Part 1: The Golden Mask
Prince Kaelrith Elion stood beneath the glittering crystal chandelier of the Valen ballroom, sipping from a goblet of enchanted duskwine. The murmurs of nobles danced around him—empty flattery, polished lies, and the rustling silk of ambition. He wore his golden half-mask, a ceremonial accessory meant to preserve the mystique of the imperial heir.
But the real mask was the one etched beneath his skin: an heir who could no longer feel.
"Your Highness," a noble girl simpered at his side. "Is it true that your eyes reflect the constellations?"
Kaelrith smiled. "Only when I'm bored."
They laughed, not knowing he meant every word.
Tonight, however, boredom was replaced with an anomaly.
Lady Seraphina Valen.
She was supposed to be demure, a sheltered noble girl whose greatest triumph had been composing a sonata for the Spring Equinox festival. But the Seraphina he met tonight was not soft.
Her eyes were old.
Too old.
Like a priestess who had seen the death of gods.
He replayed her words in his mind: "And yours hasn't yet caught up to you."
What did she mean?
His father's warning echoed in his ears: "The Valens are powerful but reckless. Do not let sentiment blind you."
Yet sentiment was a foreign concept to Kaelrith now. He had traded it long ago.
Or so he believed.
Part 2: The Curse Beneath the Crown
When Kaelrith was seven, he stood on the Star Altar and let the High Seer carve the Rune of Suppression into his soul. It was the rite of heirs, to sever weakness—emotion, attachment, empathy.
The Elion bloodline ruled not through love but through dominion.
Emotion was a liability.
Kaelrith hadn't cried in sixteen years. He hadn't laughed without calculation. He hadn't felt hunger or longing or fear. But sometimes… sometimes, late at night, he dreamed of fire and stars, and a voice he could never quite remember.
He did not believe in fate.
Yet when Seraphina walked past him tonight, something ancient stirred.
Not a memory.
A warning.
Part 3: Dance of Deception
On the second evening of the diplomatic visit, the Valens hosted a masquerade under the moonlight. A thousand floating lanterns illuminated the gardens, where nobles danced on marble paths laced with silver ivy.
Kaelrith stood atop the grand staircase, scanning the crowd. His mask tonight was obsidian, set with one crimson gem—the symbol of imperial will.
"Looking for someone?" asked a voice behind him.
He turned.
Seraphina.
She wore no mask.
Only a silver dress that shimmered like starlight, and a stare that dared him to look away first.
"You're bold," he said.
"I've been accused of worse."
They moved to the edge of the balcony, away from curious eyes. Her gaze fell on the imperial crest sewn into his sash.
"Do you believe in destiny, Your Highness?" she asked softly.
He studied her. "I believe in the blade. And in the will to use it."
"Then you must be terrified of fate," she whispered. "Because it can't be stabbed."
For a moment, he felt it—a flicker.
Emotion.
The first in years.
He dismissed it with a smile. "And you, Lady Seraphina? What do you believe in?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she stepped forward and pressed a folded note into his hand.
"You'll want to read this in private."
Before he could stop her, she was gone—disappearing into the swirling dance of masks and music.
Kaelrith unsealed the letter hours later in the quiet of his chambers.
"I know what your bloodline sacrificed.I know what you cannot feel.And I will make you feel again.This is not a threat, Kaelrith. It's a promise.—S.V."
His hands trembled for a moment.
He laughed.
And then he burned the letter to ash.
Part 4: The Storm Behind the Smile
The next morning, Kaelrith's retinue prepared for the closing ceremony. Diplomats exchanged trinkets, the Valens prepared gifts, and the Imperial Seal was to be presented before sunset.
Seraphina was nowhere to be seen.
"Odd," said Lord Thandrel, Kaelrith's advisor. "The girl made quite the impression. I expected more maneuvering."
Kaelrith said nothing, but inside, a plan was already forming.
She's not like the others.
He needed to know who she truly was.
Was she a seer in disguise? A rebel bloodline? A sorceress cloaked in illusion?
Or perhaps… someone like him.
Part 5: His First Lie
That afternoon, Kaelrith sought out Seraphina alone in the Valen library. She was perched by a window, reading a tome on celestial lore, her face half-shadowed by falling light.
He approached slowly.
"I read your letter," he said.
She looked up. "Which one?"
He smirked. "I burned it."
"Then I'll have to write you another."
A pause.
He stepped closer. "You think you know me, Lady Seraphina."
"I do. More than you'd like."
"Then tell me," he challenged. "Tell me what you see."
She studied him. "I see a boy who was forced to kill his soul to protect his throne. I see a man who wears charm like armor. And I see… a part of you that still wants to feel."
Kaelrith leaned in. His breath brushed her cheek.
"You're wrong."
She met his gaze. "No. I'm not."
And for the first time in years, Kaelrith told a lie he almost believed:
"I cannot feel anything."
Part 6: The Beginning of the Fall
That night, Kaelrith left the Valen estate—but not without a parting gift.
He had stolen one of Seraphina's letters.
Hidden in it was an encrypted spell matrix—something forbidden, something lost.
It shouldn't have existed.
And it meant only one thing.
Seraphina Valen was not simply a noble girl. She was a wielder of star magic—magic that was supposed to be extinct.
He should have reported it.
He should have denounced her as a heretic.
Instead… he slipped the scroll into his inner pocket and boarded the imperial carriage in silence.
Because something in him wanted to see what she would do next.
And worse…
Something in him wanted her to win.
End of Chapter 2: "The Prince's First Lie"