Lucian arrived at the manor to find it more alive than expected—nobles and commoners alike mingled outside, laughter and music drifting through the air like perfume. The celebration wasn't confined within the manor's walls; it spilled out onto the grounds in a grand display of wealth and spectacle.
"I didn't think it'd be this big," Lucian muttered, his eyes scanning the crowd. Dozens of tables were arranged across the lawn, candles flickering atop white linens. An elevated band played a refined yet festive tune, their instruments polished to a gleam.
Then, a familiar pulse in the air caught his attention.
Lucian's gaze flicked to the side, and sure enough—there stood Ignir, Varen, and several other members of his so-called "cult," laughing and clinking glasses with high society as if they belonged there.
A brief smile tugged at Lucian's lips.
"They'll be fine without me for a bit," he said quietly, pride swelling at how quickly they'd adapted.
At the gate, two guards stood watch—no ordinary sentinels, but elite enforcers clad head to toe in shimmering mithril. One held a greatshield etched with runes, the other a long spear that gleamed beneath the moonlight.
"Invitation?" the nearest guard asked, voice calm and commanding.
Lucian arched a brow, still impressed. Reid really doesn't do anything halfway.
He reached into his coat and handed over the sealed letter.
The moment it touched the guard's hand, it combusted in a flash of blue flame—controlled, contained, leaving behind only a few charred embers that drifted to the ground.
The guard didn't flinch. He simply stepped aside and struck the butt of his spear against the cobblestone.
With a deep, echoing rumble, the manor gates creaked open of their own accord.
Lucian chuckled, stepping through. "Reid certainly knows how to put on a show."
Beyond the gates, the manor's courtyard unfolded like something out of a painting—immaculate hedges, marble statues of historic nobles lining the walk, and a dozen trees shaped with near-magical precision. Lanterns floated in the air, glowing gently like captured stars.
Lucian spotted various nobles mingling under the manicured canopies—including the corpulent baron he'd once fleeced in a card game.
"They really went all out," he mused, admiring the decor with a touch of amusement.
He adjusted his collar and strode forward, each footstep deliberately heavy against the polished marble, echoing through the space with quiet authority.
If anyone hadn't noticed him yet—they would now.
Lucian stepped through the open double doors of Duke Reid's manor, his raven-feathered mantle billowing behind him—not from the breeze, but from the subtle hum of his magic. Shadows clung to him like loyal hounds, weaving an aura of practiced mystique.
The interior was nothing short of majestic.
Golden chandeliers hung from a vaulted quartz ceiling, their light refracting off the crystal with a warm, opulent glow. Every surface gleamed, from the gilded furnishings lining the walls to the marble floor so polished it mirrored the guests' footsteps like water. At the far end, an elegant staircase split in two, curling upward like the arms of a grand welcome.
Lucian's entrance didn't go unnoticed.
Heads turned. Conversations paused. Nobles stared—curious, intrigued, some even unsettled. Here was a stranger clad in finery that rivaled the best among them, a figure of youthful grace wrapped in regal menace. Yet none could place his name.
Lucian didn't need to speak. He simply walked, the tap of his boots echoing across the marble like a clock counting down to something inevitable.
Somewhere, a noble dropped their wineglass. The crystal shattered softly, barely noticed over the silence Lucian dragged behind him.
But before he could fully command the room, a sharp clink rang out from beside the grand staircase. A waiter, standing tall in formal attire, raised a glass.
"Attention, esteemed guests!" he called, voice clear and practiced.
The ambient music faded as heads turned.
"The star of tonight's celebration has arrived—the flower of Greywood herself, daughter of the Duke…"
He paused just long enough to build anticipation. A faint blue glow lit his throat as a spell activated, amplifying his next words across the entire manor and beyond.
"Reina Perval!"
The name echoed like a bell toll, resonating through the halls, the courtyard, even out into the night air.
All eyes shifted.
And for a moment, Lucian simply stood there—smiling faintly.
From the top of the left staircase, a figure emerged—golden hair cascading like spun sunlight, each strand subtly catching the chandelier's glow, as if enchanted to shimmer just so. Her dress was deceptively simple, yet carried a quiet elegance that made every detail of her beauty all the more striking. It was clear: the design wasn't meant to dazzle—it was meant to frame her.
"Next time, maybe just a spotlight and trumpet fanfare?"
Reina said softly, her voice gentle yet imbued with quiet authority. It floated through the room like a breeze through silk—effortless, unforced, impossible to ignore.
Lucian found himself staring.
Even after everything he'd seen—the monsters, the chaos, the gods—this was the kind of presence that still caught him off guard.
It wasn't magic. Not entirely. Just a kind of gravity. The kind that bent rooms around her.
"In all my years…" he muttered with a quiet chuckle, arms crossing as a smirk tugged at his lips, "I'm still a sucker for beauty."
Then, from the right side of the staircase, another presence stepped forward—Duke Reid Perval himself.
A regal green cape flowed behind him, complementing the tailored brown suit that hugged his frame with aristocratic precision. His chestnut hair, combed back with casual control, was adorned with a golden laurel wreath—a timeless symbol of victory and nobility, gleaming under the chandelier's light.
He didn't stride. He commanded the room with every step—like a man whose voice had ended battles before the first sword was drawn.
Wealth. Power. Heritage.
He didn't have to say a word. His presence spoke volumes.
And just like that, the scene was set: the flower, the patriarch… and the shadow that had just walked into their garden.