The royal airship drifted through bands of purple cloud like a living ember cutting through twilight. Mana reactors hummed beneath the cabin floor, steady and deep, and the thin glass of the windows pulsed faintly with contained power. Outside, the sky burned with the color of dusk, threaded by glowing trade routes that marked the flight paths of nations.
Inside, luxury met precision. Velvet seats shaped themselves to posture; golden sigils traced quiet lines along the walls, gently flickering with altitude readings. The cabin light was dim enough to feel like starlight.
Rose sat near the window, chin resting on her palm, her breath even. She'd fallen asleep half an hour ago, the faintest shimmer of mana drifting from her hair with every exhale. Even in rest, she looked untouchable — calm, composed, frighteningly serene.
Across from her, Caelum sprawled like he owned gravity. He had one arm draped over the back of his chair and a lazy grin that betrayed zero tension. His eyes were half-lidded, watching the clouds twist in arcs.
"Royal flights," he said at last, voice light, "should at least have champagne with bubbles. I like my carbonation intelligent."
Rin didn't look up from the document he was reading. "You'd flirt with it if it was that good."
"I have standards." Caelum smirked. "It'd have to sparkle back."
From the next seat, Coelion exhaled through his nose. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Not when I'm this handsome," Caelum replied. "It'd be selfish."
Rin folded the document closed, a faint smile ghosting over his lips — the kind that lasted less than a breath. "Five minutes to landing."
The pilot's voice echoed through the speakers:
> "Approaching Noctisviel, the Dark Elf capital. Prepare for descent."
Caelum adjusted his coat. "Finally. I was starting to forget what real gravity feels like."
The descent began. The hum of mana stabilizers deepened, the windows flaring with reflected lights below — a horizon that shimmered like molten glass.
—
The Dark Elf capital — Noctisviel— sprawled across a valley of shadow and starlight. From above, it looked like someone had carved an entire civilization out of obsidian and moonlight. Towers rose like sharpened thorns of beauty, their surfaces etched with glowing veins of mana-blue. Airships drifted above them as the prepared to land at the airport, casting ripples of light over bridges of black crystal.
At the heart of it all, a single spire dominated the skyline: the Crownspire, the heart of the continent's mana network. It pulsed once every few seconds, a heartbeat shared by the entire city.
The airship's wheels touched down with a muted hiss. Cameras lined the runway like mechanical sentinels. Broadcast drones floated above the crowd, feeding the arrival live to the nation's billboards. Massive holo-screens lit up across the city — every citizen watching the national representatives step down.
The ramp lowered.
Rin was the first to emerge — coat sharp, eyes steady, posture unshakable. Rose followed, silent but radiant, every movement deliberate. Coelion's expression carried inherited pride, shoulders squared. Then Caelum — waving at the cameras with a two-finger salute, his smile turning heads even through the broadcast feed.
The crowd murmured, excitement mixing with apprehension.
> "That must be the Sylvanyr heir…"
"The frost swordsman…"
"People of Sylvanyr are beautiful as usual."
"Who'll win the Conflux of Crowns this year?"
The announcers spoke in soft, reverent tones. "The Sylvanyr delegation has arrived… the Kingdom of Frost and Song enters the field."
A gust of mana rolled over the plaza as they stepped onto the red crystal carpet, and for a moment — just a moment — all sound dimmed. The visitors carried an aura that didn't need words: grace, power, and quiet dominion.
---
The Vantéal Court Hotel rose against the cliffside, carved directly into black stone that shimmered faintly under the sunlight. The structure wasn't built — it was sculpted. Water flowed upward along transparent channels; a crystalline lake hung midair, rotating gently as it reflected the city skyline.
Inside, mana glass chandeliers floated lazily, dripping soft blue light. The floor resembled liquid obsidian, perfectly reflective. Every attendant bowed low, movements rehearsed but reverent.
"Welcome, Honored Sylvanyr guests," said the concierge, her voice smooth as silk. "Your suites have been prepared overlooking the Crownspire. Should you wish for privacy, mana veils can be activated upon command."
Rose inclined her head with grace. "Thank you. Your hospitality honors us."
Rin said nothing — just observed. The Dark Elf servants moved with perfect rhythm. Their smiles were flawless, but their eyes betrayed curiosity — and a quiet fear.
The hotel's main hall opened into a panoramic view of the city below. Screens flickered in corners, showing live updates of the Sylvanyr arrival trending across the Webnet. Headlines glowed in bold silver text:
> SYLVANYR LEGACY ARRIVES IN NOCTISVIEL — UNITY TOUR TOMORROW
Caelum whistled. "We're celebrities now."
"You were always one," Rose said without looking back.
"Not the modest kind though," Coelion muttered, brushing past.
Caelum grinned wider. "Didn't say I was, however your statement sounds ironic."
Coelion fumed in silence.
---
Morning unfolded gently — thin sunlight filtering through the obsidian curtains. The dining hall shimmered with blue glass and hanging gardens. Flames burned inside crystal cages, keeping the air pleasantly warm. Servants placed dishes that glowed faintly with enchantment: mana fruits, frost-tea, dragon-lily bread.
Caelum poked at his plate. "Even their eggs look rich."
Rose sipped her tea. "That's because they are."
Across from them, Rin's plate was nearly untouched. He'd finished before anyone noticed, movements quiet, mechanical. His mind was elsewhere — already on training, the upcoming tournament, and something that pulled faintly in his chest like an unfinished thought.
---
The hotel gym wasn't a gym — it was a sanctum of movement. Floors adapted to mana output, walls were more advanced than on earth, and the training dummies could mimic any elemental resistance.
Rin stood alone, wearing simple training pants and a black shirt. Frost whispered from his fingertips. His breathing was calm, rhythmic, as if each inhale rebuilt him.
Then, the door slid open.
A dark silhouette stepped in — a woman with night-silver hair tied in a loose braid, her eyes the color of deep crimson wine. Glowing glyphs traced along her collarbones like jewelry. Rin didn't know her name yet, but she looked like a young Dark Elf mage.
She hadn't meant to intrude. The room was listed as "vacant," but as soon as she entered, she froze.
Rin's movements were fluid, precise — no wasted motion. His blade wasn't drawn, but his body was the blade. When he moved, the air rippled faintly, frost blooming along the floor tiles before evaporating.
It wasn't brute strength — it was art.
Vaelira stopped in her tracks, hand hovering near her temple. The sheer focus emanating from him was overwhelming. Not pressure — discipline.
Rin noticed her reflection in the mirrored wall, turned his head slightly, and looked into her eyes before walking past her toward the exit. No words, no arrogance — all she had was quiet acknowledgement.
For a moment, she found herself standing still in that faint trail of cold air he left behind.
> "What kind of training was that…" she murmured.
It wasn't admiration of beauty, nor attraction — it was awe. Respect for the kind of effort that left marks on the air itself.
---
The team regrouped later in the lobby, all dressed down in casual attire. Rose wore a long silver coat that shimmered faintly under the light, while Caelum looked like he was born to break dress codes.
"So," Caelum said, "beach or city?"
"The beach," Rose replied. "You need sunlight. Your ego's pale."
He smirked. "I'll get a tan and come back irresistible."
"You already think you are," Rin muttered under his breath.
Caelum caught the jab and laughed. "You're learning humor. I'm so proud."
Rin turned away. "I'll pass on the beach."
Rose arched a brow. "You'll rest?"
"I'll explore," Rin said simply.
Caelum tapped his chest. "Then I'll explore something else."
Rose's eyes narrowed. "Caelum."
He grinned. "Don't worry. I'm just sightseeing."
They all knew what that meant.
---
The Dark Elf city came alive after noon. Neon runes shimmered along the black glass of storefronts, and music spilled from floating taverns that hovered between bridges. The air carried the faint scent of spice and rain.
Caelum walked like a man who knew he belonged everywhere. His coat hung open, his expression effortless. A few locals looked; a few stared. He didn't mind.
Then he saw a girl at the edge of a plaza.
A group of overdressed nobles had cornered her near a mana fountain, their laughter low and invasive. One reached for her wrist.
He didn't make it.
A thin arc of shadow-magic snapped around his hand like a whip. He yelped, stumbling back, nursing a burn that hissed faintly with dark mana. The group retreated quickly, whispering curses under their breath.
She turned to leave, unbothered.
Caelum approached from behind with boldness and charisma, voice smooth.
> "If looks could kill, you'd have cleared this street twice by now."
Her step paused — just barely. She turned, amber eyes meeting his.
> "And yet you still walked up to me," she said flatly.
> "Well," Caelum replied with a half-grin, "I've always had a thing for danger dressed in elegance."
Her expression flickered — half amusement, half challenge. "Flattery dulls fast."
He stepped beside her, hands in his pockets. "Then I'll try honesty. You looked like you wanted company, but the kind that doesn't talk too much."
"And you're offering?"
"Offering, yes. Guaranteeing… maybe not."
For the first time, she smiled — faint, but real. They began walking together, the conversation unfolding naturally. He didn't press. She didn't pretend to be impressed. They simply matched pace.
They passed through glowing markets, cyberpunk looking streets, and open-air terraces that shimmered with runic script. She spoke of her city — of its beauty and its corruption. He spoke of home — how Sylvanyr looked when the snow met sunrise, the cherry blossoms and the beauty of Sylvanyr.
It wasn't flirtation anymore. It was connection.
At a small café tucked beneath an archway of glass leaves, they stopped.
He ordered a dark roast laced with honey. She ordered stormleaf tea.
> "So," she asked finally, "what are you hoping to find in this tournament?"
> "Trouble," he said easily.
> "You're good at that."
> "I like to think of it as talent."
Her lips curved again — amused this time. The tension between them softened, shifting from banter to quiet intrigue.
They talked until the café lanterns flickered from gold to silver, marking evening.
When they stood to leave, he held the door and said, I've been wanting to ask, but what'syour name?
She hesitated, gave him a paper, then nodded. "Goodnight, Caelum Sylvanyr."
He looked into the paper and said,
> "Goodnight, Vaelira Noxviel."
He watched her vanish into the crowd — and for once, didn't chase.
---
Elsewhere, Rin followed an unspoken pull through the merchant district — a place where ancient and modern collided. Obsidian domes arched over walkways lined with relic dealers and arcane engineers. The Asterveil Auction Hall towered at the district's heart, its facade engraved with moving sigils that shimmered like living ink.
Inside, the air was heavy with mana and ambition. Elves in tailored cloaks murmured bids, human traders whispered into floating scrolls. The auctioneer stood beneath a pillar of light that showcased each item — weapons, artifacts, cursed relics.
Rin took a seat at the back, scanning the catalog absently. Most items were noise — relics stripped of soul.
Then he saw it.
A slender jian, encased in black crystal. Its blade was midnight-dark, edges faintly wreathed in shadows. A faint aura surrounded it — cold, sentient, restrained.
> "Lot 47," the announcer said. "The Eclipse Blade. A mythical weapon found in the ruins of Old Murim. Said to drain the life of its wielder — useless, yet fascinating."
The crowd laughed quietly. Useless, they called it.
Rin's system flickered.
> [Appraisal: Incomplete Blade — Original Murim Blueprint Detected. Not a copy. Core missing. Classified as "Sleeping Prototype."]
Beside the sword was a folded parchment sealed in red wax.
> [Language: Ancient Murim. Untranslated.]
The murmurs were noise. Rin raised his hand. "Ten million lunaris."
The hall fell quiet.
"Going once… twice…"
"Sold!"
The Dark Elf host smiled too widely, relieved to rid themselves of a cursed relic.
As Rin claimed the sheathed blade, the aura brushed against his skin — cold, yet warm.
Somewhere across the city, a broadcast screen flickered in a café window. A lot of ladies' gaze drifted to it — the mysterious Sylvanyr swordsman purchasing a relic everyone else mocked at a very high price. Although they saw it as a waste of money they all remained charmed by his beauty that they forgot the reason for the broadcast
---
By evening, the Unity Tour began.
Drones followed the delegation through the city — documenting smiles, gestures, and interviews. It was sold as diplomacy, but everyone knew it was simply a method to monitor and keep them in check.
Rin remained mostly silent. When reporters asked him about his expectations for the tournament, he only replied,
> "To adapt."
Rose handled the interviews gracefully — speaking of unity, exchange, and progress. Her calm voice captured the public.
Caelum, however, was a natural. "My goal?" he said, flashing the cameras a grin. "To make history — or at least, headlines."
That single line sent his name trending for hours.
Meanwhile, Coelion stayed quiet, face unreadable. Behind the calm façade, his pride simmered.
---
Night fell, the city dimmed, and Coelion stood alone before a mirror in his hotel suite.
His reflection stared back — regal, handsome, but haunted. On the counter sat a small black box of crimson pills pulsing faintly with mana.
He picked one up between his fingers. "If that's what it takes…"
He swallowed it dry.
For a second, nothing. Then veins of heat crawled under his skin. His eyes flared amber and the air smelled faintly of burnt mana.
> "Even if I burn myself out," he whispered, voice cracking, "I will defeat him."
The mirror fogged from his breath. And Coelion fell back unto his bed.