The moon cast its pale light over the narrow path leading to Ovsken Forest, a dense thicket some fifty kilometers from the Dwarfen kingdom. The towering trees, all twisted from wild orchid plants, loomed like silent sentinels. A lone figure dashed through the underbrush, breath ragged as he clutched a scroll to his chest. His other hand pressed against a fresh wound on his abdomen, blood seeping through his fingers. With each step, his strength waned, his spirit energy flickering like a dying flame. But the urgency of the message he carried drove him onward. He had to reach the lord, no matter the cost.
As he pushed deeper into the forest, his senses sharpened, and he noticed the large jacaranda tree up ahead. But before he could react, a chilling presence washed over him, halting his advance. The air grew heavy with a suffocating energy, laden with killing intent that sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't see them, but he knew—whoever was out there was no ordinary adversary. This was a master of the highest caliber, a predator waiting in the shadows.
His eyes darted around, searching for the source of the threat. But before he could pinpoint it, a deadly blade sliced through the air with lightning speed. Instinct took over as he barely managed to sidestep, the edge of the sword grazing past him with a whoosh. The force of the attack left a trail of destruction in its wake.
"What good reflexes," a girl's voice echoed from above, light and teasing. "Brother, what realm is he in?"
He looked up to see two young figures perched on the thick branches of the jacaranda tree. The taller one was a light-skinned male, dressed in a simple white and blue robe, a long blue sword resting casually in his hand. Beside him was a short girl, her vivid green eyes fixed on the man below, her delicate hand clasping her brother's.
"By his aura, he seems to be in the Profound Realm," the young man replied calmly, his tone indifferent.
"The Twilight Siblings of the Dark Faction," the man muttered, recognizing them immediately. His grip tightened around his sword's hilt, the weight of the situation sinking in.
"What's this? You know too much," the young man said, his voice cold and unfeeling. "I'm afraid you'll have to die." He unsheathed his blade with a smooth, practiced motion, the steel gleaming ominously in the moonlight. The air around him grew heavy with killing intent, and the man below felt the pressure bear down on him, a suffocating force that made his heart race.
He swallowed hard, channeling his aura into his own blade. The atmosphere in the forest shifted, the once rustling leaves and chirping insects silenced, as if time itself had paused in anticipation. Everything stilled, the very wind holding its breath.
In a heartbeat, the young man leaped from the branch, his form blurring into motion. His body transformed mid-air, the robes fluttering like butterfly wings before he seemed to become one with the wind. The man below barely had time to react. He brought his sword up in a desperate attempt to block, but the speed of the attack was beyond anything he had faced before.
The young man's sword flashed, a streak of light cutting through the air. The blade moved with lethal precision, slicing clean through his opponent's neck with a single, fluid stroke. The man's body surged forward, unaware of its fate, before his head slowly began to drop, blood spraying out in an arc.
The young man landed softly, sheathing his sword in one graceful motion as his opponent's lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
"Ah, brother, that was so boring," the girl complained, hopping onto his shoulders with the ease of a child. "We have to rush back; the master will be pleased with us," she added, her tone suddenly cheerful as she hummed a little tune.
Without another word, the siblings vanished into the night, their forms dissolving like mist, leaving only the stillness of the forest in their wake.
Her Majesty gently pours tea for the five fair ladies seated around her. She's grown accustomed to their mannerisms, as they've followed this tradition for years, gathering for afternoon tea every four days—a ritual introduced by their parents. These ladies represent the five founding clans.
First is the Pirch clan, renowned for their exquisite brewing and the elegant Pirch Dance Sword style. Next is the White Paw clan, masters of foresight, capable of sensing impending danger, a skill that has placed many of them in the highest ranks of the military, alongside the Cleaver clan, known for their brutal strength and near-indestructible bodies.
Then there's the Silver clan, revered for their solid foundation and mastery of the Star Sword style. Lastly, the Durklin clan, where Her Majesty was raised. Bearing the Hethra surname, they are unique among the clans, lacking a specific specialty, yet every clan leader is entrusted with mastering the ancient sealing technique.
Hanzel offered a warm smile to Victoria, who returned it with equal grace.
"You must be overjoyed, Your Majesty," Victoria remarked as she delicately sipped her tea. "At last, you have secured a bride."
"Well, thank you. I am indeed very happy," Hanzel replied with a gentle smile. "To be honest, as a mother, I've always wanted the best for my children. That's why I never forced them to adhere strictly to the old ways."
"Are you mocking us, Your Highness?" Syndra interjected, setting her flowered teacup down with a soft clink. She dabbed the corners of her mouth, then her lips, with a crimson napkin.
"I don't believe that was Her Highness's intention," Soah chimed in, adding a single cube of sugar to her tea before stirring it slowly. "What she means is that she didn't want to bind her children to tradition but instead gave them the freedom to choose their own path. Isn't that right, my lady?"
Hanzel nodded, her head tilting slightly in acknowledgment. "As always, Soah, you understand me best," she replied with a soft chuckle as they continued sipping their tea. Among the five ladies, Soah and Hanzel shared a particularly close bond. Their clans, the Silver Clan and the Durklin Clan, had maintained strong ties since the beginning, solidified through generations of intermarriage.
"Hanzel, I've been thinking," an elderly lady who had been quietly observing the conversation spoke up. "For the upcoming Jade Festival, you should use the occasion to introduce the mortal princess to all the clans."
"What a splendid idea, Grand Elder," Isadora added with a smile. "She could also take charge of organizing Her Majesty's birthday celebration."
Isadora had once been betrothed to Raderon Dragneel, only to have him choose Hanzel instead. This rejection had fueled a deep-seated rivalry, and Isadora had since devoted herself to outshining and embarrassing Hanzel, albeit unsuccessfully. Her first attempt was when she became pregnant earlier and gave birth to a daughter of remarkable beauty and poetic prowess. Her child's talent was seen as a stroke of fortune, especially compared to Hanzel, who at the time had no children of her own. However, Hanzel soon gave birth to two children, Roderan and Royeel, both of whom excelled in every way. Roderan, in particular, demonstrated exceptional cultivation abilities from a young age and was taken in as a student by the most formidable immortal.
Then came Athera, Hanzel's third child, a prodigy whose debating skills and poetic talent far surpassed those of Isadora's daughter. Since then, Isadora had been biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to strike back. The appearance of an uncivilized and undisciplined mortal princess presented a perfect chance for her to undermine Hanzel.
As Isadora offered a smile, Hanzel couldn't help but sense the underlying scheming. The smile was too controlled, too calculated, revealing that Isadora was likely plotting her next move.
***
"Relax, dear. It's just your imagination," Lord Raderon reassured her as they sat upon the throne. Despite his calming words, she remained visibly unsettled.
"You don't understand the kind of trouble that woman could cause," she sighed deeply. "She'll do everything in her power to embarrass poor Rowan."
Raderon sighed in response, unsure of how to comfort his wife. He had always seen her as his equal, loving her deeply and treating her not just as the queen but as the woman he cherished. His love for her had been unwavering since their first meeting, and he had always allowed her the freedom to act as she wished. Unlike many other rulers, he lived solely for his family, and anything that troubled his wife affected him profoundly.
His brown eyes softened as he gazed at her worried expression, mirroring her concern. They had placed their hopes in Rowan, a pure soul they believed could guide their only son toward happiness. Rowan's arrival had brought a renewed sense of hope, especially after the prolonged silence following Roderan's fight twenty years ago.
Since the war, Roderan had kept his distance, but Rowan's presence had transformed him. In just four days, she had managed to draw him out of his shell, prompting him to talk more, voice his grievances, and seek their counsel. Her ability to connect with him so quickly had only deepened their admiration for her.
"Your majesties, Rowan of the mortal is here as your call," Gavden presents Rowan.
She walks in a breathtaking purple dress, the rich hue flowing around her like a river of twilight. The hanfu, crafted from shimmering silk, hugged her figure gracefully, with wide, billowing sleeves that moved like gentle waves. The edges of the dress were embroidered with silver threads forming intricate lotus flowers and vines, adding a touch of elegance and purity to the ensemble. A silver sash cinched her waist, and the skirt cascaded in soft.
Her head was adorned with a stunning silver and amethyst crown, the central piece a silver lotus that held a polished amethyst stone. Delicate silver chains, adorned with smaller amethysts, framed her face and trailed through her elegantly styled hair, which was interwoven with silver hairpins and tiny blossoms. Long, dangling earrings matched the headpiece, swaying gently with her every movement.Her Majesty stifled a chuckle behind her hand, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
"It's not funny," Rowan snapped, seating herself closer to them and adjusting her hanfu.
"It's been only four days, and yet you look every bit the royal immortal princess," the Queen teased with a playful giggle.
"Haa! Haaa! How amusing," Rowan retorted as she settled into her seat. "Did you call for me?"
"Is that the only time we can meet when I have something to say?" the Queen feigned disappointment.
"Alright, we can meet whenever you wish," Rowan replied with a warm smile.
"I don't see your maid. Where is she?" Lord Raderon inquired.
"Oh, Tara? She's out with Roderan," Rowan explained.
"I see," Raderon said, leaning back and exhaling deeply.
The Queen gestured for Rowan to come closer. Rowan complied, sliding her chair nearer.
"Have you heard about the Jade Festival?" the Queen asked.
"Yes, I stayed up all night discussing it with Athera. She's quite the orator," Rowan replied. "Everyone seems thrilled, but honestly, I'm a bit anxious."
"You did mention you were quite the party enthusiast," the two ladies laughed. "And it's also my birthday, which is why there's so much excitement."
"Oh, right. I nearly forgot about that," Rowan said, pointing at the Queen with a smirk. "Everyone is eager for pointers on royal grace."
"Indeed," the Queen confirmed.
"I see the same back home during the King's First Lady's birthday," Rowan spat with disdain. "I loathed attending her birthday parties—those endless gifts were so tedious. I really disliked it…" She noticed the Queen and Lord exchanging a surprised glance. "But I'll definitely make sure to celebrate yours, my lady," she added with genuine warmth.
The Queen let out a light laugh, her eyes flashing with mischief. "I hope so because you'll be in charge of organizing the entire celebration."
"Seriously?" Rowan exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Absolutely. I'm curious to see what a true party girl can accomplish," the Queen says with a grin.
Rowan claps her hands together in a gesture of excitement as she approaches the throne, her movement fluid and graceful. She throws her arms around the Queen in a warm embrace.
"I've always dreamed of hosting a grand party for my mother," she says, her voice filled with heartfelt determination. "I'll make sure your celebration is unforgettable." She plants a tender kiss on the Queen's cheek, then steps back, her eyes alight with promise. "I'll make your dreams come true."
The Queen looks at Rowan, a hint of confusion crossing her face. "My dreams?" she asks, her brow furrowing slightly. Rowan only responds with a bright smile before gracefully descending from the throne.
"I swear I won't let you down!" Rowan calls out as she strides confidently toward the exit.
Lord Raderon watches with a satisfied smile. "See, there's nothing to worry about," he says to the Queen, his expression filled with warmth and reassurance. "Look at her—she's…" His words trail off as he moves to embrace the Queen himself.
Just as he reaches out, the Queen vanishes in a swirl of light, leaving him standing alone. He releases a heavy sigh, his hands resting on his hips. He stands there, momentarily stunned, his gaze fixed on the space where she had been.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The streets of Etral were transformed into a scene from a dream, where every cobblestone seemed to shimmer under the glow of thousands of lanterns strung across the rooftops. The capital, Yulden, pulsed with life as the city prepared for the Jade Festival, one of the few events that held the very essence of Etral's heritage. Delicate silk banners in deep emerald and gold, the colors of the festival, fluttered in the gentle breeze, bearing the symbols of the founding clans. The narrow alleyways were lined with stalls, their awnings bedecked with jade ornaments and fragrant flowers, while the main thoroughfares overflowed with a tide of immortal of low class, all heading towards the grand royal hall where the heart of the celebration would take place.
Women, like living masterpieces, glided through the streets in resplendent attire. Some wore flowing hanfu with long, sweeping sleeves, their fabric embroidered with intricate patterns of flowers, dragons, and celestial scenes that seemed to come to life with each graceful movement. Others donned martial attires, the kind worn by warrior clans, their robes tighter yet no less elegant, adorned with clan symbols embroidered in silver and gold thread. The more mysterious among them wore delicate masks, crafted from the finest porcelain and decorated with feathers, pearls, and jewels that sparkled in the lantern light, adding an air of intrigue to their already ethereal presence. Their hair was adorned with elaborate hairpins and tiaras, shimmering with precious stones, while necklaces and bracelets, heavy with jade and other gems, caught the light with every step.
Children, too, were caught up in the spirit of the festival. Some ran through the streets holding kites, their strings threaded with enchantments that made the kites dance and twirl with a life of their own. The kites, shaped like mythical creatures—dragons, phoenixes, and qilins—soared above the rooftops, their tails trailing in the wind, leaving behind trails of sparkling light. Others, more daring, rode on these kites, laughing and shouting with joy as they skimmed just above the crowds, their delighted cries echoing through the air.
In every square and on every corner, poets recited verses in voices both rich and melodic. Their words, steeped in the history and traditions of Etral, spoke of love and loss, of battles fought and won, and of the eternal beauty of the land. The rhythm of their recitations intertwined with the music of stringed instruments and flutes, creating a symphony that echoed throughout the capital, setting the perfect backdrop for the evening.
The founding clans, proud and steeped in tradition, moved through the throngs with an air of regal authority. Some wore ancient hanfu, their colors and patterns denoting their lineage and rank, while others, warriors by blood, preferred the martial attires of their ancestors, their robes girded at the waist with belts of jade and silver. Each clan was distinguished by its own unique jewelry—necklaces, armbands, and hairpieces that bore the insignia of their house, crafted from jade, gold, and precious stones that had been passed down through generations. The air around them buzzed with anticipation and pride, their eyes reflecting the light of the lanterns as they made their way to the royal hall, where the Jade Festival's grand ceremonies would unfold.
"Well, well, if it isn't Miss Doriah of the Eagle Clan," a lady in a flowing blue hanfu remarked as she gracefully descended, her fan swaying lightly in her hand. A playful smile curled on her lips as she tilted her head slightly. "I haven't seen you since your seclusion in cultivation. It seems you've finally achieved the Celestial Soul Melding—the energy radiating from you is unmistakable. You're on the path to becoming an Imperfect Deity."
"You flatter me, Lady Lirael," Doriah responded, her voice warm as she returned the smile. "I still have a long journey ahead to reach your level. You, the prodigy of the White Paw Clan, are on the verge of breaking through to the Tribulation Crossing. Your talent is truly remarkable."
The two women shared a light, knowing chuckle. Doriah, adorned in a pristine white gown embroidered with intricate eagle patterns, stood with an air of quiet confidence.
As she descended further, her family joined her—her mother, brothers, and cousins in tow, with two elders following closely behind. The elders, an old man and woman clad in classic white martial robes, radiated a sense of wisdom and strength. They all offered a slight bow, their respect evident in their gestures.
"Welcome, Miss Isadora and Miss Isolde," they murmured in unison, their voices filled with reverence as the two women, regal in their demeanor, walked past them without pause. They moved with the grace of those accustomed to being at the center of attention, yet their steps faltered as the murmurs around them grew louder.
Instead of the customary bow, every member of every clan present dropped to their knees, hands gently cupped and extended forward in a gesture of deep respect.
"Hail the Lord and Her Majesty. Glorified be their names," they chanted in unison as the Lord and Her Majesty walked through the sea of kneeling immortals. Her Majesty paused, her voice calm yet brimming with authority and warmth as she addressed them.
"Please, all rise. Tonight is a celebration that unites us as mere immortals. In this moment, I am neither your queen nor is he your lord—we are simply one with you. Let us all stand as equals on this night." Her words, though spoken softly, carried the weight of power and grace, resonating deeply with those present. The clans murmured their thanks as they rose slowly, the air buzzing with a newfound sense of unity.
"Greetings, my Lord," Isodara greeted with a graceful bow, a soft smile gracing her lips. "I trust everything is well organized, Hanzel? We have an abundance of guests today." Hanzel returned her smile with a polite nod, but before he could respond, a surge of powerful spirit energy descended upon the gathering.
Roderan appeared, flanked by Eleein, Kaithen, Royleen, and four other men, all radiating an aura of authority and strength. The women were resplendent in pure, glittering gowns adorned with jade dragon motifs that shimmered under the soft light. Roderan himself cut an imposing figure, draped in a long, black, glittering cloak with a majestic dragon emblazoned on its back. His attire was completed by a dark silk martial shirt with bold orange stripes running down either side, sturdy black trousers, and polished black boots. His hair was meticulously trimmed at the sides, leaving the top slightly tousled, cascading just enough to frame his chiseled features.
"Behave yourself," Roderan muttered, his voice low and commanding as he glanced down at Rowan, who was clinging tightly to his hand.
"I need to take a breather... you... you!" Rowan stammered, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tugged at his hand, her grip unyielding. Roderan's eyes scanned the room, aware of the curious gazes directed their way. He tried to free his hand, but Rowan's hold only tightened, her fingers digging into his skin as if she were holding onto something far more significant than just his hand.
Without warning, Rowan's legs gave out, and she fell against him, her head colliding with his chest. Roderan stiffened as he felt her weight press against him, his heart suddenly pounding with an intensity that echoed in his ears. Rowan, too, could feel the rapid thudding beneath her cheek and instinctively wrapped her arms around him, her ear pressed against his chest as she listened to the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat.
She looked up, her eyes searching his face as he quickly averted his gaze, his jaw clenched. "What is wrong with you? Your heart is beating so fast and…" Her voice trailed off as she touched her own chest, a mixture of confusion and something unspoken flickering in her eyes. "You're making my heart race too. What the hell are you thinking? Are you… having dirty thoughts?" Her words were accusatory yet filled with genuine bewilderment as she pressed her head against his chest once more.
Roderan, flustered, used his fingers to gently but firmly push her away, creating some distance between them. With a quick adjustment of his cloak, he composed himself, though the lingering warmth of her touch and the memory of her closeness refused to fade.
"You are a lady; please control yourself," Roderan exclaimed, his voice carrying both exasperation and a hint of embarrassment. Rowan took a step back, finally noticing the quiet chuckles and whispers from those around them. Her cheeks flushed momentarily, but she quickly regained her composure.
Adjusting her hanfu, she tightened the dragon-shaped hairpin that held her golden locks in place and offered a serene smile. With a slight nod, she gently pulled Tara along, making her way toward Her Majesty. Rowan's hanfu was unlike anything seen at the gathering, not even the queen's attire could compare. The fabric shimmered with each step she took, its deep, starry night colors creating an ethereal glow that captivated everyone. Her makeup, meticulously applied, remained flawless even after the incident, complementing her fair skin and blonde hair. The murmurs of admiration grew louder as all present found themselves drawn to her beauty, each hoping for a closer glimpse.
Rowan walked with the grace of a naturally born queen, exuding power and confidence with every stride. Her bright smile, radiant as the morning sun, rivaled even the fairies among them, casting a spell over the crowd.
Even Isodara couldn't hide her jealousy, her gaze narrowing as she watched Rowan approach. She had hoped to find some flaw, some way to diminish her, but Rowan's hanfu had taken her by surprise. The fabric was rare, unlike anything Isodara had ever encountered, its elegance and uniqueness only adding to Rowan's allure.
"I offer my greetings to the Lord and Her Majesty," Rowan said, preparing to bow, but Her Majesty quickly intervened, reaching out to gently pull her up.
"It's the Jade Festival," Her Majesty reminded her with a warm smile, her tone light and inviting. "As I've told everyone here, no formalities are needed tonight."
"No way," Rowan exclaimed, her voice unexpectedly firm. In a swift movement, she took a knee, surprising everyone present. "Before the Jade Festival, it is your birthday, Your Majesty, and I must thank the Heavens for bringing such a beautiful being into our lives." Rowan bowed deeply, her gesture sincere and full of reverence.
The crowd watched in stunned silence, and soon, as if drawn by an invisible force, they followed her lead. Without a single command, all present bowed in unison, a synchronized gesture of respect that left the Lord and Queen bewildered. The Silver Clan, who had orchestrated every detail to ensure their dominance, found their plans unraveling as Rowan effortlessly took the lead.
Isolde bit her lip in frustration, and the scene before her was a bitter pill to swallow. Throughout the entire evening, Roderan hadn't spared her a single glance, not even at the dress she wore—the purple gown with silver patterns that he had gifted her for her birthday. It was as if she were invisible to him, her efforts to capture his attention utterly in vain.
Disgust simmered within her as she watched Rowan, who had managed to elicit a genuine smile from the Queen—a rare feat. The Queen had always been indifferent to Isolde, refusing to take any disciples outside her clan, and their conversations had remained strictly formal. As children, Isolde had been destined for engagement with Roderan, but the Queen had declared that her son's fate would be decided by the Moonbound. And so, he was engaged to a mere mortal. Isolde's hatred for Rowan was deeply rooted, festering over the years.
Though Rowan couldn't fully perceive spirit energy, she felt the sharp edge of Isolde's murderous intent—something she was unfortunately familiar with from her sisters. She stole a quick glance at Isolde, noting how Isadora, with a calm expression, gently patted her daughter's hand.
"It's been a while, Roderan. You're not easy to find these days," a voice called from behind, breaking the tension. Roderan turned to see two seniors from the academy approaching him. "The headmaster misses playing chess with you."
"That's probably because you're terrible at it," the shorter one quipped with a chuckle.
"Apologies," Roderan replied politely, his tone distant as he turned away and walked toward the Queen, leaving the two men grinning, words still caught in their throats.
"Did that just happen?" one of them said with a smile.
"He's as cold as ever," the other responded.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind swept through the hall, and a heavy, oppressive spirit energy descended upon the gathering. The crowd instinctively parted as two extremely old men walked forward, their presence commanding everyone's attention. The immense pressure radiating from them made it clear they wanted their power felt.
"Grand Elders, what brings you here?" the Lord asked, stepping forward to greet them as they approached.
"I invited them," the Silver Clan's Grand Elder replied with a slight smirk. "They heard that the young master was finally bound and thought it only fitting to attend the festival and meet their future queen."
The Lord opened his mouth to respond, but Hanzel intervened, her voice smooth and diplomatic. "That's not what he meant. My husband is merely surprised, as it has been over three hundred years since the Grand Elders of Jundron Mountains have shown their faces in public." She bowed respectfully. "Nevertheless, we are honored by your presence."
She turned to face Rowan, who stood frozen in shock, her eyes wide as she stared at the two men. The realization of how naïve she had been hit her hard. The overwhelming power emanating from the elders was beyond anything she had ever imagined. Sensing her distress, the Queen subtly used her energy to shield Rowan from the crushing aura and nodded to her in reassurance.
"Right," Rowan said as she and Tara made their way toward the marble door. With a single, effortless push, the door swung open, releasing a wave of pure energy that surged through before settling around them. A refreshing breeze accompanied by a captivating fragrance filled the air, soothing their nerves and enticing them to explore its source. The guests murmured in awe as the two elders led the way inside, followed by the rest.
But what awaited them was not the familiar hall they were accustomed to. Instead, they stepped into a space that felt like an entirely different dimension. The floor beneath them rippled like an endless sea, each step they took creating gentle waves that shifted in color—from dark, to golden, to a deep starry blue, and back to darkness. The transformation was mesmerizing, leaving them feeling as though they had been transported to a realm of pure magic.
The air was calm, the breeze light and refreshing, and the surroundings resembled a divine garden, lush with greenery. The seating arrangements were elegantly laid out, resembling a grand mortal conference room, with each clan's place clearly reserved. The entire space exuded an outdoor ambiance, enhanced by a soft, melodic tune that played as they moved forward.
As the Queen and Lord took in their surroundings, a wave of tranquility washed over them. The Queen's heart swelled with a sense of fulfillment as if all her dreams had come true in this very moment. The simple yet profound touches in the hall's design reminded her of cherished memories from her childhood, particularly a festival she attended with her parents. She recalled watching a mortal play with them, one of the happiest moments of her life, and the familiar scent in the air brought those memories rushing back.
A soft giggle escaped her lips as she gently squeezed Rowan's hand, overwhelmed by a feeling of deep contentment. "Thank you," she said, her smile warm and heartfelt.