The evening air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of lanterns and fresh flowers from the nearby gardens.
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Ahead of them stood the hall: a massive, standalone building erected for noble gatherings. Its tall windows glowed with golden light, spilling warmth into the cool night. Crystal chandeliers could already be glimpsed through the glass, each one sparkling like a captured constellation. Golden sconces along the walls threw soft reflections across the polished stone, making the entire hall shimmer as if it were alive.
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Guards in dark uniforms lined the entrance, standing statuesque and still. Some held spears, others torches whose flames flickered and danced in the evening breeze. Their presence, meant to signal order, only made the group's hearts race faster.
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The workers stopped at the edge of the cobblestone path.
Waiters, waitresses, cleaners, and the small group of chefs all froze, taking in the sight. Even the chefs, usually confident in their abilities and accustomed to the kitchen chaos, felt a pang of nervousness. Their aprons had been replaced with modest formal clothes for the occasion, yet compared to the hall's grandeur, every fold and seam seemed painfully inadequate.
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"I… we're actually going inside?" whispered one of the young chefs, her voice barely audible.
"…Look at it…" muttered a waiter beside her. "It's… it's like a palace."
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Marna clutched her daughter's hand tightly.
"…Do you think we belong there?" she whispered.
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Her daughter, eyes wide, shook her head.
"I… I don't know…"
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The group glanced at each other, examining their own simple clothes: patched sleeves, worn shoes, hair slightly askew from travel. Even the chefs fussed with the collars of their shirts and the neatness of their hair, feeling acutely that they were out of place outside the kitchen.
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"I look… ridiculous," murmured one of the widows holding her child. "How can we possibly… entertain anyone in there?"
"…Our dresses… they're not good enough," another added softly.
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Even the chefs exchanged nervous glances. One tugged at her sleeve and muttered under her breath, "Do I really look like a noble enough cook to be here?"
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From within the hall floated the faint strains of music, soft and elegant, played on a piano. The melody spilled through the windows and danced over the lantern-lit path, filling the workers' chests with a mixture of awe and trepidation.
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The light spilling from the windows highlighted every small imperfection in their appearance—or so they felt. Every frayed hem, every patched seam, every worn shoe seemed glaring under the golden glow.
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A young waitress whispered nervously to a chef beside her, "…Do you think they'll notice? That we… aren't like them?"
The chef shook her head. "…Maybe they only care about what we can do… not what we're wearing."
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Marna closed her eyes for a moment, tightening her grip on her daughter's hand. "…Maybe we do belong. Otherwise, they wouldn't have called us here."
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The workers and chefs huddled together, whispering encouragement, steadying each other's nerves. Slowly, tiny movements began. A foot stepped forward. A sleeve was adjusted. A hand brushed hair behind an ear. One by one, they began to form a small, hesitant line outside the hall.
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The massive doors loomed ahead, the warm golden light spilling around the edges like a promise. Their hearts pounded, the night air heavy with expectation.
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All around, the lanterns flickered. The guards remained statuesque. The music continued, soft and elegant.
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Inside waited the banquet, the contracts, and the owner—the one who had summoned them all here.
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The group stood frozen at the threshold, staring at the grand hall, hearts hammering in their chests.
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Among them, the young chef Liora Vandren tightened her grip on her apron, straightened her back, and inhaled deeply.
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"This… is it," she whispered under her breath. Her voice barely reached anyone else, but it carried a quiet determination.
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Marna glanced at her nervously.
"You… you're going first?"
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Liora nodded. Her silver-gray eyes flickered with both awe and apprehension.
"…If I don't… then none of us will."
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With a soft step, she moved forward, the cobblestones echoing under her shoes.
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The others hesitated, watching her take the first step into the light spilling from the hall.
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"She… she's going in…" muttered one of the waitresses, clutching her hands. "…Can we…?"
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Liora glanced back, her lips pressed in a thin line.
"Follow me," she said quietly. "We have to go. We've been chosen… we belong here tonight."
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Her courage, faint as it was, sparked movement.
One by one, the others stepped forward, trembling. Their hearts raced. Hands fidgeted with collars and sleeves. Children clung tightly to their parents' hands.
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With every step closer, their nerves heightened.
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Passing the guards sent a shiver down everyone's spine. The men and women in polished uniforms stood like statues, expressionless, hands resting lightly on their spears. Every step felt as if it could trigger judgment.
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"Any moment now… they might strike us down," whispered a young waiter, his voice barely audible.
"…They're not moving," another replied nervously. "…Why aren't they checking us?"
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Soft murmurs rippled through the group.
"Maybe… maybe we're not supposed to be here…"
"Maybe we didn't… pass the checks…"
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Liora stopped briefly at the entrance, taking a deep breath, and whispered loud enough for the others to hear:
"This is a noble establishment," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Our backgrounds… our work… it's all been verified. That's why they let us through."
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Her words were a small lifeline. A few of the workers took a deep breath and nodded.
"…Right," said Marna softly. "…We've been chosen. That's why they're letting us enter."
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Step by step, the group moved forward, passing between the still, imposing guards.
Each footfall echoed slightly on the stone floor, heightening the sense of drama and anticipation.
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They whispered to each other for reassurance:
"I can't believe we're actually here…"
"It's… beautiful…"
"Do you think… we'll be able to… serve in a place like this?"
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Even as fear lingered, Liora's presence at the front steadied them. She didn't look back. She walked as if she belonged, as if this hall, this night, was meant for them, and not just a world beyond their reach.
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The warmth of the hall began to brush against them, spilling out from the crystal chandeliers, the golden sconces, the polished tables and glittering decorations.
And as they stepped fully inside, the group felt the first real mixture of awe and disbelief:
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They had crossed the threshold.
The night, the grandeur, the unknown—it was theirs to face.
And Liora Vandren had led them forward.
The massive doors swung open, and the group stepped inside, their breaths catching instantly.
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The hall stretched before them like something from a dream. Every surface gleamed under the soft golden glow of dozens of chandeliers, crystal droplets refracting the light into a thousand tiny stars. The ceiling soared high above, painted with delicate frescoes of dancing angels and scenes of nature, their colors vivid even in the candlelight.
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Along the walls, golden sconces cast pools of light that shimmered across polished marble. The air was faintly scented with flowers, wax, and something unmistakably noble — a richness they had never known outside of stories.
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A long carpet ran down the center of the hall, deep crimson with intricate gold embroidery tracing swirling patterns along its edges. Some of the workers paused, staring down at it.
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"…That… that carpet looks fancier than my dress," one whispered nervously, tugging at the hem of her simple gown.
"Mine too," muttered a widow behind her, clutching her child. "I… I feel so small here."
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Tables stretched across the hall, draped in snow-white cloth, each perfectly set with gleaming silverware, crystal glasses, and plates polished until they shone. Candleholders stood in elegant rows, their flames flickering in unison, casting playful shadows across the walls. Small bouquets of fresh flowers were arranged at intervals, filling the room with a delicate fragrance that mingled with the warmth of the air.
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The chandeliers themselves were works of art — enormous, layered crystals cascading downward like frozen waterfalls of light. The smallest movement sent sparkles dancing across the polished floor, making the hall feel alive with twinkling stars.
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Even the ceiling seemed impossibly far above them, stretching wide and majestic. The frescoes were so vivid that some workers tilted their heads upward, mouths slightly agape.
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"I've… never seen anything like this," muttered one of the waiters. His voice was hushed, reverent.
"…It's… overwhelming," another said. "…I feel like I shouldn't even breathe here."
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Liora Vandren walked ahead, her head held high, but her fingers fidgeted lightly with the folds of her sleeves. Even she, confident in the kitchen, felt the weight of the grandeur pressing down on her.
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Children's eyes grew impossibly wide. One little girl tugged at her mother's hand.
"Mom… look at all the lights… and the flowers…"
Marna smiled softly, a mixture of pride and nerves.
"Yes… it's beautiful. Breathe, dear… just breathe."
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The guards stood silent at intervals, statuesque, making the hall feel both safe and imposing. Every step the group took echoed slightly, adding to the sense that the space was immense, almost limitless.
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"Do… we really belong here?" whispered a young chef behind Liora.
Liora glanced back, her gaze steady.
"Yes," she said quietly. "We've been chosen. Our work, our skills, our backgrounds… they belong here. That's why they're letting us in."
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The group moved forward slowly, some hands brushing the polished surfaces of chairs or tables, as if touching them might prove they were real.
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"…Even the carpet…" a young waitress muttered. "…It's… perfect."
"…And the chandeliers…" someone else added. "…It's like a palace inside."
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The hall was alive in a way that made them all feel small yet honored. They were outsiders here, yet invited. Every light, every polished surface, every subtle fragrance reminded them: this was a world far beyond the streets and inns they had always known.
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But as nervous as they were, awe held them in place.
They had crossed the threshold.
And tonight, every sense, every breath, every heartbeat was a reminder that they had entered a noble world.