowd.
"The stars shine brightest on a night such as this," Selene said warmly to the princess.
Charlotte nodded slowly. "And sometimes, stars fall closer than we expect."
Then came a shift in atmosphere. The lights seemed to focus, unconsciously drawn as the next figures entered.
"Announcing the High Priesthood of the Church of Luminaris—His Holiness, Pope Theophilus. Archbishop Reiner. And Her Holiness, the Saintess Olivia Lanze."
The crowd hushed once again.
Saintess Olivia descended the staircase with divine elegance, her maroon gown trailing behind her like flowing wine. Golden embroidery glowed faintly under the light, mimicking sunrays across her skirt.
All eyes turned to her—not with lust, but reverence and awe.
Olivia bowed gracefully to the Emperor and Empress.
"Your Majesties. Your Highness." Her voice was serene, like a hymn. "The Church sends its blessings and prayers on this sacred occasion."
Charlotte offered her a faint smile, their gazes locking briefly. "Thank you, Saintess Olivia. Your presence honors this evening."
Then—
The announcer's voice returned, a touch louder, more reverent than before.
"And now—announcing Duke Richard Von Augustus, Duchess Julia Von Augustus—of the prestigious House of Augustus."
"Accompanied by Lord Noah Von Augustus."
The room exhaled.
The spotlight seemed to dim and shift. Conversations paused. Goblets froze mid-air.
Then, the steps echoed.
Richard Augustus, poised and commanding, walked beside his elegant wife Julia, dressed in a regal sapphire gown.
Alea was also with them, in her usual cold and sharp gaze.
And then came Noah.
Flanked by three goddesses.
Lyra, draped in her Frozen Bridal Set, appeared ethereal—ice crystals embedded in her pale-blue gown sparkled like diamonds, her dark hair contrasting with the glacial elegance of her eyes and the delicate frost that clung to her jewelry.
Beside her, Scarlett, in her Crimson Bride Set, looked like a living flame—deep red silk hugged her form, her long hair glowing under the golden lights, a scarlet veil fluttering behind her like embers.
And then, Layla—the queen of chaos, radiant in her Fallen Bride Set, a darkly enchanting dress with flowing black and violet silk, adorned with tiny silver feathers that shimmered like stardust.
Together, they walked behind Noah, who was dressed in sharp, dark formalwear stitched with subtle silver runes. His presence was quiet, yet overwhelming—like a sword in a velvet sheath.
The crowd could only stare.
Some gasped.
Others glared.
Several nobles whispered behind their fans or clenched their teeth.
"Tch… show-off."
"Three of them? That's just... unfair."
"Who does he think he is?"
Yet none dared speak too loudly.
And none could look away.
As they reached the Emperor and Empress, Noah offered a refined bow.
"Your Majesties. Your Highness," he said with calm respect.
The Emperor gave a silent nod, while Charlotte's void eyes lingered on Noah for a moment longer than needed.
Her lips twitched faintly—was that a smile?
The girls behind Noah subtly shifted, each noticing the stares.
Layla linked her arm with Noah's tightly, eyes gleaming with mischief and warning at the same time.
Lyra exhaled, her breath visibly cool in the air, a tiny snowflake twirling near her shoulder.
Scarlett, poised as always, placed her hand gently on Noah's back with a smile that dared anyone to speak.
The party had truly begun.
To be continued...