The banquet hall was a glittering sea of opulence, filled with the Empire's most powerful nobles, their jewels and silks shimmering under the chandeliers like stars in a false sky.
But beneath the surface of this lavish spectacle, the air was thick with tension, a silent battlefield of alliances and betrayals. I stood amidst the crowd, a glass of wine in my hand, the deep red liquid swirling like the storm brewing in my chest.
The room buzzed with laughter and whispered secrets, but my attention was fixed on the stage where my father, Zaphry Vael Nyxveil, got up along with Ezekian.
He clicked his glass, and the room fell silent. All eyes turned to him, but mine lingered on the sword in his hands—the legendary blade of House Nyxveil, Shadow.
Its jagged crossguard gleamed ominously, the faint red hue of its blade pulsing like a heartbeat. In my past life, I'd broken it in a fit of rage during a battle against a demon horde. It had been nothing more than a relic then, a symbol of a legacy I'd never wanted.
Till now, none was born with the same essance as the First Hero from Nyxveil, the real owner of this sword, and without infusing the same kind of aura, the sword won't react. So its no different than usual traditional swords.
Other than the occasion of appointing an heir, it's not taken out.
Huh? Father is going to appoint Dain as the heir? That's unexpected but not surprising.
I never thought I would be appointed as the heir easily, so I am not even disappointed.
"Tonight," my father began, his voice resonating with the weight of centuries, "is a night of great honor for our family."
I stifled a scoff. *Honor*. What a hollow word.
In the world of nobility, honor was just another currency, traded and bartered like goods in a marketplace.
My father's eyes locked onto mine, and I gave him my most polished smile, the one I reserved for courtly functions and political assassinations. His gaze was calculating, probing, as if he could see through the mask I wore so effortlessly. But he couldn't. No one could.
"First," he continued, "let us celebrate the engagement of my beloved daughter, Alancia Seren Nyxveil, to the Young Duke of Nordwyn, Ezekian Seraphiel Nordwyn."
The room erupted in applause, but I didn't join in. Instead, I watched Ezekian's face—the way his polite smile faltered for the briefest of moments. His eyes met mine, and I saw it—the flicker of betrayal, the raw, unspoken question. *Why?
Oh, Ezekian. Poor, predictable Ezekian. Did you really think I'd let you off so easily? Did you think I'd let you do whatever you wanted? How Foolish!
I clapped, my smile widening as I raised my glass in a mock toast. The crowd followed suit, their murmurs a symphony of confusion and curiosity.
*Oh, that was the case. I thought the eldest young lady was abandoned even before her marriage.*
*No, no, it seems the Young Duke and the Youngest Young Lady were always the intended pair.*
*Of course, that has to be the case. Not even the heir of an archduke can insult the House of Nyxveil.*
Their whispers were like music to my ears. Let them talk. Let them speculate. I had played my cards perfectly, and now they were all dancing to my tune.
Father didn't wait for the crowd to digest this news. He started making the main announcement.
"And now," my father's voice cut through the chatter like a blade, "I make my second announcement."
I sipped from the glass of wine halfway to my lips. I should just get Rheon from somewhere; it's not my place to be.
"The House of Nyxveil has long been guided by a prophecy," he declared, his voice resonating with the weight of centuries. "A prophecy that foretells the rise of a descendant who shares the same essence as the First Hero of Nyxveil, the great founder of our house."
It caught my attention. Prophecy? Huh, why the fuck is this old man making it public?
And the one who shares the same essence as the first hero of Nyxveil is me!!! I wasn't prepared for this shit!!!!
I wanted to be an heir, but not yet! NOT EXPOSING MY POWER LIKE THIS.
I glanced at Dain, my older brother, standing at the corner of the stairs as the sky just broke on his head. His pale and shocked expression said a lot.
Of course he knew; he shared nothing common with First Hero of Nyxveil.
"Tonight," my father continued, his voice rising to a crescendo, "I am proud to announce that the prophecy has come true. My eldest daughter, Selentia Amaris Nyxveil, has manifested the *Crimson Abyss*."
The room fell silent—the kind of silence that presses against your eardrums and makes your blood run cold. Every eye turned to me, their gazes a mix of awe, fear, and thinly veiled envy.
I stood there, my mind racing. I can't gasp at the thought process of my father, who was smirking proudly looking at me. He must have wanted to pressure the Emperor and have upper hand in the wedding negotiation with the Archduchy.
I sighed and started walking toward him. All gazes on me, I kept my head upright. These eyes, these people—I hated them. I hated how they looked at me both in the past and present.
As I stood in front of my father, my back facing the crowd, the difference between my past and present conficted.
My father stepped forward, holding the Shadow out to me. "Take it, Selentia. Infuse your aura into it."
I hesitated, my fingers brushing against the hilt. The sword was cold, unnaturally so, as if it had been forged in the depths of some forgotten abyss. I closed my eyes, focusing on the faint pulse of my aura.
And then I felt it.
A surge of power, raw and untamed, coursing through the blade. The sword began to glow, a deep, abyssal red that seemed to devour the light around it. The air grew heavy and oppressive, as if the very atmosphere was bending to the sword's will.
I opened my eyes and saw the crowd recoiling; their faces paled with fear. Some clutched their throats, gasping for air, while others collapsed to their knees, unable to withstand the suffocating aura radiating from the blade.
Even Ezekian, the oh-so-mighty Young Duke of Nordwyn, looked shaken. He had erected a barrier to protect himself and Alancia, but I could see the strain in his eyes.
Good. Let him feel it. Let them all feel it.
I stopped infusing my aura, and the oppressive energy dissipated, leaving the room in stunned silence. My father's hand came down on my shoulder, his grip firm, almost possessive.
"You've done well, Selentia," he said, his voice low and filled with a twisted kind of pride. "But this is only the beginning. You must continue to prove your worth."
I smiled, though my mind was already racing ahead. *Prove my worth?* Oh, I would do more than that. I would surpass every expectation, every limit they tried to impose on me.
I turned to face the crowd, my gaze sweeping over their terrified faces. They had once looked down on me, scorned me, and prayed for my downfall. Now, they looked at me with fear and something else—something far more dangerous.
Desire.
They wanted my favor, my power, and my loyalty. But they would get none of it.
I tightened my grip on the *shadow*, feeling its cold, unyielding presence in my hand. This sword was more than a weapon; it was a symbol. A reminder of the power I wielded and the enemies I would crush.
And as I stood there, the newly declared heir of House Nyxveil, I couldn't help but smile.
I found Rheon in the gardens, leaning against a tree with a bottle of wine in his hand. Typical.
"You're late," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through his drunken haze.
He looked up, his eyes glazed but still sharp. "Selentia. Congratulations on your... promotion."
I rolled my eyes. "Save the sarcasm. We have work to do."
He raised an eyebrow. "Work? What kind of work?"
I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "The kind that involves knives in the dark and blood on the floor."
Rheon chuckled, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Now you're speaking my language."
As we walked back to the manor, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching us. Something ancient, something hungry.
The *shadow* hummed softly at my side, as if in agreement.
The night was far from over, and the dangers lurking in the shadows were only just beginning to stir.