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### **Chapter 25: Silence Amongst Applause**
The day of the Empire's annual Winter Solstice Ceremony had arrived—a celebration held once every five years, attended by royals, nobles, foreign envoys, generals, and scholars. It was a grand affair, meant to showcase the glory and strength of the Empire to the world.
But this year, the real spectacle wasn't the parade.
It was a boy.
A cold, composed, untouchable boy named **Sirius Farah Von Ross**.
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When his name was announced in the ceremonial hall, every guest turned, expecting some display—some arrogance from the Empire's youngest legend.
But Sirius entered in silence.
No greetings. No acknowledgments.
Clad in stark black and silver—a quiet homage to the moon—he walked with a posture too perfect, movements too precise. He didn't smile. He didn't glance around. He didn't need to.
He was the eye of the storm, and the hall bent itself around his presence.
"Is that… the Grand Duke's son?" whispered a noble girl, barely older than him.
"He's not like us," muttered a visiting prince, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
And he wasn't.
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When the Emperor called him forward and pinned the **Silver Fang Medal** to his chest—an honor never before given to someone so young—Sirius didn't bow.
He merely inclined his head, crimson eyes fixed ahead.
The Emperor chuckled instead of taking offense.
"Your restraint is impressive, Sirius," he said for all to hear. "But I do wonder—what *does* impress you?"
Sirius's answer was low but clear.
"Nothing in this hall."
There was a pause.
Then quiet laughter, forced and nervous, as people tried to decide whether it was brilliance or insult.
But Sirius had already stepped back into the crowd.
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Dozens of girls tried to approach him that night.
Some were royalty. Some were daughters of dukes. Some had practiced lines for days.
All were ignored.
He didn't give them a glance, not even once.
He didn't even hear them.
He was somewhere else.
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While others drank wine and danced beneath golden chandeliers, Sirius stood alone on a balcony, staring up at the night sky.
At **her**.
Above the fireworks and music, the moon hung quietly—like it always did. Watching. Waiting. And Sirius, for a rare second, allowed himself to soften.
Under his breath, words spilled that no one else would ever hear:
"You're the only light worth looking at."
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Far below, people were still whispering about him. Nobles debated how to approach him. Envoys reported to their homelands. Girls who had tried and failed to even get a word from him wept in corners.
But Sirius didn't notice.
And wouldn't have cared if he had.
His heart wasn't here.
It never was.