The Fall Ball, an event of splendor and tradition segregated by year, was an affair no student dared to miss. It wasn't just a gathering; it was a stage where the elite of Mythos Academy showcased their finest—fine attire, fine alliances, and, of course, fine drama. But this year, the stakes were higher, the whispers louder, and the anticipation keener.
Why? Because Arthur Nightingale was attending once again.
And of course he wasn't alone.
The whispers had started the moment the announcement was made. The Sovereign of Mythos Academy would be arriving with not one, but all three princesses—Seraphina Zenith, Rachel Creighton, and Cecilia Slatemark. Each a powerhouse in their own right, their collective presence alongside Arthur was akin to stars aligning. Every gaze in the ballroom flickered towards the entrance, the red carpet an unspoken threshold of awe and envy.
Then, there they were.
The double doors swung open, and the four stepped in with an elegance that silenced even the most boisterous conversations. Arthur led the group, his azure eyes calm, a faint smile gracing his lips as though the grandeur around him were but a trivial matter. Seraphina walked to his left, her icy beauty offset by a dress that shimmered like a frozen lake under moonlight. On his right, Rachel was radiant, the very picture of a noble's poise in a gown of purest white, her sapphire eyes sparkling with mischief. Cecilia brought up the rear, her crimson dress catching the light as easily as her teasing smirk caught hearts. Together, they moved with such synchronized confidence that the air seemed to hum with their presence.
The AI cameras clicked incessantly, their mechanical lenses greedily capturing every angle, every expression. They were the moment, the spectacle that would dominate feeds and conversations long after the evening ended.
Behind them, Seol-ah Moyong watched with a dry chuckle as the group swept down the carpet, the crowd parting instinctively to make way. Her arm was linked with Lucifer's, the two of them a striking pair in their own right. Her golden dress, mirroring the hue of her eyes, clung to her like molten sunlight, a stark contrast to her onyx-black hair cascading down her back.
"I suppose I should be grateful they're stealing all the attention," she muttered, half to herself, half to her companion.
"Kinda takes the pressure off, doesn't it?" Lucifer replied with a quiet laugh, his verdant eyes glinting with a light that, to Seol-ah, seemed different than before—softer, more grounded. There was no envy in his expression, no bitterness, only a quiet contentment as he let the moment pass without vying for it.
Seol-ah glanced up at him, her sharp golden gaze lingering a moment longer than she intended. He looks... fulfilled now, she thought, her lips quirking into a barely-there smile before she turned her attention forward, the AI cameras already snapping pictures of them as they walked the red carpet.
The two strode in step, a stark yet complementary pair. If Arthur's entrance was a starburst, theirs was the quiet rise of a crescent moon—subtle but undeniable.
Within the ballroom, the buzz of conversation resumed, louder than ever. Arthur and his three princesses held court at the center of attention, while Lucifer and Seol-ah melted into the crowd, their presence felt but not overwhelming.
"Are you regretting it yet?" Lucifer asked, his voice tinged with humor as he leaned slightly toward Seol-ah.
"Regretting what?"
"Agreeing to this whole thing. The Ball, the pictures, all of it."
Seol-ah's golden eyes flicked toward him, narrowing slightly. "I might be, depending on how much longer you insist on asking ridiculous questions."
Lucifer laughed, the sound drawing a few curious glances but nothing more. For the first time in what felt like years, his smile wasn't weighed down by the shadow of comparison or the sting of defeat. He was simply... present.
As the music swelled and the evening unfolded, the lines between rivalry and camaraderie, obligation and choice, began to blur. For all the grandeur and politics surrounding the Fall Ball, in its quiet moments, it was simply a place where people met, spoke, and perhaps—if only briefly—found pieces of themselves.
Lucifer dropped to one knee, his sword-calloused hand extended, his verdant eyes gleaming with a rare mixture of determination and warmth. The murmurs of the surrounding crowd faded into an almost reverent hush, their curiosity piqued.
"Will you honor me with this dance, Seol-ah?" His voice was steady, a touch of formality softening the weight of his words.
Seol-ah Moyong tilted her head ever so slightly, her golden eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and approval. There was a grace to her movements as she lifted her hand, resting it lightly in his. Her lips curled into a smile—not the tight, polite expression so often worn at events like this, but something softer, more genuine.
"It would be my honor," she replied, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of sincerity that lingered in the air.
The room seemed to hold its breath as the two moved to the center of the ballroom floor. Around them, students and dignitaries alike watched with varying degrees of interest and envy. The music shifted, the gentle hum of string instruments swelling into a melody that seemed crafted for such a moment. A waltz, timeless and elegant, its rhythm inviting them to step into its embrace.
Lucifer rose, his posture straight but not stiff, his every movement a reflection of the discipline etched into him through years of training. His hand clasped hers, firm but respectful, as the other rested lightly at her waist.
Seol-ah's fingers, delicate but steady, found his shoulder. For a moment, their eyes met—hers golden and searching, his verdant and steady—and the world around them seemed to blur.
Then, they began to move.
Lucifer led with precision, his steps crisp yet fluid, the embodiment of a swordsman's grace translated to the dance floor. Seol-ah matched him effortlessly, her movements carrying an understated power that spoke of her own mastery. Together, they glided across the floor, their figures cutting through the swirling patterns of light and shadow cast by the crystal chandeliers above.
The music rose, and with it, their tempo. Lucifer spun her out, their hands parting for the briefest moment before reconnecting, the motion seamless and unbroken. The crowd murmured in approval, the elegance of their dance captivating even the most stoic of onlookers.
"You dance well," Seol-ah said softly, her voice barely audible over the music.
Lucifer chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through his chest. "You sound surprised despite us dancing before."
"Perhaps I am," she admitted, her golden eyes holding a glint of playful challenge. "But it suits you."
"And you," he replied, his voice steady, "make it look effortless."
Their steps wove tighter as the waltz reached its crescendo, their movements synchronizing so completely that they appeared less like two individuals and more like a single entity, bound by rhythm and purpose.
As the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, Lucifer dipped her low, his grip secure, his eyes never leaving hers. There was no need for words; the shared silence said enough.
When he lifted her back upright, applause broke out across the room. It wasn't the raucous, enthusiastic cheer reserved for spectacles, but the measured, genuine applause that acknowledged something truly skillful and moving.
Seol-ah curtsied with a practiced ease, her smile lingering as Lucifer bowed in return.
"Thank you," she said quietly, her tone softer now, almost introspective.
Lucifer straightened, offering her his arm as the applause began to fade. "The honor was mine."
As they left the dance floor, weaving through the murmuring crowd, Seol-ah found herself pondering the man at her side. Lucifer Windward—prince of the North, Sword God, and her rival in the art of combat—had just shown her a side of himself she hadn't expected.
And, much to her surprise, she didn't mind it at all.