Aris continued to stare at the Emperor, hoping with all his heart that he would not make the slightest move exceeding the kilometer per hour. Every calm and deliberate motion was proof that, for now, all was well. And yet, his very presence was proof that at any moment, everything could go horribly wrong.
It was too obvious to ignore, too dangerous to dismiss. Everyone feared that Ventis might act. When he merely sat upon his throne far away, his presence was enough to cast dread into the hearts of men. Now that he was here in person, their fear grew even greater.
Even so, the conversation between Ventis and the King of Arkis flowed surprisingly well.They spoke, of course, of politics, and of beasts that plagued the land. But they also discussed their homelands, their daily affairs, their occupations.
Aris was surprised to learn that Ventis spent much of his time hunting to hone his precision—without a bow, of course, for it would not be absurd enough otherwise. The rest of the time, the Emperor of Light reigned from his throne, ruling his empire with a firm and unyielding hand.
Aris did not have such a quiet life, but he appreciated hearing that the great Ventis seemed more human than he appeared. Still, the suffocating aura he exuded made it difficult to concentrate. But Aris was a king as well, and so he endured.
The two men conversed calmly under the stunned gazes of those around them. To the guests, their presence was like that of two tigers, each capable of devouring the hall at any moment. It was as if their mere act of sitting together could shake the earth itself.
Then—while the world already seemed to tremble—a third tiger entered the room.
Aris and his companion turned their eyes toward the newcomer: the Duke De Grey, his insatiable, superior smile intact.
Even before the Emperor of Light, he maintained his hateful, prideful demeanor. And that day, he joined the other monsters.
Not long after, the King of Koran advanced as well. Though calmer, his tiger was colder, quieter—no less terrifying. His very presence marked order into the world, his steps leaving behind an almost soundless trace. With his piercing, unwavering gaze, he joined the gathering of monsters.
Thus, the rulers of the human world sat together around a table that suddenly seemed far too unworthy to hold them.
The hall itself seemed to quake. Servants dared not approach. Ana had ordered them to withdraw, waiting until the dance began to move discreetly.
Even she could feel the crushing pressure emanating from the table of kings.
The Duke refrained from raising his voice before the mighty Ventis, while Aris tried his best to appear at ease.The King of Koran kept his merciless and grave demeanor, lifting his hand from time to time for a slight gesture.
Ventis spoke the least, as though it were better not to have him speak at all.
Though it was strange to see them gathered together—there, around a single table—for the moment, everything was proceeding well.
Aris exhaled inwardly, relieved. His preparations had borne fruit. The Emperor of Light himself had attended—an unexpected honor. But it was happening, and it was going well.
Finally, warmth spread through his chest. It had been hard to remain professional throughout the evening, but he had succeeded well. His ball was a success. Even great, unforeseen guests had arrived. And for that, he was glad.
Time flowed slowly beneath the starlit sky.
Guests spoke more freely, reassured to see Ventis occupied with Aris or De Grey. The King of Koran moved through the hall, conversing with many. He had dealings with most of them, after all, and knew how to handle such affairs. At times, he returned to Aris, exchanging a few words before vanishing again into the crowd.
Ana continued to give instructions to the servants, having them move lamps, adjust draperies, or serve those still waiting.
Glasses filled with wine, smiles drifted through the hall, servants hurried while others rested in corners designed for respite. The kings spoke, the Duke spread his arrogance like a foul perfume, and the evening unfolded smoothly under the blue hues of Arkis' sky.
Ventis spoke to no one except Aris. When the king left, he remained quietly in a corner, saying nothing, observing the hall while sampling the delicacies. None dared approach him.
When Aris returned, they resumed their discussion—until he moved on again, and the cycle continued as the night wore on.
And then… the moment to dance arrived.
The guests were guided into an adjoining hall, hidden behind a curtain of deep blue fabric, heavy and opaque, its borders lined with gold.Though its sheer weight made it daunting, the servants tasked with drawing it aside did so with ease. They had been trained for this long before arriving. Aris knew how heavy the curtain was, and he had prepared accordingly.
He followed his guests into the spacious hall. Inside, the spectacle was as breathtaking as the first chamber.
At its center, carved into the very floor, lay the grand symbol of the Kingdom of Arkis—the majestic knight striking down the golden dragon. It was so vast, so imposing, that no one could fail to notice it.
And yet… there was nothing else.
Small torches lined the walls, golden sconces that had cost Aris a fortune, yet he was proud of the result. Above, a chandelier—also of gold—seemed to float in the air.
The chandelier ruled the hall like a silent king, suspended at the heart of a ceiling sculpted with gold and legend. Towering, tier upon tier, it seemed to defy gravity itself, its outstretched arms holding hundreds of hand-cut crystals. Each prism caught the slightest whisper of light and shattered it into bursts of gold, blue, and pearlescent fire, as though the sun itself had been imprisoned within its heart.
Its curved metal stems, shaped with near-divine precision, wove into complex arabesques of floral patterns and imperial sigils. The candles, crafted to appear ancient, burned with a warm, unwavering glow—as if they consumed a rare essence lost to forgotten palaces.
Every tier told a story:
The first, austere and commanding, bore the heaviest crystals—tears carved from stone.
The second, lighter, unfolded like a corolla, adorned with finer gems that seemed almost alive.
And at the very peak, a central sphere, etched with golden runes, pulsed faintly, as though it were a living heart.
Aris was so proud of it that he nearly forgot the rest of the hall. For though there were tables and chairs for rest, the chamber's true purpose was to dance.
On the raised stage, the musicians already stood, motionless as statues. The scene was unsettling—until everyone realized it was part of the spectacle.
For the moment Aris clapped his hands, they began to play.
The music rose—slow, hesitant—each note as though afraid to wake the ghosts of the past.
It was an ancient whisper, a forgotten prayer carried to the wind.
The strings gave the ball its voice—long, plaintive lines that painted trails of pure melancholy. The lead violin, fragile yet resolute, told a story no one dared interrupt. Behind it, the violas and cellos wove a heavy veil of sorrow, dense and silken, like a starless night.
Then came the woodwinds—flutes and clarinets, light and childlike.
The brass followed, deep and deliberate—not brutal, but inevitable. They bore the weight of destiny, the kind one cannot escape. Each orchestral swell was a wave of restrained emotion; each silence, an abyss.
And at its core, the voice—or rather, the absence of one. For in this version, the orchestra itself was the voice. It did not sing. It wept.It spoke without words, in crescendos that gripped the throat and diminuendos that left the heart hollow.
The guests were shaken, startled by such a choice of music. It was sumptuous, pure, yet profoundly melancholic. It struck the soul rather than the heart.
And yet—it made one want to dance.To dance like a petal carried upon the current.To dance like a ballerina trained to move upon a slow breath of sound.To dance like a leaf in a gentle wind.To dance like royal guests beneath a sky of stars, in a hall that echoed a world at peace.
Aris had not chosen the music. This time, it had been Ana.
"Listen to this," she had said. "Your soul will tremble."
Watching the men carefully take the hands of the women and lead them onto the floor, he quickly understood why.
He allowed himself a faint smile.
"She was right."